When dusk came, Tarkyn was sitting with his back against an old elm, a little distance away from the others. He had reached out carefully and, after searching specifically for the male tawny owl, had made contact. Now he was looking down on the riverside clearing through the owl’s eyes.
Ten riders stream into the clearing behind the wolf. They are roughly dressed, each carrying knives, axes or staffs. Most have a bow and a quiver of arrows strapped to their saddles. They mill around, fighting to control their excited horses as the wolf sniffs back and forth around the clearing then sits down on his haunches, throws back his head and howls.
One rider snarls something, obviously disliking the wolf’s howling.
A weedy young man snaps out orders and the riders dismount and begin to search th
