All right then. I settled back against the tree.
We both watched the RV. In the small space between the ground and the bottom of the vehicle, I could see Victor’s and Ysabelle’s feet standing on the other side. Deeper into the trees, there was another stirring—probably the rest of the wolf’s pack, waiting for it to satisfy its curiosity and continue on with them.
“Are you building a den?” it asked.
“Sort of,” I said. “But when we’re finished building it, we’ll move it.”
“A moving den,” the wolf mused. “That’s very interesting.”
“Is your den here, too?” I asked.
“No, no. But this is a fine spot. Far fewer humans around than where it is now, especially if you move yours away.”
The last part caught my attention. I scooted into a crouch from my place against the tree. Where was Ursula? “You’ve seen other humans recently?”
“That way, where the warm breeze crosses the third colder breeze,” it answered, using its ears to indicate the rough direction. They swiveled, pointing independently while its head stayed still.
I didn’t know what the breezes meant, but I imagined it couldn’t be more than a few miles. Within walking distance for the wolf. “Those humans, were they wearing white?” I asked.
“What is white?”
I looked around. “Uh—” Everything was green and brown. “Like snow. Did they look like they’re covered in snow?”
The wolf shook its nose. “No. They looked more like you.” It lifted one front paw carefully, stretching it until a dark, graceful copy of its leg jutted out from its silhouette on the grassy ground below.
Other shadowless. Were they wandering? Or also heading somewhere in particular, like us?
“There were quite a few at first,” the wolf continued. “But they all split up. Headed in different directions. It’s a very strange way to travel. I don’t know why they don’t move in a pack. It’s always better to be together than alone. We wolves know that.”
“But are any near here?” I asked. “It’s important.”
“Only one, and then two more that way.” It pointed in another direction with its ears, twisting them sideways. “You want to add them to your pack?”
“No,” I said. “We want to avoid them.”
“If you stay here for another few hours, you won’t cross their paths then.”
“You’re sure?”
The wolf puffed up its fur, as if to say, I’m sure.
I nodded. The wolf edged closer and then sat down again, to better smell me. “Thank you for telling us,” I said.
The wolf shrugged. “Will you really move your den, once the others pass by?”
“Tomorrow at dawn,” I said. Once Zachary had finished painting, and it dried overnight. “Are you going to build your new one here after we do?”
“I’m considering it,” the wolf said, lost in thought. “I’m really considering it.” Then it narrowed its liquid eyes and looked at me again. “I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to a human,” it added.
“Shit,” I said.
“There isn’t,” it replied. “I would have smelled it.”
It had happened again, Ory. The deer, the knife handle, your wedding band, now this. Damnit! I’m trying so hard. But I can’t stop it all. “I’ve forgotten something,” I tried to explain to the wolf. I’m terrified now of what else I’ve also forgotten, but don’t know that I’ve forgotten it. I hope you’re still okay. I hope you stay okay until we reach New Orleans. “Do you know if we’re heading the right way?” I asked the wolf.
“Where are you heading?”
“New Orleans. It’s a—a huge den, with thousands of people.”
“I don’t know,” it said. It fluffed its fur again. “We don’t know the names of the human dens. We mark them by the pattern of their scents. You don’t know its pattern, do you?”
“No,” I said.
“Sorry, then.”
“It’s all right.” I tried to smile. The wolf looked at the RV again. On the ground, the sun had made its furry canine shadow lean toward me, so close I could almost reach out and stroke its flat, dark ears against the ground. I watched the grass move under it in the breeze, back and forth, while the shadow held perfectly still.
“I have to go,” the wolf announced suddenly. “A hare.”
“Oh,” I stammered. “Well—good luck.”
“Don’t ask the sparrows the way,” it said as it darted off. “They always lie.”