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Darwin's Legacy

How can I describe the taste of her lips when we kissed in words that you will understand? How can I make you see how vibrant she was or the gleam in her eye when she looked at me? What about the joy in her laugh or that faint scent of strawberries that you could smell only if you buried your nose in the ruff of her neck? How can one express that? No matter how hard I try or how well I describe her each of you will form their own and slightly different image of her. But if you recall that image each time I mention her, and if that makes you smile fondly, sigh with regret, or weep because you will never have the chance to know her, than that is good enough.

She had eyes that shone like river stones. She was as fit as a warrior, and yet had breasts as soft as eider down. Her beauty was unsurpassed. She was quick to laugh and slow to anger, but unforgiving when she lost her patience with someone. She was kind and gracious to all she met, and treated everyone equally well until they proved themselves unworthy. She was perfection. She had many companions, but only one lover, and that was I.

_How I long to stroke her soft fur once again, to feel the warmth of her breath on my neck and the pressure of her body against mine. _

_Ahh, but you grow restless. You did not come here to hear of my love for her. You want to hear about the events that changed the world. But you must understand the story of my lost love and that of the change are one and the same. One could not have come about without the other, and vice-versa. Confused? No matter, all will become clear as the tale unfolds. _

I will tell the story as I witnessed it or as those who were present at the events therein recounted it to me. For the sake of comprehension, I will translate all of the conversation into the common tongue. I will try to avoid elaborating events, embellishing facts or inferring motives and feelings for those I had no direct contact with, but where I do have to do so for the sake of continuity you may notice a certain degree of uncertainty in the narrative.

This may take a while so I suggest that you make yourself comfortable.

Ready? Then let us begin.

* * * * * * * *

** Chapter 1 - A Fine Balance**

The Ro-Ack sat sheltered from the constant drizzle under the ground-sweeping branches of a fir tree waiting for the scout to report back. While he waited he ran facts and figures and scenarios through his head. Most dealt with the hunt that they were currently engaged in, but many others were concerned with the life of the pack in general.

They were hunting without the pack leader, who had stayed behind with a small force because a pack that lived to the east had been threatening the den. The eastern wolves were starving because they lived further up in the mountains where game was scarce and the recent drought had killed off the edible plants there first. The Ro-Ack's pack was hungry, but not desperate because the land about their den was abundant in berries, and there are fish in the small river nearby. But the wolves were poor at fishing, they lacked the necessary patience, and they preferred to hunt for their meat.

Their den was in the foothills, overlooking the grassy slopes that were normally full of grazing antelope this time of year. But lately the heard had been shrinking It meant that they had to look harder and go further afield to find game, and expend more energy getting the meat back to the den.

If we are not successful on this hunt we may have to go to war on empty bellies, the Ro-Ack thought to himself, because it seemed that war with the eastern wolves was inevitable. That would be bad for moral and pack cohesion. There was already grumbling amongst the senior wolves that the pack needed a new leader, and some of the younger ones wanted to leave and form a new pack. That would be bad in the current circumstances. They needed all the force they could muster to fend off the eastern rivals.

They had been on the trail of a small herd of deer for days, and they were so close that he could smell their scent drifting on the wind, but they must have been getting craftier, because none of the scouts had reported their location yet. He peeked out from under the branches. The sky was ominous, filled with fast moving clouds as hard and grey as the Ro-Ack's eyes. Then he saw a scout approaching on the trail looking from tree to tree for the one the Ro-Ack was sheltering under.

"Have you seen any game?" He called out as the scout neared.

"None." The scout reported, hurrying over. "And there is rain in the air. We have found shelter, enough for the whole hunting party, a few hundred yards east of here."

The wolves did not like to hunt in the rain, but the Ro-Ack could tell that the storm would last for several days. If they were to go into shelter they would lose the herd and that would be the end of this hunt. They would return having failed. But the wind was blowing from the direction the prey was headed, and the smell was stronger than ever.

"Did you see any trails?" He inquired.

"Two small ones that merge about a mile ahead." The scout admitted. "But look how dark the sky is getting." The Ro-Ack ignored his whine.

"Were there any fresh tracks?"

"Some yes, but ... the sky!"

