Stepping inside, Dewi immediately spotted Badger, Da, and Trent in the dining room with Ken, and a sad thought hit her.
Badger never calls me fuzzball anymore.
Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to gently close the kitchen door behind her and walked over to them as Dewster retreated to the shadows and Dewi Bleacke Ethelbert, the Head Enforcer and head of the expanded Pack Council, stepped into her brain and stiffened her spine. From the thick, somber soup of emotions rolling from the men, she didn’t know what, but she knew who.
She focused on Trent, not as little sister to eldest brother, but as Head Enforcer now speaking to the Pack Alpha’s second in command. “Tell me what happened to Peyton.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Peyton
Peyton managed to sleep a little. He didn’t hear the chopper return or any other vehicles. Just the wind, the rain, the normal noises of the animals, and the land. He waited until late in the day to cautiously emerge from his den and make his way, still shifted, to the top of the closest hill, where he thought he might have some sort of vantage point. Fortunately, it had finally stopped raining, and while there were still a few patchy clouds nearby, the skies had cleared.
Around him looked to be miles of wilderness, most of it thick forest. In the distance, more hills, cleared area that might be pasture or farmland, but not even a cell tower was visible anywhere on the horizon.
Fuck.
On the other hand, he also didn’t spot any pursuers, so there was that.
And at least his instinct that he’d been heading westerly was mostly accurate. From what he could tell based on the position of the sun and the shadows, if he continued following this route it’d take him more southwest than he’d originally thought.
The wind had stilled, but Peyton lifted his nose and sniffed.
Nothing unexpected.
Not even the hint of a highway anywhere close by.
He returned to his hideout, his stomach growling. He needed to eat, and soon. He wasn’t fond of hunting wild animals for his meals, but he was even less fond of starvation. Since there was no way he could take down a larger animal by himself—especially in his current condition—he started sniffing around the rocks and vegetation near his hiding spot.
Then he remembered the wolves.
He shifted into human form, rebundled his clothes and shoes, and then shifted back, carrying the bundle in his mouth. It was awkward, but while carrying it he could move faster on four legs than two. Wouldn’t be an advantage against aircraft if he were trying to run fast over flat, open ground, but if a human showed up and the wolves were still guarding their kill, it might not go well for him.
Fortunately, the wolves had moved on, but the remnants of the carcass remained, currently being picked over by two ravens.
There was very little left. Still, he nosed in and managed to find a few bites here and there. After he took in as much as he could stomach, which wasn’t a lot, he stayed shifted, ran down to the small stream, drank as much as he dared, then did the best he could to wash the gore and stench off of himself, shaking his fur.
When he returned to his clothes, the ravens were back on the carcass but warily eyeing him.
He shifted into human form and the startled birds squawked, taking off in a noisy flap of wings.
“Yeah, sorry,” he called out. “It’s all yours now, guys.”
He wrinkled his nose at the ripening carcass. At least as a wolf it hadn’t offended his human side. He could only imagine what he would smell like if he didn’t get out of there soon.
Dressing quickly, he departed as the light dimmed and shadows lengthened among the trees.
At least the large moon would help him see better. It wasn’t quite dark yet when he stumbled across a large patch of berry bushes. While many of them didn’t look ripe yet, plenty of them were.
“Can I be this lucky?” he asked out loud.
Peyton picked a ripe-looking one and pierced it with his thumbnail to look at the flesh inside.
“Fuck yeah! Bilberries!” He popped it into his mouth. It tasted pleasantly tart, similar to a blueberry. He picked as many of them as he could, eating others, mindful not to gorge himself on them and make himself sick.
That’d be irony, to survive and escape just to kill myself with dysentery from wild berries.
Stopping himself before eating too many, he pulled off both his socks, filled them with berries, tied the ends together, and looped them around his belt to carry them while keeping his hands free.
