Firstborn by Tor Seidler Page A

another vole. When she appeared atop the cliff, he asked if she thought it was true that wolves and coyotes don’t mix.
    â€œOf course,” she said.
    â€œWhy is that?” he asked.
    â€œIt’s a rule of nature.”
    â€œCouldn’t we be friends?”
    â€œYou want me to be friends with a wolf?”
    â€œWell, with me. Though . . .”
    â€œThough what?”
    After studying the snow at his feet for some time, Lamar blurted out, “I’m the one who accidentally scared you and Kyle at the hot springs. I’m so sorry.”
    He must have decided that apologizing did matter. Or maybe living a lie had eaten away at him. But when he lifted his eyes Artemis was gone.
    The next night he returned her howl, but she didn’t answer. Two nights later he took her a shrew. He waited till dawn, but she never appeared at her cliff top. Night after night Lamar took her offerings and waited hopefully for her to appear. But it was always some other creature—an eagle or a badger or a raven—that eventually showed up and grabbed the food.
    Finally Lamar went three straight nights without taking her anything. On his next non-Frick-warming night he slipped away from the others and slumped under my aspen.
    â€œNo more trips to the knoll?” I said.
    â€œIt’s not fair to her,” he said forlornly. “If I go, she stays away. It’s her home.”
    The leafless aspen was swaying gently, but after a while the breeze died away. Lamar stared off into the distance, his ears cupped. All was snow-muffled silence till a sigh escaped him.
    I was stunned by the pinch that quiet sigh gave my heart.

12
    IT WAS ALMOST AS IF there was a similarity, some real connection, between me and this wolf. It was a disconcerting thought. Blue Boy’s prowess and power were awe-inspiring, and Frick’s breadth of knowledge was surprising, but I never imagined I’d experience a feeling of actual kinship with a wingless creature. Yet something about this young wolf yearning for a coyote reminded me of myself when I was younger. Though, in fact, Lamar’s situation was bitterer than mine had ever been. I’d been bored with my mate and deserted him; Lamar had unintentionally murdered Artemis’s.
    While Lamar was suffering from unrequited love, his parents were like a couple of lovebirds. Even while stalking prey, Blue Boy hardly left Alberta’s side. One day they actually played a game of tag on our slope. Blue Boy was usually “it,” and when Alberta caught him, she would give him a slathering with her tongue.
    â€œMating season,” Frick explained, eyeing Lupa wistfully.
    Raze was eyeing Lupa too—more suggestively than wistfully. Lupa acted oblivious, but she did catch Raze’s eye for a moment.
    Raze moved his sleeping spot nearer to Lupa’s. One evening he scooted so close their tails touched. She pulled hers back. At around midnight Raze tried to snuggle up to her. She shifted away. He gave her a nudge and walked down the slope, away from the other sleeping wolves. For a while Lupa stayed put, but eventually she got up, shook the snow off her fur, and meandered down to where he was. This was very near my aspen, but I doubt they gave me a thought. I barely existed to either of them.
    â€œDon’t you like me?” Raze said in an undertone.
    â€œOnly the alphas can mate,” she said.
    â€œI heard different.”
    â€œWe were a ragtag bunch then, hardly a pack.”
    â€œWhat if we took off and started a pack on our own?”
    â€œJust the two of us? We’d never make it.”
    Lupa went back up the hill, though not without a little extra sway in her walk. When she settled down in the snow, Raze’s gaze shifted to Libby and Ben. It was Lamar’s night to warm Frick, so Libby and Ben were curled up together.
    I suspected he was thinking of wooing them to join his new pack, but with Libby he never got the