Wolves do not like to hunt in the rain, the Ro-Ack considered, but the herds did not like to move in the rain either, and the downpour would cover the sound of their approach, just as the strong headwind would blow away their scent. He thought for a few moments and then issued instructions to the scout. The younger wolf opened his mouth to protest, but the Ro-Ack cut him off.

"Pass on my orders and then stay and wait for the rear guard. Tell them to follow us. We will need their strength to carry the meat back to the shelter." He stood as he spoke, and stepped out from under the shelter of the fir tree just as the first drops of rain fell. He ignored them as they trickled down his face.

"Yes Ro-Ack. I will tell them." The scout's tone bordered on insubordination, but the Ro-Ack dismissed him without rebuke. If they caught the herd napping the scout would have new respect for his Ro-Ack. If they did not then the grey wolf would have more important things to deal with.

He stood in the rain where the rest of the hunting party could see him as they came out from shelter and moved off in the direction that he believed the deer would be. As the hunting party disappeared into the mist the scout returned, as ordered, and hunkered down under the tree that the Ro-Ack had lately abandoned. The grey wolf ignored him and moved slowly in the direction the hunters had gone so that he would be close enough to provide guidance if something unexpected happened, but far enough back so as not to interfere with the kill. If there was a killing to be made, he reminded himself. As he walked he ruminated on the ways of wolves, the state of his pack and his role in it.

Ro-Ack was not the large grey wolf's original name; it was a title he had assumed two years before. In his language the words meant 'balance', and it was the name that he went by now. No one in the pack called him 'The' Ro-Ack, but he still though of himself that way.

While the canines and felines that lived in the fertile valleys spoke the common tongue exclusively wolves, foxes and coyotes had retained their own languages. The wolf language was a simple one with only a relatively few words. Because the lexicon was limited each single syllable word had multiple interpretations and one had to derive the correct meaning from the context of the conversation. Combining words together gave them new meaning, and they were further nuanced by the twitch of an eyebrow, the curl of a lip, or the flick of a claw.

The word Nor for example could mean health, heal, healer, healed, good or proper. Wolves typically greeted friends by saying "Nor" in a neutral tone to mean "How is your health today?" The usual answer was "Nor" spoken in an equally casual way to mean "I am healthy, thank you." A wolf recently wounded in a fight that joined a hunting party already in the field may be greeted by one of the leaders with a demanding "Nor" accompanied by the lift of the left eyebrow to mean "Are you healthy enough to participate in the hunt?" The newly healed member may answer "Nor" with a tilt of his head to the right and add "nor" said softly while looking down, to say "I visited the healer and it should be good enough now, so with your permission I would like to join the hunt."

It was a language well suited to hunters and warriors because you could have a whole conversation with a few quiet grunts and subtle movements. His conversation with the scout had been such.

Ro could mean up, upper, senior, nose, or lead. Ro-Ro meant Chief, and it was the name taken by whoever is the current leader of the pack. Ack was the opposite of Ro and could mean down, downwards, lower, tail, or follow. To the lupine mind, Ro-Ack therefore meant balanced, even, or fair because it was neither up nor down, it was something in-between.

The Ro-Ack's job in the pack was to keep balance, to even things out, and make sure that everyone got their fair share. He did not hunt, but he directed the hunters based on the reports of the scouts. He did not lead war parties, but he made the detailed plan of attack that they were to follow under the direction of the pack leader, the Ro-Ro. When the pack was on the move he had to ensure that the faster wolves did not leave the slower ones behind. In the den he made sure that the stronger wolves did not dominate the weaker ones. He was the negotiator, the advisor, and the planner.

To do this effectively the Balance required an understanding of the herds and rival packs. He had to know what resources were available and what condition they were in. He also needed to know the talents, strengths and weaknesses of everyone in the pack, including his own and the Ro-Ro's. The current Ro-Ack had all these skills in abundance.

Physically he was large, as large as the Ro-Ro and almost as strong. His limbs were long, and well muscled. He was not one of the fastest wolves in the pack, but he had more endurance and stamina than any other. Like most Ro-Acks before him, he was quiet and serious in demeanour, preferring to listen rather than talk, but open and honest when he chose to speak. That happened so seldom when he was cub that his youth name was An-Rum, 'Little Silence'. But even back then his arguments were dispassionate and accurate, his analysis logical, and his suggestions clearly and fearlessly stated. That last attribute was why he was selected for training as a Balance.

