The allo lurched this way and that, thinking to snap up its tormentors, but they were impossibly elusive. Prunepit had linked the minds of the wolves to the mind of the reptile, and the wolves had better minds. They reacted more swiftly to the allo's thoughts than it did itself, so that any action it tried was useless. The system was working!
Or was it? The attacks and counters continued, but the allo was taking no significant injuries, and the longer the action proceeded, the more alert the reptile was becoming. It was really a standoff, with neither side able to harm the other. Prunepit had assumed that once they nullified the reptile's attack, it would be only a matter of time before they killed it. Now he saw that this was not the case.
What good was it to harass the allo if they couldn't hurt it?
There was a growl from the side. A second allo was coming!
'Withdraw!' Prunepit cried.
The elves resumed contact with their wolves. The group fled from the allos, outdistancing them. But the field of battle belonged to the reptiles.
They drew up in a glade. The wolves were panting; they had been working hard. The elves were in good order, but they had lost a number of spears and arrows.
Prunepit was dejected. 'The thing is too tough,' he said. 'Our weapons won't dent it!'
'But it couldn't touch us!' Softfoot exclaimed. 'We were like ghosts to it!'
'Ghosts can't hurt real folk,' he reminded her. As a general rule, elves did not believe in ghosts; a dead elf was dead, with no apologies. But the five-fingers believed, and so the concept was known, if not respected.
'We just have to find its weak spot,' Softfoot said. 'If we strike there, then we'll have it!'
The discussion lapsed. There had been no evidence of any weak spot. The allo was protected at every point.
There was a crashing in the brush. Another allo was coming! Hastily the elves mounted, and the wolves fled the glade. If there had been any doubt who controlled the terrain, this removed it. It was becoming increasingly evident why the allos had defeated Rahnee; the elves had never before encountered so tough an enemy.
Prunepit found himself riding next to Wreath. She beckoned him closer. Did she want another mating? This was hardly the time, even if the Recognition was developing its imperative again.
But she had another matter on her mind for the moment. 'I think the allo must be soft inside,' she said as Prunepit's ear came close.
He laughed bitterly. 'I do not care to go inside it!'
'But if we could attack it from inside-'
'How? Without first encountering its teeth?'
'By getting something inside it,' she said. 'I notice that it bites at anything it reaches. Suppose it bit a burning ball of tar?'
Prunepit's mouth dropped open. 'The tar pit's not far from here!'
'Yes. Why don't you tell the others?'
'But it's your idea!' he protested. 'You should have the credit for it!'
'I want you to have the credit.'
'Why?'
'Because if it works, you will be chief.'
'Yes! So you could be-'
'I am no leader,' she said. 'You know that. But you could be.'
Prunepit was not at all certain that she lacked qualities of leadership. Wreath had fought well and kept her poise throughout, and now she had an idea that well might turn the tide of battle.
She was also infernally beautiful, and his Recognized.
Her wolf veered away. The dialogue was over.
Prunepit shrugged. Of course Wreath did not want to be seen with him. They had agreed that no one would know of their Recognition. Still, she could have given her notion to another hunter. Why had she wanted him to have the best chance to be chief? He was sure that she had a selfish reason, and it bothered him to be the beneficiary of a gift whose motive he did not understand. Still, Wreath was Dreamkeeper's grandchild and she remembered things even Zarhan had forgotten.
Softfoot rode close. She did not speak; she just glanced at him. He knew she had observed his dialogue with Wreath. Surely she misunderstood its nature!
He beckoned her. 'She has a notion!' he called as she came closer.
Softfoot made a moue.
'Not that one!' he exclaimed. 'She-'
But Softfoot's wolf diverged, and he could not finish. He had hurt her, without meaning to. If only he could send to his own kind as well as he could to animals!
Well, perhaps his action would clarify it. 'To the tar pit!' he cried, gesturing in its direction.
At the tar pit they drew up again. There were no allos here, yet.
'If we gather tarballs, and light them, and feed them to the allos, that should kill them,' Prunepit said.
The elves considered. 'How can we feed the monster a
tarball?' Dampstar asked. He had come by his name when traveling at night, seeing a star reflected in the river.
'With an arrow,' Prunepit said. He picked up a stick, dipped it in the thick tar, and got a blob on the end. 'We must have the tar-arrows ready, and light them when we approach the allos, then shoot them in when the time is right.'
'But only the wolves know when the time is right,' Softfoot pointed out. 'We cannot connect to the mind of the reptile.'
'I might do it, if Curlfur warns me,' Wreath said. She was an excellent shot with her bow. 'But I will need some help in setting up my arrows.'
Several male elves volunteered immediately to help. Prunepit was left alone for a moment with Softfoot.
'It was a good notion,' she said. 'I'm sorry for what I thought.'
'But I don't understand why she gave it to me,' he said. 'She said it was because she could not be chief, but I could. Does that make sense?'
'She wants her child to be the offspring of a chief,' Softfoot said, biting her lip.
'But if no one knows the father-'
'The blood knows.'
He looked at her. 'You know I could not resist the Recognition. But my feeling for you-'
She turned away.
'It's your child I want to have!' he cried.
'I cannot give you what she can.'
'How do we know that? Breeding is not limited to Recognition! Maybe-'
She faced him. 'I have not denied you,' she said. 'I would have your child if I could. But it may not be possible. That may be why the Recognition struck. It knows.'
'If only-' he began. But then the elves returned with Wreath's arrows, each dipped in tar.
'We must have a firepot, too,' Wreath said.
They filled a container with the tar, and the elf who had the fire-talent struck flame, lighting it. The tar burned with guttering vigor, throwing up thick smoke. The wolves shied away from it, apprehensive about the fire, but Prunepit touched their minds and showed how this fire was their friend. Curlfur even consented to carry the firepot, smoking in its harness, so that Wreath could have it ready without delay.
It was now midday. Prunepit hesitated. Was it wise to tackle the allos again now, when they would be most vigorous? Yet if they waited another day, the reptiles could be almost at their lodge. It would be better to do it here, where there was still room to retreat.
They rode slowly back to intercept the allos. It did not take long; the horde was in full motion, on its search for what little prey remained.
'We must strike quickly, and retreat,' Prunepit warned them. 'We don't know how long it will take the tar to do the job. It doesn't have to be fast, just sure. Now turn over your wolves to me.'
The elves did so with better grace than before; though they had not succeeded in killing the allo, they had
