Snow was falling by the time the wolves came near the clearing. Nashoba, working against his exhaustion, was happy to halt.
“Wait here,” he said. The four other wolves held back while Nashoba crept forward. Shivering, he stood behind a bush and peered out. His paw ached. His heart was beating so loudly, he wondered if the other wolves could hear it.
Ears cocked, eyes wide, nose sniffing, Nashoba studied the open area. The clammy air smelled of hard cold. Tiny snowflakes drifted down slowly, as if reluctant to drop. The ground was already layered with a thin veil of snow, which, in the fading dusk, seemed to glow. All was silent. There was no sign of the raven, or of elk.
Nashoba stole a quick look behind. The other wolves were watching him carefully. Tonagan’s eyes were worried. Garby’s were sullen. Nikito and Pildown stood patiently a few steps to the rear, their breath puffy and white.
Nashoba looked up. He could see no stars.
The old wolf turned back to the clearing, trying to decide what to do. Where is that stupid raven? Should I wait for her? Should I try to find the elk on my own? They could be miles away by now, and this snow will make hunting much harder.