"It is a Balance's job to be observant and weigh all factors." His predecessor told him at the start of his apprenticeship. "The leader is responsible for the welfare of the pack and he makes all the decisions, but the Balance must implement them by directing the Leaders of the various cadres. He must gauge the mood of the groups and advise the Leader with fairness and impartiality. That is why the Balance is never a hunter, or a scout, or a fighter, or anything else but the Balance. A Balance must be aloof, apart, and separate from the rest of the pack. A loner, but one who strives solely for the sake of the pack's welfare overall,"

"A wolf pack is a collection of ambitious and competitive souls." The previous Ro-Ack had continued. "A good Balance can serve any leader equally well, and does not take sides in the constantly shifting environment that is pack politics. A Balance must never be ambitious. He must never desire leadership. A Balance with his eye on the pack leader's position is not a Balance at all, but a sewer of dissent, a manipulator of loyalties, and a panderer of favours. One such as he would lead the pack to destruction."

He had gone on to explain how to select the smaller, swifter wolves to act as scouts, because the extra running will tire them out and the sense of accomplishment when they located game or enemy would make them proud. The larger, slower wolves usually went to the rear party, where they could plod along at a steady pace, staying out of trouble while preventing ambush from behind. They would catch up after the prey or enemy was located while the plan of attack was made and be fresh for when their strength is needed most. The most trustworthy and talented wolves could be put in charge of the semi-independent flanking parties sent out for security and to help envelop prey or enemies come upon unexpectedly. The stealthiest may be sent days ahead of the pack to spy out the land. But most of the male wolves would end up serving in the in the main body under direct supervision of the Balance. The leader, with a small group of guards, tended to move from group to group, supervising, correcting, criticizing or encouraging as required.

As an apprentice Balance An-Rum learned more about the pack and wolves in general than even his observant eyes and ears had picked up.

"The Balance must know enough about everyone's role in the pack and how they contribute to the welfare of the group." His mentor had advised. "If someone complains about a team's or individual's performance you will need to advise the Ro-Ro as to whether the complaint is justified. You will also be asked to help select apprentices for the various teams and positions in the pack. You will play a large role in deciding the fate of the pack members, and while they may still appeal to the Ro-Ro the leader will seldom overrule the recommendation of his Ro-Ack. If he does, however, you must understand why he made the decision and factor that into your future estimates."

Most of the males in the pack, even the younger ones like An-Rum, had a place in the hunting and warrior parties. As their talents showed they would be assigned as spies, scouts, chasers, assaulters or guards. When they matured they would be given names suited to their skills or attributes. Lan-Ah, literally chaser number two was, of course, a member of the chasers. Tie-Ro meant big nose, and the wolf that bore that name had an exceptionally long snout.

Most of the males would spend their whole lives in such groups. The exceptionally talented may eventually become team leaders, and earn the right to change their name. The head chaser, those that drove the game or pursued and cut off fleeing enemy, was Ro-Lan. The leader of the assaulters, the strongest, most stoic of wolves, was Ro-Fa, and so on. Future Ro-Ros usually spent some time in one of the secondary leadership roles before being elevated to the position of chief, whether that was trough consensus or battle.

Females were a different matter. In general, females took care of the den and raised the cubs. They cooked the food that the hunting parties brought back. They treated the hides and fashioned them into useful items or stockpiled them for trade. They shaped the clay pots and carved the wooden utensils that were used in daily life. They tended to the few domestic animals that the pack kept, mostly goats to provide milk for the little ones and a few laying hens. They gathered herbs and berries from the woods and fields around the den and cultivated a few gardens. The packs had not developed the art of agriculture to the degree that the dogs and cats living in the valleys had because so little of the land in their mountainous homeland was suitable for crops. They also tended to relocate every few years to follow the herds or because of war with another pack.

Females were usually named after their attributes. Lo-Ack was so named for her fluffy tail and Go-Ni for her unusual green eyes. There were exceptions, the Leader's mate always assumed the title Ro-Da, Leader's Shadow, and there were also several unique positions in the pack that were usually filled by females who also assumed the job's title. The pack healer was called Pak-Nor, and their apprentice Ba-Nor. The barterer, she who dealt with the foxes when they came into wolf territory with their wagons of trade goods, was called Fa-Ni, Steady Eyes, for the unflinching stare employed as a negotiating tool. The pack story teller, a position that had changed over the years to include duties as a scribe as well as that of historian, was called Da-Lan, Shadow Chaser.

