Prunepit considered. He had never tried that on a wolf; his effort had always been to cooperate with Halfhowl. Yet
Softfoot's reasoning seemed valid: if he could do it with an alert wolf, he could probably do it with an allo. 'But what wolf? We need to integrate with our own wolf-friends; that's the key to this. I won't attack an allo alone; I need to coordinate an attack by a hunting party.'
'Maybe a volunteer,' she suggested.
Prunepit called to Halfhowl with his mind. As always, he did not send coherent instructions; it was more of a single thought, the concept of a wolf agreeing to do something special. In a moment Halfhowl tuned out; he was inquiring among his kind.
Prunepit and Softfoot walked out through the forest, waiting to meet with the wolves. The dew was bright on the leaves, and things seemed peaceful. Yet they knew that the ravening horde of allos was moving closer; peace was illusory.
Three wolves cut through the trees toward them. They were Halfhowl, Hardfoot, and Silvertooth. The first two were Prunepit and Softfoot's wolf-friends, both tawny and somewhat shaggy. But the third'You are the volunteer, Silvertooth?' Softfoot inquired, astonished. 'But your injuries-'
Silvertooth was Rahnee's wolf-friend, and had dragged herself back to help give the warning after the disaster. She was silver in more than the tooth; her fur was like the light of the moons, seeming almost to glow despite her advanced age. She was limping now, and moved slowly, for she had lost blood. She should have been lying in her den, recovering what strength she could.
Prunepit touched her mind, and understood. 'She feels she has no better use than this, now,' he reported, translating the feeling to human terms. 'She could not save her elf-friend, and may die herself, but she can help the rest of us oppose this menace.'
'That is very generous of her,' Softfoot agreed. 'Then we can do it now.'
But another wolf approached, this one with a rider. 'Do what?' Wreath asked. 'Why is Silvertooth out here?' Her wolf, Curlfur, stopped, and she dismounted. She was, as always, a splendid figure of a woman, even bundled as she was for the morning. 'I saw the wolves coming here, and so I followed.'
'Prunepit has a way to stop the allos,' Softfoot said. 'We're about to test it.'
'Oh? What is it?' Wreath turned to Prunepit, gazing directly into his face for the first time.
As their eyes met, something happened. Prunepit had always known that Wreath was beautiful; now her beauty seemed to intensify like the sunrise, striking through to his heart. He stared at her, almost unblinking. 'Aiyse,' he said, awed. It was her soulname, a thing she had never told another person.
'No,' she whispered, horrified, staring back at him. 'Not this!'
'What's the matter?' Softfoot asked, perplexed.
'It's Recognition,' Wreath said, never breaking off her gaze into Prunepit's face. 'I know your soulname. Owm. I know its meaning. But I never sought this!'
'Neither did I,' Prunepit said. She had, indeed, read his soulname: that concept-sound that defined his essence. The thing that distinguished him from all other elves. His ability to relate telepathically to animals was defined by that name. 'I love Softfoot.'
'It can't be!' Softfoot cried with dismay. 'This-we have other business!'
'Not anymore,' Wreath said. Then she wrenched her gaze away. 'Oh, why did this have to happen now?'
'Maybe we can fight it,' Prunepit said without conviction.
Softfoot regrouped. 'Fight it? Easier to fight the allos!' she said angrily. 'Recognition is absolute.' Then she realized what she was saying, and tears stifled her. Her relationship with Prunepit had been based on understanding and
acceptance and respect, not Recognition. Recognition was the involuntary mating of particular elves, seeming to be a mechanism of the species to ensure offspring that bred true.
'It must be a mistake,' Prunepit said. 'I don't love Wreath.'
'And I don't love you,' Wreath said. 'I never had any interest in you! I don't have any interest now!' For the first time, he was seeing her expressing genuine emotion-and of course it was negative.
'Let's be practical,' Softfoot said. 'Recognition doesn't care whether two people love each other, or even whether they like each other. It's just a mating urge. We all agree we don't want a-a longer relationship. Could we perhaps hide it?'
'From whom?' Prunepit asked. 'It's all I can do to keep my hands off her!'
'Try to manage it, though,' Wreath said grimly.
'From the others,' Softfoot said.
'To what point?' Wreath asked. It was obvious that this was a phenomenal nuisance to her, despite its validity.
'To the point of getting the mating over with the least disruption of our lives,' Softfoot said with difficulty. She would have given anything to have been the one to Recognize Prunepit, and now had to accept its manifestation in one who didn't want it or him. 'Since Recognition can't be resisted, the only way to make it go away is to complete it.'
'Complete it?' Prunepit said with horror.
'I know you love me,' Softfoot said. 'Why don't you do what you have to do with her, and when it's done, turn your back on it and be with me? I confess it's not my favorite situation, but it does seem the best way through.'
Prunepit looked at Wreath. 'And never tell the others,' he said, finally understanding what Softfoot was offering.
'And never tell the others,' Wreath said, brightening. Her cold nature seemed unaffected by the Recognition; she
was eager to minimize its inconvenience. 'Maybe that would work. Except that when the baby comes-'
'Any elf would be glad to think he made it-with you,' Softfoot pointed out. 'Who would suspect Prunepit?'
'I have not been with any elf!' Wreath protested.
'They won't believe that,' Softfoot said. 'They'll assume you have a secret lovemate.'
'Meanwhile, we can try to stop the allos,' Prunepit said, uncomfortable with this dialogue.
Wreath looked at Softfoot. She was quick enough to recognize the proffered convenience. 'When?'
Softfoot shrugged. 'Now, if you want.'
'I don't want! But if it's medicine I must take, the sooner the better, so I can forget it.'
'We were going to run our test,' Prunepit said with an edge.
'Let's find a good place for it,' Softfoot suggested. Prunepit was unable to read her exact meaning, but evidently Wreath did.
They mounted and rode their wolves to a sparse section of the forest, well clear of the elves' usual haunts. They drew up at a large thicket of brush through which animal paths threaded. 'There,' Softfoot said brusquely. 'I will scout about with the wolves.'
'Now, wait-' Prunepit protested as she rode off. But Wreath took him by the hand. 'The faster we get this over with, the better,' she said. 'If we're lucky, one time will do it. I assure you this is no fun for me.'
'Oh.' He followed her into the brush. He never would have believed that he could anticipate such an act with such a lovely creature with so little enthusiasm. Wreath had no concern at all for his feelings, or for Softfoot's. If she could have gotten bred without being physically present, she certainly would have done it.
But when she opened her leather tunic and smiled at him,
he found it impossible not to react despite his awareness of the calculated nature of her actions. Her bosom did not look as if it contained ice; indeed, she was warm all over. Perhaps the Recognition changed her nature, for this one occasion. All the elfin conjectures about the loveliness of her body when naked were emphatically confirmed.
'Turn your face away,' she said, reminding him abruptly of reality.
He did so, trying to imagine that it was Softfoot he held, but it was no good. He knew it was Wreath, and that she was facilitating this chore so that it would take the very minimum time. Such was the compulsion of the Recognition that it made no difference.
Softfoot rode Hardfoot, circling around the thicket. The wolf had been named for his thick claws and heavily callused pads. His tough feet were exactly what she needed, and she had always appreciated this. Perhaps that
