Wolf-speaker by Tamora Pierce

rolled, scrabbling for another rock, but the immortal was on her. Seizing her by the back of her shirt, it lifted her clear of the ground. She had no way to avoid its eyes. Its power caught and held her again. Details fixed themselves in her mind as her captor opened its jaws: dark blood welling from the cut left by her rock, the greens-and-spice scent of its breath, the high, singing note that cut through the harsh jangle in her mind.
    Then she heard a sound such as she had never before heard in her life, a rumbling, ear-bursting shriek that make her think of rocky avalanches. Her captor released her; she crashed to the ground. Free, she scrambled away without understanding
any
of what was taking place.
    The jangling sound of the fierce immortal was gone, leaving only high singing in her mind. Gasping, she turned to find the enemy. It hadn’t moved from where it had dropped her, and it wasno longer green. It had turned gray and dull, looking for all the world like a statue. It was not breathing.
    â€œHorse Lords,” she whispered in awe.
    Seeing movement in the corner of her eye, she spun. A new immortal walked by, intent on the statue. Taking him in, the girl decided she must be dreaming. She had seen many strange creatures since coming to Tortall—ogres, trolls, winged horses, unicorns, griffins, and more—but the green thing and this one were entirely outside her experience.
    Like her attacker, this immortal was similar to a lizard. Walking on its hind legs, it held its long tail off the ground, reminding her of ladies raising their little fingers as they sipped tea. It was taller than Daine’s sixty-five inches, taller even than Numair’s six and a half feet. Slender and graceful, it had long, delicate paws, fragile-looking bones, and silver talons. Its beaded hide was the pearly dark gray of a thunderhead, with paler gray belly scales.
    Stopping at the newly made statue, the stranger broke off a finger, sniffed it, then nibbled. The finger crunched like gravel in its jaws.—
Too raw
.—The voice sounded like a whisper of flutes.—
They really must weather for a decade or so before they lose that acrid aftertaste
.—
    Kitten had recovered from her unexpected flight. Chattering frantically, she galloped to the newcomer on all fours and halted by its knee.
    â€œKit,
no
!” Daine called, but her voice emerged only as a squeak.
    The immortal cocked its head.—
Little one, you are far from home
.—Something about that sounded male, and fatherly.—
Where is your mother?
—
    Kitten rose onto her haunches, gripping the stranger’s leg as she peered up into his eyes. From her throat spilled a variety of sounds Daine had never heard her voice before, in tones that rose and fell like genuine speech.
    The immortal looked at Daine. His eyes were deep gray with slit pupils, impossible to read. Neither was there any emotion in the voice that spoke in her mind:—
The little one says you are her mother. You have not the appearance of a dragon. Did an experiment go wrong, to trap you in a mortal shape?
—
    Daine knelt to cuddle Berry, who had crept to her with ears down, whining. “You’re a brave wolf,” she told the pup. To the immortal she said, “Kit’s real ma was killed defending my friends and me soon after she gave birth. I’ve been looking after Kitten—Skysong, her name is really—ever since.”
    The immortal looked at Kitten as the remaining pups joined Daine.—
What did you take from the humans, Skysong? Or is it this mortal who stole?
—
    Kitten squawked indignantly; Daine’s fading blush returned in full strength. “We didn’t steal anything!”
    â€”
Then you were foolish to stand between a Coldfang andthieves
.—The immortal’s tone was one of cool interest, not anger or scorn.
    Hearing that, Daine calmed down. She pointed to the statue. “What did you call it