The boy grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the rock face. “We can’t leave them. Please.”
“What? Who?”
“The puppies. Please. They’re in a cave, there behind the bushes. They are still alive, but their mother is cold. I think she is already dead and they won’t survive much longer. We need to take them back to the shieling and warm them at the fire.”
“Puppies? What? Caelin…”
But the boy had pulled the bushes aside and made to crawl back through.
“Wait.” Arne stopped him, and chopped at the bush with his axe, clearing the mouth of a small cave. He scratched his head. How had Caelin known this was here? He didn’t think the boy had ever been up here before. And to not only know there was a small cave, but to know there were puppies inside it? Except that out here on these moorlands the creatures could not be puppies.
At least it was not an ambush, but this only opened up a whole new set of questions. Caelin had said he heard them, but that was impossible. Was this like Aoife’s visions? Arne had been grateful for her warnings in the past, so perhaps it was best to not reject Caelin’s discovery out of hand either.
“Careful,” Caelin said. “Don’t hurt them.”
Caelin pulled the last of the undergrowth aside and Arne peered in. He tensed when he noticed movement in the den, then sighed and knelt down. He placed a hand in front of the mother wolf’s mouth but felt no breath. Carefully, he checked for a pulse, but there wasn’t one. Then he put a hand on Caelin’s shoulder and together they looked at the two little cubs, curled against their mother’s still body. Caelin reached towards them but Arne stopped him.
“These are not puppies.”
“But—”
“They are cubs, wolf cubs, and they will grow up wilder than any hound.”
“But they’re so tiny. And they’ll die.” Caelin’s eyes were wide and his expression stricken.
“I’m sorry.”
“But…” Caelin swallowed. A single tear ran down his cheek before he wiped it away violently. “But… but they’re just like me…”
“They’re not. You have your mother back at the shieling and she is very much alive and worried sick about you. We must go back before we get too cold and something bad happens to us, too.”
“Can’t we take them? They are still so little and so warm. I don’t want them to get cold, Arne. Do you know how cold someone is when they are dead?”
Caelin’s face was so pale and sad it nearly broke his heart. Who had he seen dead? His own father, maybe. He pulled the boy against his chest and hugged him tight, felt him choke down a sob. Then Caelin stretched his arms around him as far as he could and squeezed him, before he pulled his head back to look Arne in the eye.
“Please, Arne. I need to help them. I will let them go when they are bigger. Please.”
“Caelin, we cannot be sure that we will survive ourselves even without cubs to care for.”
“Then helping is the right thing to do. Why should we expect to survive when we deny another that right?”
Arne was proud of the way the little boy stood up straight, his arms pressed against his sides, determination on his face. “I’m not going without them. I can’t think of them here, getting colder and colder until… Please, Arne…”
One of the cubs squirmed, sensing now that something was wrong. It lifted its little head, then flopped back down and nuzzled closer to the other cub. Then it lifted its head again and sniffed the air. Shivering as it caught their scent, perhaps.
Caelin was right. If the wolves did not survive, if they couldn’t help them, it would be sad, but the guilt he would feel if he deliberately left them out here knowing they would die was worse. And he doubted Caelin would ever forget or forgive him.
“All right, then. But you must remember these are wild creatures, not pets. They cannot stay with you forever.” Arne reached out and carefully picked them up when Caelin nodded. The onewhich was more awake tried unsuccessfully to gnaw on his gloves and he smiled at the sight. Arne stood, the cubs held securely against his chest. With his other hand, he wrapped his cloak around him, then gripped Caelin’s hand tightly.
“Come, we must go back to your mother. Quickly, and there must be no more running off. Your mother was distraught. And those men earlier… They may still be around.”
Caelin nodded solemnly and glanced back at the dead mother wolf. Then he wiped his hand across his eyes and they made their way slowly back through the swirling snow to the shieling.
Arne was used to travelling alongside groups of other warriors, and sometimes even families, but in this moment, the weight of responsibility was heavy. Tormod acknowledged Einar as his, and so the responsibility for his own son had never sat fully on Arne’s shoulders. And his foster son, Elisedd, had a loving mother in Rhiannon. Both would be cared for in Kirkjaster while he was gone. But up here on the moors it was entirely up to him to keep Gemma, Caelin and now two tiny cubs alive.
At least he was sure Gemma had not sent Caelin out to meet any of her kin. He shook his head. How could he have thought such a thing? Perhaps, after all, he could trust her. At least for a few days. Then, just as he had allowed to happen before with Einar, he would simply say nothing of his feelings and let Tormod decide their future once they were back in Kirkjaster. He tried not to admit this was the coward’s way out.
Caelin tripped and only Arne’s firm grip on his hand stopped him from falling. Arne was impressed that he kept going once he had righted himself, but the fourth time he tripped, Arne knelt beside him. “Do you want me to carry you?”