At the moment, this Ro-Ack's pack had a male Da-Lan, an unusual occurrence. He was a large, shaggy, brownish wolf blessed with curiosity and intelligence and would have been an excellent prospect for leader of the spies if it were not for his twisted spine and misshapen legs. While extremely strong of arm, his deformities would not allow him to lift objects above the level of his shoulders or carry heavy loads any distance, and with his hobbling gait he had a hard time keeping up with the pack. That he had survived to adulthood at all had only been due to his tenacity, resolve, and his ability to sweet talk anyone out of a morsel of meat with his outlandish and entertaining stories. Being Da-Lan allowed him to stay back at the den with the females and elderly males without shame.

The current Da-Lan had been a cub-hood companion of the Ro-Ack, and he was happy to see his crippled friend settled in an honorable place in the pack. There had been other candidates when the previous Da-Lan had died suddenly last winter, but the misshapen he-wolf with the wry tongue and dry wit was the obvious choice, so the Ro-Ack did not feel guilty about recommending him to the Ro-Ro. Besides, he was the only one who knew all of the histories by heart. The new Da-Lan still needed to improve his reading and writing skills in the common tongue, but the Ro-Ack had a plan for that. After all, they had plenty of time; barring disease or a freak accident a den-bound Da-Lan could live past sixty, much older than the average male wolf.

Males tended to hunt or fight until they dropped dead or were killed in battle, but there were always a few older males living in the den. Some were great hunters or warriors who could no longer join the expeditions because of injury or illness. They took it on themselves to teach their skills to the male cubs in exchange for a place at the fire when the food was passed around. A few others were lucky enough to have sons that were successful enough to provide for their infirm parents. Ordinary, childless members that could no longer hunt or fight had to resort to trading, or starve. Some developed skills as artisans, making weapons or tools, or foraging for the materials necessary to make them, but they were not highly regarded by most of the rest of the pack. Only the Ro-Ack seemed to pay them any mind at all.

There was one other vocation in the pack, one that was always filled by female members.

There were always more males into the pack than females. In ancient times, according to lore passed down through the Da-Lan, this had not been a problem as most males tended to die young, before amassing enough of a reputation to attract a mate. But tools and weapons had made the hunt easier, and safer, and the battles between the packs no longer ended with the elimination of all males from the losing side. Now that they were burdened with valuable possessions it was sufficient to scare off raiders or chase a weaker pack away from good hunting grounds. Not only were there more healthy males in the pack because of this, they also no longer increased the number of females in the pack through the spoils of war like they did before.

As a result, almost a quarter of the young males would never have the prospect of mating. So a new occupation was created, that of concubine. Those that accepted this role in the pack took the title of Mi-Ran, Beauty Shared.

The Ro-Ack wondered how his latest recommendation concerning that position would affect certain others in the pack. Before he could consider the possibilities further his thoughts were interrupted by a bolt of lightning that was immediately followed by a clash of thunder. As the roar faded he could shouts, screams and wails from the direction the hunting party had gone. His ears swiveled forward and he opened his mouth to help amplify the sounds being carried on the wind. He listened intently, separating cries of triumph from those of agony, and identifying the source of each. After several seconds he closed his mouth and let his ears relax. Then one lip curled up in a small smile, and he sighed with relief.

There was nothing so fine to a wolf's ears as the cries of dying prey.

* * * * * * * *

Da-Lan looked up as lightning ripped the sky to the west. It was a full five seconds before the thunder came, so he knew the storm was still some ways off. He decided to stay where he was; crouched under an old oak tree on the edge of the clearing in from of the caves that had been their den for some years now. Like any good Da-Lan he spent much of his time observing nature and pack life and combining the two into entertaining stories, often mocking members of the pack. Many were the nagging mates that heard themselves parodied as chattering squirrels or plaintive jays.

Unlike his friend Ro-Ack, the humpbacked wolf did not think of himself as 'The' Da-Lan, even though he had only been granted the title a few months ago. He had comfortably assumed the designation as his adult name. It was much better than his cub name, Heg, which literally meant 'bent', and was very close to Hig, which could mean corrupt, dishonest or wrong. It was hard enough growing up deformed and abandoned by his parents without having such a name on top of it.

