ONCE THE LAST of the prizes were awarded and the campfires were stoked for an evening of traditional storytelling, Pack Leader approached the reclusive pair. “Tiwaz, Shaman is very impressed.”

“Thank you, Pack Leader. It was an honor to be welcomed by your people and permitted to participate.”

Speaking in the human tongue for Doom’s benefit, he continued after a pause. “He is especially impressed with your pack-brother. His numerous victories displayed impressive knowledge and skill. His name may not be like our traditional pack names, but he has shown he is worthy of acceptance.” With more formality, he intoned, “Shaman has decreed you will be known as Doom-Not-Demon among our tribe.”

Doom bowed graciously. “I am honored. Thank you.”

“See? I told you this was not my realm. It was yours,” she pointed out to the gromek affectionately.

The older wolflen chuckled. “You do not understand exactly how impressed Shaman is, Friend Tiwaz. He has given permission for you both to attend the final event.” Both looked curious. “None of the other humans will be offered this chance, because they do not hunt in packs; they are more solitary hunters, and that is not our way.

“You are a true pack, small as it may be considered. I hope our instruction will be enough for you to consider allowing your pack-sister to hunt by your side in the future, Doom-Not-Demon.”

Doom chuckled quietly, looking down at his friend. “It is more than enough.”

Pack Leader took a deep breath. “The final contest is a hunting pack contest. Each pack is sent in a particular direction with a vague destination given. The object is to find a cache of objects. They had been hidden weeks ago to dissipate the scent of those who hid them. You must find them, and return first before the high moon.”

Tiwaz frowned, confused. “But I thought wolflen hunt in packs of no fewer than three. We are only two.”

He nodded. “That we know. However, we will allow one of our own to join you. A youth who earned his pack name this past full greater moon. He has yet to choose those with whom he will run because he is more solitary than most. His art makes him so.” Tiwaz tilted her head to the side. “My youngest son Tracker.”

“I know him.” She looked to Doom. “He is very gifted.”

Doom bowed to Pack Leader. “We will be honored to hunt with your son.”

The wolflen smiled, returning the bow. “Smith is right, Doom-Not-Demon. You are more than you appear. My son does not speak the human tongue well, but he is a willing student.” He turned and beckoned to a wolflen standing apart from several others clustered together.

The young male was nearly as tall as his sire, but not as broad in the chest, still possessing the lean body of youth. Standing proudly before Doom and Tiwaz, he displayed no trepidation, but definitely a hint of arrogance. “Tracker show true hunting. Return with victory.”

As the young male walked off with an arrogant, self-assured swagger, Doom and Tiwaz lagged a little behind him. The smile in the gromek’s voice was apparent. “A pack with you, me, a wolflen and two huge egos. This ought to be interesting.” He chuckled when Tiwaz elbowed him.