whispered to one another as the wind stirred among them.
The pups are here,
Runt thought he heard them say.
See! The new wolf pups are here.
And overlooking it all reigned the great
black wolf whom Runt had come to know as his father. King lay on a slab of rock above the mouth of the den. His golden gaze took in each of his pups in turn.
You are mine,
those eyes said.
Never forget that you are mine.
Runt's entire body warmed with pleasure. How could he ever forget? How could he be anything but grateful for the gift of his father's world?
He had long understood that his father came and went from a place beyond the warm den he and his littermates shared with their mother. But he had never imagined King's world to be anything more than another den, perhaps deeper and darker than the one he knew. He hadn't guessed that it contained other wolves, either.
Two yearlings, a tan male and a silver female, approached the pups.
"I am your brother, Helper," said the male, bowing with front legs outstretched.
"Your sister, Hunter," the female announced.
Then they danced around the pups. "Leader, Runner, Sniffer, Thinker, Runt," they sang. "Welcome. Welcome to our world."
"Leader, Runner, Sniffer, Thinker, Runt!" called a low voice from the surrounding forest.
"The trees!" Runt cried. "They welcome us, too!"
Hunter laughed.
"That welcome comes from our friend Owl," Helper explained gently. "He often answers our songs."
"Friend Owl," Runt repeated, looking fondly at his clever brother.
A glossy black creature came floating down from the sky and landed in the midst of the pups.
"Are you Owl?" Runt asked, suddenly shy beneath the bird's bright-eyed gaze.
"Of course not," the creature replied, fluffing his feathers. "I am Raven. And who might you be?" He side-hopped a step or two, moving closer.
There wasn't much Runt knew in this unfamiliar world, but he was certain of his name. Nonetheless, his tongue seemed to freeze under this stranger's intense scrutiny.
Raven strutted around the speechless pup, examining him from every side. "You are small, aren't you?" he said at last. "Smaller
than all the rest. But still"âhe tipped his head to one side, consideringâ"small can be brave ... fierce. Why, I've seen a pair of wrens chase a marauding crow the length of the sly. And the small red squirrel often puts the larger gray to shame."
Brave? Fierce?
Runt hardly knew the meaning of the words. He liked their sound, though.
Raven stopped directly in front of Runt. "Surely, though, even a scrap of a pup like you has a name."
Runt ducked his head shyly. Perhaps Mother would answer this inquisitive bird ... or his father, who watched them all with such observing eyes. But neither of them did.
Finally, growing impatient, Raven spread his wings, lifted off the ground, and landed on the slab of rock next to King. "You seem to have sired a pup who doesn't know his own name," he announced, cocking his head toward Runt.
King lay with his chin on his paws. He gazed at Runt but still made no reply.
"The good-looking black fellow," Raven prompted, as though King might not know
which pup he meant. "The one who takes after me."
The great wolf's head came up sharply. "After
me,
Raven."
"After you?" Raven acted surprised. "How could that be? He has such intelligent eyes. And his feathers ... they're so black and glossy."
"Fur!" King growled. "My son has fur!"
My son.
Runt liked those words, too ... even better than
brave
and
fierce.
"Perhaps you call him Star," Raven persisted. "Since he bears your white star. Or Prince? That would be a good name for a pup who wears the king's black coat."
The silence that greeted each of Raven's suggestions seemed to give weight to the surrounding air. Even the two yearlings stared off across the lake as though there were suddenly something of great interest passing on the opposite shore.
At last, since it was clear no one else was going to answer, Runt found his own voice. "My name is Runt,"
The pups are here,
Runt thought he heard them say.
See! The new wolf pups are here.
And overlooking it all reigned the great
black wolf whom Runt had come to know as his father. King lay on a slab of rock above the mouth of the den. His golden gaze took in each of his pups in turn.
You are mine,
those eyes said.
Never forget that you are mine.
Runt's entire body warmed with pleasure. How could he ever forget? How could he be anything but grateful for the gift of his father's world?
He had long understood that his father came and went from a place beyond the warm den he and his littermates shared with their mother. But he had never imagined King's world to be anything more than another den, perhaps deeper and darker than the one he knew. He hadn't guessed that it contained other wolves, either.
Two yearlings, a tan male and a silver female, approached the pups.
"I am your brother, Helper," said the male, bowing with front legs outstretched.
"Your sister, Hunter," the female announced.
Then they danced around the pups. "Leader, Runner, Sniffer, Thinker, Runt," they sang. "Welcome. Welcome to our world."
"Leader, Runner, Sniffer, Thinker, Runt!" called a low voice from the surrounding forest.
"The trees!" Runt cried. "They welcome us, too!"
Hunter laughed.
"That welcome comes from our friend Owl," Helper explained gently. "He often answers our songs."
"Friend Owl," Runt repeated, looking fondly at his clever brother.
A glossy black creature came floating down from the sky and landed in the midst of the pups.
"Are you Owl?" Runt asked, suddenly shy beneath the bird's bright-eyed gaze.
"Of course not," the creature replied, fluffing his feathers. "I am Raven. And who might you be?" He side-hopped a step or two, moving closer.
There wasn't much Runt knew in this unfamiliar world, but he was certain of his name. Nonetheless, his tongue seemed to freeze under this stranger's intense scrutiny.
Raven strutted around the speechless pup, examining him from every side. "You are small, aren't you?" he said at last. "Smaller
than all the rest. But still"âhe tipped his head to one side, consideringâ"small can be brave ... fierce. Why, I've seen a pair of wrens chase a marauding crow the length of the sly. And the small red squirrel often puts the larger gray to shame."
Brave? Fierce?
Runt hardly knew the meaning of the words. He liked their sound, though.
Raven stopped directly in front of Runt. "Surely, though, even a scrap of a pup like you has a name."
Runt ducked his head shyly. Perhaps Mother would answer this inquisitive bird ... or his father, who watched them all with such observing eyes. But neither of them did.
Finally, growing impatient, Raven spread his wings, lifted off the ground, and landed on the slab of rock next to King. "You seem to have sired a pup who doesn't know his own name," he announced, cocking his head toward Runt.
King lay with his chin on his paws. He gazed at Runt but still made no reply.
"The good-looking black fellow," Raven prompted, as though King might not know
which pup he meant. "The one who takes after me."
The great wolf's head came up sharply. "After
me,
Raven."
"After you?" Raven acted surprised. "How could that be? He has such intelligent eyes. And his feathers ... they're so black and glossy."
"Fur!" King growled. "My son has fur!"
My son.
Runt liked those words, too ... even better than
brave
and
fierce.
"Perhaps you call him Star," Raven persisted. "Since he bears your white star. Or Prince? That would be a good name for a pup who wears the king's black coat."
The silence that greeted each of Raven's suggestions seemed to give weight to the surrounding air. Even the two yearlings stared off across the lake as though there were suddenly something of great interest passing on the opposite shore.
At last, since it was clear no one else was going to answer, Runt found his own voice. "My name is Runt,"
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