Fear sank its jaws into Zima as she recognized the smell of magic. She pressed her nose to the ground and sniffed again. Like moonlight and decay – it burrowed into her nose, slippery and sinister. She shook her head and huffed to clear out her nostrils.
A shiver rippled through Zima’s silvery-gray fur. She knew what that smell meant.
The witch was nearby.
It almost seemed like the witch was following them. This was the third time Zima had smelled magic in the past three days. Her little brother Potok sneezed and scratched his paw at his snout. Together Zima and Potok backed away, out of the cloud of scent and behind a clump of spiky evergreen trees.
But Leto, Potok’s littermate, kept his nose to the ground. He turned to Zima with his ears back and his black fur on end. We should get Grom, he said.
It was the right thing for him to say. Grom was their older brother and the leader of the pack. He would know what to do about a witch.
But why did they need Grom? Zima was the second oldest. Surely Leto could trust her to handle the witch without Grom’s help.
Potok let out a whimper and pawed at the dirt. He clearly wanted to get away from the smell as much as she did.
She tried to take on an air of authority as she voiced her disagreement. We will be safer going to the home place, she said, referrring to the glen they’d marked as their territory, where they’d sleep for the next few days. We go the way we came -to the river- and follow back.
It would take much longer to go that way, of course, but it would give them a wide berth around the witch. And it would keep them clear of the dangers of the forest -towering hogweed plants that could trap a wolf for days, poison streams that gurgled with Waters of Death. Navigating the forest was dangerous business.
She waited for Leto to give the signal that he would follow her lead.
But he didn’t.
His body language spoke clearer than words: I want to call for Grom.
He wanted Grom to lead them. Zima stared Leto down, trying to shake away the hurt that clung to her chest. But instead, he raised his nose to the air. With his jaw jutting forward, he prepared to howl.
Before he could, a rustle ahead made Zima’s ears prick.
She nudged Leto and pointed with her snout. He swallowed the howl. Together they turned to peer at something beyond the grove where they stood.
A figure was just visible, lurking between the trees.
The witch?
But there was no smell of magic about this person.
Zima crept closer and crouched behind a large rock, with Leto following close behind. His tail began to wag as he caught the scent Zima tasted on the breeze. Potok’s nervous breathing pulsed in the clearing behind them, where he kept his distance from the danger.
It was no witch. The thing, moving through the woods mere whiskers away, was a human girl.