roam and explore, but none of them were particularly stupid; they wouldn’t have risked venturing out here, where a misplaced step could mean ending up in deep water, being battered against the rocks or stunned by the fall and drowned.
It spoke to how desperate Gregory was, that he’d sought out a place like this and had hidden himself inside it for days.
“Are you sure?” Jed asked Micah.
The young wolf was a few steps away, carefully balanced on the wet rocks and being watched by his ever-present guard.
“Can’t you smell him?” Micah asked.
Jed bent down a little and sniffed carefully at the air. At first he thought he could smell only salt and slime and half-rotted plant life, everything he would expect to find out here. Then something else filtered through: the telltale scent of an adolescent, ripe with hormones and sweat.
They’d spent more than two hours visiting the places Micah had escaped to during the first couple of years after he’d lost his parents. Most of them were no mystery either to Jed or to the mostly silent guard; they were well-known to all the youngsters of the island, though much less popular than the prettier places, the ones where the ground was soft. In one of them, Jed had coupled for the first time—and he could tell by the smell that it was still used very often for that purpose.
The guard had been here too; that was evident in his expression.
Each new spot they visited told Jed more about what Micah had gone through after his parents had died: how he’d found comfort in darkness and silence, how he’d preferred a bed of gravel to sand or cool moss. He’d wanted to punish himself as much as a young boy could bear.
The humans called it “survivor’s guilt,” Jed remembered. And what a horrible thing that was, that a blameless boy had punished himself for so many years, and had been so desperate to be loved that he’d tried to kill another wolf.
It might well be, Jed had thought as he looked at Micah’s downcast expression, that Micah might have been happier if Luca had stabbed him , instead of the other way around.
“Maybe it would be better if you went in,” he said to Micah now. “I’m the last person the boy wants to see.”
The guard made a sound of protest and took a step toward Micah.
“Don’t be foolish,” Jed told him. “How could he possibly escape from here? Do you think there’s a secret portal in there? That he can go inside and end up somewhere else? The moon, I suppose.”
The guard gave him a look that said Daniel would hear about this lack of respect, but Jed paid it no mind.
“Will you go in?” he asked Micah.
The younger wolf looked out over the sea for a minute, his face contorted with grief and regret. Then he nodded slightly and lowered his body toward the ground. That, Jed could see, was a better way to approach the crevice: balancing on four limbs instead of two, keeping his weight low. He stepped out of Micah’s way and watched as Micah moved carefully over the rocks and disappeared inside the crevice.
It occurred to him that Micah might choose to remain in there for a while, whether Gregory was actually in there or not. He wouldn’t blame him if he did. Micah’s life had to be difficult now, under the constant scrutiny of the guards—for that matter, of the entire pack. A few minutes of solitude and silence would feel like a gift.
When a minute or two had gone by and Micah hadn’t yet come back out, Jed found a place to sit and wrapped his arms around his knees.
“Call him back out,” the guard said gruffly.
Jed shook his head. “Give him time.”
The wind, heavy with salty spray, irritated his eyes and face a little. That was fine, though; he’d sit here as long as it took. It was a small price to pay for rescuing Deborah’s son, even if the boy would never think of this as a rescue. He’d certainly see it as being pulled out of his solitude, the time of Separation he’d created for himself a decade before the
It spoke to how desperate Gregory was, that he’d sought out a place like this and had hidden himself inside it for days.
“Are you sure?” Jed asked Micah.
The young wolf was a few steps away, carefully balanced on the wet rocks and being watched by his ever-present guard.
“Can’t you smell him?” Micah asked.
Jed bent down a little and sniffed carefully at the air. At first he thought he could smell only salt and slime and half-rotted plant life, everything he would expect to find out here. Then something else filtered through: the telltale scent of an adolescent, ripe with hormones and sweat.
They’d spent more than two hours visiting the places Micah had escaped to during the first couple of years after he’d lost his parents. Most of them were no mystery either to Jed or to the mostly silent guard; they were well-known to all the youngsters of the island, though much less popular than the prettier places, the ones where the ground was soft. In one of them, Jed had coupled for the first time—and he could tell by the smell that it was still used very often for that purpose.
The guard had been here too; that was evident in his expression.
Each new spot they visited told Jed more about what Micah had gone through after his parents had died: how he’d found comfort in darkness and silence, how he’d preferred a bed of gravel to sand or cool moss. He’d wanted to punish himself as much as a young boy could bear.
The humans called it “survivor’s guilt,” Jed remembered. And what a horrible thing that was, that a blameless boy had punished himself for so many years, and had been so desperate to be loved that he’d tried to kill another wolf.
It might well be, Jed had thought as he looked at Micah’s downcast expression, that Micah might have been happier if Luca had stabbed him , instead of the other way around.
“Maybe it would be better if you went in,” he said to Micah now. “I’m the last person the boy wants to see.”
The guard made a sound of protest and took a step toward Micah.
“Don’t be foolish,” Jed told him. “How could he possibly escape from here? Do you think there’s a secret portal in there? That he can go inside and end up somewhere else? The moon, I suppose.”
The guard gave him a look that said Daniel would hear about this lack of respect, but Jed paid it no mind.
“Will you go in?” he asked Micah.
The younger wolf looked out over the sea for a minute, his face contorted with grief and regret. Then he nodded slightly and lowered his body toward the ground. That, Jed could see, was a better way to approach the crevice: balancing on four limbs instead of two, keeping his weight low. He stepped out of Micah’s way and watched as Micah moved carefully over the rocks and disappeared inside the crevice.
It occurred to him that Micah might choose to remain in there for a while, whether Gregory was actually in there or not. He wouldn’t blame him if he did. Micah’s life had to be difficult now, under the constant scrutiny of the guards—for that matter, of the entire pack. A few minutes of solitude and silence would feel like a gift.
When a minute or two had gone by and Micah hadn’t yet come back out, Jed found a place to sit and wrapped his arms around his knees.
“Call him back out,” the guard said gruffly.
Jed shook his head. “Give him time.”
The wind, heavy with salty spray, irritated his eyes and face a little. That was fine, though; he’d sit here as long as it took. It was a small price to pay for rescuing Deborah’s son, even if the boy would never think of this as a rescue. He’d certainly see it as being pulled out of his solitude, the time of Separation he’d created for himself a decade before the
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