Children of the Wolf by Jane Yolen

large hole halfway up the side.
    When I got right up to the mound, I circled it warily, hoping to find some sign of Kamala. On the far side, by a large entry hole, I found pieces of her dress, a section of the skirt that she had evidently flung off before going in, and the tattered red rag that had been her doll.
    I knelt down and called into the hole, “Kamalaaaaa! It is I, Mohandas.”
    There was no answer.
    “Please, Kamala, come out. Come home.”
    My own voice echoed around the clearing. Sighing heavily, I realized how cold I was. In the sal after midnight there is a sudden drop in temperature. In the winter months it can be fatal. The only shelter was before me. Shivering with the cold—and with fear—and pushing the lantern ahead of me, I crawled into the dark hole. I hoped that it was not the home of more than a lonely, frightened girl.

IN THE WHITE ANT MOUND
    I FOLLOWED THE TWISTING tunnel. It was so narrow my shoulders scraped the walls and I could not turn my head to look behind. The light from the lantern illuminated only a few inches ahead before the tunnel took another turn. I could scarcely breathe.
    Although I could not have been crawling longer than a few minutes, it felt like hours. My knees and one hand and both shoulders were already scraped and raw. I sweated and felt faint. Then I coughed, and the lantern began to flicker. I swallowed another cough, but still the lantern faded, having little air to feed its flame and hardly any kerosene left at all.
    Another turn and the lantern suddenly flared up. I realized, with a start, that I was passing the hole on the side of the mound. As my head came even with it, I peered outside. I could see, as through the wrong end of a telescope, a cluster of pale stars.
    Then the tunnel turned once more, and as I followed it, the stars were gone.
    Ahead the tunnel suddenly widened into a small cave. The light from the lantern shone on a dark form. It was Kamala, her knees clutched to her chest, unmoving.
    I left the lantern and crawled to her.
    “Kamala,” I breathed into the silence. “It is Mohandas. Speak to me.”
    There was no indication that she heard, even that she still breathed.
    I reached her side and put my palm on her back. The skin was cool and dry, but it rippled under my fingers as an animal’s does when it is touched. At least she was alive.
    “Kamala,” I said, “do not be afraid. No one will hurt you. I am here. Your brother. Your friend. Mohandas is here.”
    She began to whimper, then to grunt and grind her teeth. She hugged her knees even more tightly.
    I lay down behind her and put my arms on her shoulders. “Hush,” I said. “Mohandas is here.” I held her and soothed her with a whispered litany until we both fell into an exhausted sleep.
    In the total dark there is no way of knowing how much time has passed. Awake and asleep become much the same. We woke, we slept many times in that den until the lantern burned out and I could distinguish things only by touch.
    It might have been days, but it turned out to have been only hours when hunger growled in my stomach and woke me. Cramped from lying huddled around Kamala on the packed sand floor, I tried to stretch. My feet hit one part of the wall, my hand another. It was close in the den, difficult to breathe. I had to fight to remember who and what I was.
    “Kamala, come. We cannot stay in here,” I mumbled sleepily.
    She whimpered again.
    I knew then that she could not or would not help herself. If I wanted her to come out, I would have to drag her.
    Feeling around, I finally found the lantern near the tunnel entrance and then the entrance itself. I stretched out until I could touch Kamala’s heels, and I tried to pull her toward me, but she would not let go of her knees, and I could get no leverage with which to pull her.
    “Please, Kamala,” I begged. “Help me. We cannot stay here, or we will die.”
    The words meant nothing to her.
    What could I do? I had no way to pull her