The Prince Who Fell From the Sky by John Claude Bemis Page A

wing.
    “Do you think they saw the pup?” Dumpster said as Casseomae settled back down.
    “We’re trapped in here either way,” she replied. “This was a mistake, rat.”
    “You’d rather be out there?”
    Casseomae growled.
    “If the scout didn’t see him,” the dog said, “then they’ll hopefully move on once they realize they can’t reach us in here.”
    “And if they saw him?” Dumpster said.
    “Just be quiet,” Casseomae said, turning to comfort the trembling cub with licks.
    The wolves growled and barked at one another, setting up a guard around the passering. Casseomae peered around the interior. The part she could see wasn’t very wide, just enough for her to turn around. Up toward the nose, a dome of white leaned out from around a corner.A skull. Most likely the carcass of the Skinless who had perished in the crash long ago. The cub clung tight to Casseomae’s side and chirped softly to her.
    Just when Casseomae thought the wolves might have left, she heard one up on the wing again, sniffing at the door. Once he had climbed back down, Dumpster ventured up to the broken window and peered out.
    “Do you see them?” Casseomae asked.
    “Yeah,” the rat replied. “About ten. The way those underlickers are lounging around, they don’t seem in any hurry to leave.”
    Casseomae dug her claws into the mildewed material lining the floor. She’d fight them, drive them off, but doing so would mean the cub would have to open the door. She couldn’t risk his being seen. Besides, ten was a lot of wolves. She’d known male bears bigger than her taken down by that many. They waited and the setting sun sent golden shafts through the windows, and still the wolves kept the worrisome siege.
    Dumpster sniffed. “Hey, there might be Old Devil food in here.” He scampered up through the nooks lining the walls, and Pang rustled around to help, with the cub following him.
    Casseomae lay listening for the wolves, but they were silent. “Any luck?”
    “Nothing,” Dumpster said, appearing from the shadows. “It’s all been had by raccoons and mice.”
    The child returned, having found a metal stick, and settled back next to her, holding the stick tightly to his chest. When darkness finally began to fall and the cub lay sleeping against her side, Casseomae said, “We can’t stay here forever.”
    Dumpster circled around her, his whiskers twitching. “I think I have an idea.” Before she could ask what, the rat climbed up to the broken window and disappeared outside.
    Casseomae exchanged a curious glance with Pang. She went to the window and peered out at the dark. All she could hear was the restless shifting of the wolves encamped around the passering. Where had that rat gone?
    But then she heard wolves below, beneath the wing, talking to one another. “… his scout said it was protected by a bear.”
    “Is she the one?”
    “The Ogeema will know when he arrives.”
    Casseomae jolted, feeling angry saliva fill her mouth. Was the Ogeema coming? She rounded to Pang, but before she could say anything, a wolf barked and then the whole growling pack was on their feet, their paws crunching on leaves. An odor crept through the broken window, a noxious and eye-stinging vapor. The cub woke and whimpered to Casseomae.
    “I don’t know, little cub,” she said, licking him. “But stay quiet.”
    Her nose ran violently, and Pang seemed to be suffering the same result, because he shook his head trying to drive the terrible smell away. “What’s that rat done?” he whined.
    Dumpster came back through the window. “I think it’s working,” he said gleefully.
    “What is?” Casseomae growled.
    “Listen,” the rat replied, sitting on his haunches.
    The wolves barked at one another, but Casseomae could hear their steps moving back from the passering.
    “Gasoline,” Dumpster said. “Fortunately it hadn’t leaked from the crash. I snipped a line and let it spill out. An old mischief trick my da taught