Nashoba tried to make sense of all that had happened: Why had the human fed him? He had never heard of such a thing. Was it because he was young? Would the human come back? Would he bring more food? Or would he, this time, kill him? Was this human really the one who killed Merla? No, he couldn’t be. He was kind.
Then who killed the raven?
He didn’t know.
He wished he understood humans.
What Nashoba did know was that with all the food he had eaten, his strength was returning. Even his paw hurt less.
Working to stand up, he was much more successful. No longer shaky, or dizzy, he took a few tentative steps. Though there was still pain, he could tolerate it better. He could walk.
Nashoba wished he had not told Tonagan to run off. She would tell the pack what he had said about the human, and they would move away fast. He would never be able to catch up with her or his wolves again.
He stood quietly, gathering strength. The rain was starting to taper off. Mist drifted through the trees. I can move, Nashoba told himself. Even so, he didn’t. He was trying to decide if he should wait for the human to come back. Maybe he, like Merla, could be a friend.