Silex called, pointing. The men with him followed his gesture. Far in the distance, the small wolf pack they had been tracking was running in single file, the large female with the handprint marking at the head of the line. “Must be game in that direction. Do we follow, Silex?” Brach inquired. Silex was staring at the line of wolves, seeing their tails, their ears. “There is a difference between pursuing and fleeing,” Silex noted. “These wolves are running from something.” He squinted at the surrounding hills. “We need to get to high ground.” * * * When, one by one, the women of the council heard of the slap that had been delivered to Bellu, they headed immediately to her mother’s family camp, everyone solicitously patting Bellu’s shoulder and asking how she was feeling. Something was adding up for them, Calli could see. Bellu, the prettiest among them, having her face struck. Bellu, bursting with unborn child, being knocked over. Albi, dispensing rough justice without a council meeting, taking everything into her own hands.
