“It was Myra who gave the prophecy,” Roman replied.
My father sighed. He looked into the desert and then back up the trail. “I’ve been here long enough,” he said. “I must get back to the pack and make arrangements. Locke and many other leaders are here. I have to save some reserves for those wishing to maul my throat.”
He gripped me by the shoulder, his hand was strong but not harmful. He nodded and left without saying goodbye. The echo of his steps climbed up and away back into the cave.
Before leaving the entrance I sniffed the air once, listened to the winds. No one was waiting for us, no one was here.
Yet I could smellsomething.
“Yes,” Roman said, throwing an arm around my shoulder. “It finally comes. The prophecy truly begins.” We walked into the sands and skirted the wall. “Let’s head into the village and get ourselves a good meal. Might as well stay at an inn if we’ve got the chance.”
The Pools of Prophecy drifted away from us as we rounded the edge of the Whiteclaw village of Moondaj. The pools were inside a large rising pillar of stone, the cliffs sheer and earth hard. A pillared entrance had been built on the inside of the walls. Just off the square where the water came from the well. It was rumored that the waters of Whiteclaw came from the pools themselves too.
Roman and I entered through the gates as the evening descended upon the desert. The shadows were long and the mud brick houses turned from dull oranges to deep browns. The market stalls were still selling food and a number of homes were abuzz with families all sharing meals. The smell of meat filled the air, hot barbeques, and searing sizzles as we made our way further into the village.
The thought I’d had in the pools returned,it would be me to kill her.
We entered the inn of our father’s friend, Nicholas. He’d been a Captain for my father before losing his arm in a battle against Lady Skol’s guards. The injury had also taken the ability to shift from him. He was the only other person that knew of my existence.
“The Sharp Fang’s busy isn’t it?” Roman said, shouldering his way through the front room. “Hopefully no trouble for your father.”
“Knowing Locke and his wolves, I’m sure they’ll be fighting,” I replied.
Roman snorted and nodded, we pushed through to a table and waited for the serving girl to come. Nicholas was behind the bar and nodded at us, held up two fingers. The girl seeing this left to get our drinks immediately.
“Your father’s more worried than I’ve known him,” Roman said, watching the people around us. A drunk man was making a fool of himself.
“He’s angry and tripping himself up,” I replied. I watched the men too. They were boulders of muscle and mass. Locke had brought an army. “He’s getting impatient.”
“No, not impatient.” He was shaking his head. “Twenty years is a long time.”
“I know that, I’ve been told it my whole life.” I sighed. There was so much pressure burning in me. I had many things to do and no ways to do them. I’d been wandering with Roman my whole life, and for what?Some scent on the wind? If anyone was getting impatient, it was me.
“The girl is coming though,” Roman said.
“But how do you know?Really?” I said, the desperation in my voice.
Roman was quiet for a pause. “Do you remember when you first began shifting, and you could smell the winds and hear the whispers in the stones?”
I nodded as the serving girl returned with our drinks. I took a sip from the mug she placed on the table. The ale was bitter and sweet. Much tastier than the drinks we were offered further out in the Warlands by some of the nomadic wolves. The wild packs.
“Well, my senses are nowhere near as strong as yours,” Roman began. “We’re a strong bloodline, but you and your father are alphas for a reason. Locke and his men don’t even know what your fatheris. And you’re even stronger than that. Point is, you hear the winds that I can’t hear, sense things I can’t sense. But I always trust you.”
“Because I’ve helped us to avoid some tricky situations.” I grinned and Roman took a drink from his mug too, nodding along.
There was a yell in the throng of people further along by the stage, glass shattered and then there were the sounds of a fight starting. The flute player faltered. Two men emerged in the space and were swinging fists. One was a Whiteclaw and the other was a Firepaw.
Two men on the other side of us rose, readying themselves to join the fight. They were Firepaws too and already cracking their knuckles with glee. Roman fumbled his mug from his hand, clattering his hiking stick as he tried to save it. As he reached for the stick and swung the thing back up, he knocked one of the men under the chin.
He dropped unconscious.
Then he turned to catch the man, he stood, rising and caught the second man with his shoulder under the chin.
He dropped unconscious too.
Realizing that his two cronies weren’t joining him, and that he was now outnumbered in his fight, the Firepaw looked around in dismay. He waved his hands and dropped the fight. Laughter followed him.
I couldn’t stop myself laughing too as Roman tried helping the men up.