Thank Lu-Na that I had friends, he thought, looking up to where the moon would be rising if the sky was not obscured by cloud.

He plucked at his loin cloth idly as he wondered whether they would get much rain here at the den.

Silly things these loincloths, he thought. Their fur provided adequate warmth most of the year. It was only for modesty's sake that he wore one around the den. A wolf with modesty, he chuckled to himself, 'Modest' was never the first word anyone thought of with when describing a wolf. From the lore he knew that it had only been a few generations ago that wolves started covering their genitalia. But nowadays almost all of the wolves in the pack wore loin cloths or breeches purchased from the foxes. Some of the females had even taken to wearing bands of cloth tied across their chests, especially those who developed only a single pair of permanently enlarged breasts.

The wolves were changing, he realized. If one looked at the drawings on the walls of the caves that that had been home to one pack or another since time immemorial you could see the differences. Pelts had been thicker, ears had been longer, paws had been shorter, Thumbs were not as pronounced, and male genitals did not dangle like they did now. He studied the palms of his forepaws. The pads at the base of each finger were the same as the ones on the paws they walked on, although further apart, indicating that they may have been used for locomotion at one time. That was a reasonable assumption, he supposed, given that all of the old legends began "Once upon a time, when we walked on all fours ..."

The only females depicted with full breasts had two, three or four pairs, and were always shown with suckling cubs. Females rarely gave birth to more than one or two cubs at once these days, so two breasts were enough. Although why some of them always looked full of milk when the female may not even have breed yet was a mystery to him. Not that I have anything against big breasts ... unfortunately, he though as he clenched his paws and imagined what it must be like to squeeze one of them. His friend Ro-Ack, who had more experience in this area, said once that the size did not matter, anything more than a pawful was a waste, and then one of the older young wolves had quipped "you mean anything more than a mouthful" to general laughter.

Da-lan's thoughts shifted from that of the feel of a firm breast to imagining what one would taste like. Salty? Sweet? A combination of succulent pork and mother's milk? His loin cloth twitched as he unconsciously responded to the thought and he was glad for once that he was wearing one.

Just then he saw An-Gar-Lun crossing the camp, headed in the direction of Ro-Ro's Cave. He wondered what she could want with the pack leader, or he with her. He could understand it if she was going to see Ro-Ack; apart from Da-Lan, she had been Ro-Ack's only other friend growing up.

Before becoming the apprentice to the previous Ro-Ack, An-Rum had been a loner. His quiet ways and intense stares had been mistaken for aloofness by many his own age. But unlike the younger, spindly-legged Heg he did not suffer physical abuse at the paws of his peers. An-Rum's size and physical prowess prevented that. The future Ro-Ack also had a sense of fairness and justice that made him stand up fro the smaller and weaker cubs. Survival instinct prompted the misshapen little wolf to stick closely to the self-appointed guardian. Although An-Rum was several years older the two had become friends. Heg did all the talking, and An-Rum did all the listening, a perfect arrangement.

An-Gar-Lun had become an orphan while very young. Her father had been ambushed by coyotes while scouting for game in the lower plains. The other scouts had found nothing but bones and his broken spear, minus the spearhead which the coyotes had salvaged. Her mother had died from the hacking sickness she contracted while sitting out nights in the rain waiting for his spirit to return.

The starving waif had been stick thin and bedraggled when she emerged from the cave after her mother's death. Even through the grimy and matted fur one could see the beauty that she would become. But if she had been as ugly and twisted as Heg she would still have been preyed upon by the young adult males that had reached sexual maturity with no prospect of mating, had it not been for An-Rum and Heg.

The new orphan was younger than Heg, as young as Heg had been when he had first started hanging around An-Rum. But Heg had filled out in the intervening years. Wrestling with the larger wolf cub and lifting boulders to search for grubs to augment his diet had put muscle on his torso. By the time she showed up he had a broad chest and massive arms, quite the opposite of his skinny hips and bandy legs. The reticent An-Rum was almost old enough to join the hunting parties by then, and was certainly large and strong enough to do so.

