“Oh yeah? Then you go check it out if you’re so sure there’s nothing there. I’m telling you, Billy, I heard something big moving around in those bushes. I bet I hit it right through the heart!”
There was a silence. My heart raced. I could almost understand them. It seemed as if I’d heard the sounds they made with their mouths sometime long ago. I felt sure I could understand more if I only had more time to listen and remember.
I understood the other animals who lived in our swamp. They all had their own cries of greeting and warning and fear. But this was different.
It was like some big part of me was waking up after a long sleep. It was wonderful, exciting. But it was scary, too.
“They’re your arrows,” said the one called Billy. His voice sounded shaky. “You go check it out.”
“All right. I’m going.”
One of the creatures began moving through the bushes in my direction. I tensed. What should I do?
I couldn’t let them catch me.
But if I tried to run they’d shoot more of those sharp flying things after me. Besides, I wanted to hear more. I wanted to see them up close. I wanted to know why I had never seen or heard them before.
As the creature stumbled blindly through the undergrowth I crouched, hiding behind a tree. My hand closed over a good-sized rock.
“Yuck!” the boy cried. I heard the sucking sound that meant he’d stepped in a mud hole.
“What was that?” said the other one, Billy. There was fear in the breathy sound of his voice. It calmed me—they were even more scared than I was.
“I don’t know. Probably nothing.” He grunted, pulling his foot out of the mud. “This place gives me the creeps.”
Billy sounded frightened. “I think we better forget about those arrows and get out of here, Paul. I have a bad feeling about this.”
“I can’t! They’re brand-new arrows,” said the one called Paul. “My dad just bought them for me.” Hesitant steps crunched toward me again. “It’s probably just a squirrel or something.”
The smell of their fear was thick in the air. But the one called Paul was coming closer. I had to keep him from finding me. I threw back my head and opened my throat, letting a picture of Wolffather Thornclaw grow in my head until I felt I was him.
Then I howled.
“Arrrrroooooooooh!”
When I lowered my head I could hear them crashing and splashing through the wettest bog in this part of the swamp. I stood quickly, hoping for a good look at them. Although they moved slowly, stumbling into mud slicks and holes, tripping over tree roots and snagged by brambles, they were already almost hidden among the trees.
But I could see what I already suspected. They were Legwalkers, like me!
My own legs itched to follow. I wanted to know more. Where had they come from? But I sensed somehow it would be dangerous to get too close to these creatures. Torn between doing what I wanted and doing what I should, I bent to pick up the sharp stick—the ar-row—off the ground.
What a strange weapon! How did it work? I reached for the one stuck in the tree. It didn’t move. I tugged harder. It stayed stuck.
I dropped to my knees, and using both hands, worked the thing back and forth until it finally came free. I stared at the hole in the tree, excitement swelling in my chest.
Now I had to go after the Legwalkers! This arrow weapon made my throwing stick look like cub’s play. It had taken months to shape my throwing stick and sharpen it and learn how to throw it so I could hit something.
How had those two clumsy Legwalkers made this marvelous arrow fly fast enough to bury itself into the tree? I had to find out.
The creatures were crashing through the bog, away from me. I began to run silently after them. They had secrets I wanted to know. Secrets that would make me as good a hunter as a wolf.
Chapter 5
It didn’t take me long to catch up, despite all the time I’d wasted. They had stopped running and were stumbling along, out of breath.
“That was really weird,” said the one called Paul. He had a curved piece of wood slung over his shoulder—the arrow shooter.
“Maybe we should go back,” said Billy.
“Go back? Are you crazy?”
“What if it was somebody’s dog you shot?” Billy had a worried look on his face.
Hidden in the trees, I peered at them through the leaves. I felt they were talking about me and thinking of going back. How could they not be more scared by my ferocious howl?
“It didn’t sound like any dog I ever heard,” said Paul. His arrow shooter caught on a branch and yanked him backward. “Ow,” he said, easing it off his shoulder. “I don’t see how the Indians ever sneaked through the woods carrying a bow,” he said. “It snags on everything.”
“Had to be a dog. What else could it be?” Billy insisted. “There’s nothing in these woods bigger than a squirrel.”
Paul had the bow in his hand. “Maybe it was a wolf,” he said. “My dad said there used to be wolves in this swamp.”
My pulse quickened. Suddenly I saw how I could get the arrow shooter for myself. Once more I threw back my head and howled.
“Arooooooooooh!”
Both Legwalkers squawked in terror and took off running. Just as I’d hoped, Paul dropped his bow.
I snatched it up and disappeared again into the trees. I loped off toward the wolf den, stopping every once in a while to try out the bow and my two arrow things.
I was acting foolishly, I knew, but I was so delighted with my new weapon it never occurred to me the young Legwalkers might come back. With bigger Legwalkers, carrying bigger weapons.
No, I never suspected that my carefree days were about to end, or that the