The first wolf to try to force himself on the vulnerable youngster was an assaulter who outweighed An-Rum by half, but that did not stop the protective adolescent from knocking him off the screaming cub. The juggernaut was up in flash and began trading blows with the younger wolf. Heg tried to help by grabbing the assaulter from behind but a lucky blow sent him sprawling and he hit his head on a rock. When the heavier wolf got An-Rum in his grip it looked like it was all over, but then suddenly the she-cub scrambled up his hairy back and began tearing at his ears. Unable to protect his head and strangle An-Rum at the same time he let go and lifted his paws to pull the small female off, and that gave An-Rum enough of an opening to plant a kick in the region covered by the big wolf's loin cloth.

About that time the Ro-Ack had shown up and broken up the fight. He had stared long and hard at the peculiar trio before dragging the wounded assaulter away.

After that incident the three were never far from each other. They named the little she-cub An-Gar-Lun, Little Fierce Heart, because she had a warrior spirit that would have made Lu-Na herself proud. When Heg's sarcasm or An-Rum's stoic presence were not enough to deter their adversaries it was An-Gar-Lun that usually attacked first, from an unexpected direction and screaming like a banshee.

By the time that An-Rum was away most days hunting or warring with the adults Heg had had learned a number of wrestling holds that even fully grown wolves found difficult to escape. His grip had become so strong that no one that had an argument with him dared come within arm's reach. An-Gar-Lun had grown into a beautiful and graceful adolescent whose tongue was as sharp as her claws. The Ro-Ack eased her into the company of the pack matrons, where she could learn some proper manners and eventually find a mate or a vocation, or both. In order to ensure that the rest of the males did not get any ideas about her An-Rum let it be known that he would tear anyone who bothered her a new tail hole.

The relative peace allowed Heg the luxury of hanging out near the Da-Lan's shelter, listening in as she instructed the young wolves in the lore and taught her two apprentices to read and write. After watching him scratch his letters in the dirt for a few months old Da-Lan had invited him to sit in on the lessons. Within a year his knowledge of the lore had surpassed that of the other two apprentices and his ability to read in write in the wolf tongue was catching up.

Having more than one apprentice story teller was not unusual. Those that failed to win appointment as Da-Lan could assist the barterer or become scribes. Also, packs sometimes lost one through illness before training a suitable replacement. When a pack found itself lacking one of the critical specialties it would send emissaries around to the other packs, even their current enemies, in search of a substitute. Of course, suitable recompense was required. Two females suitable for mating would normally suffice in exchange for a female trained as a Da-Lan, while a fully-qualified Pak-Nor may fetch as many as five.

During the years that Heg was shadowing the Da-Lan and An-Rum was apprenticed to the Ro-Ack, An-Gar-Lun grew into a vivacious and flirtatious young adult. Anyone could tell that she would make someone a very lucky wolf some day. Da-Lan was hoping that it would be him.

Despite their close friendship he had never confessed his growing love for the feisty female. He knew that he had no right to expect that he would ever become mated, one out of four male wolves newer did. She-wolves placed a lot of emphasis on physical traits and skills when selecting a mate, and those males that were considered below average were seldom encouraged in their advances. Notwithstanding his important position in the pack, Da-Lan definitely fit into the lower end of the fitness scale. Asking her to mate with him when there were so many better alternatives could only lead to an embarrassing end to their friendship, he believed.

Besides, he suspected that she may have her eye on Ro-Ack. He would not blame her if she did. The two were a perfect match. Ro-Ack of course would not say anything, but Dal-Lan saw the way he looked at her. Her appearance always brought a small secret smile to the big wolf's face. With that kind of competition, he thought, what chance did a crippled prankster have?

Da-Lan had resigned himself to finding his companionship around the storey fire, and his comfort from the Mi-Ran. The thought made him shudder. Their Mi-Ran was neither young nor beautiful, and had developed an evil temper of late. Hopefully the Ro-Ro would replace her soon, before Da-Lan's urges overcame his reluctance.

As he pondered his fate An-Gar-Lun exited Ro-Ro's cave and stood blinking in the sun. Da-Lan wanted to call to her but he took the opportunity to admire her secretly while she was temporarily blinded.

She was not very tall, the malnutrition she had suffered as a cub had stunted her growth a bit, but she was slim and fit. Her fur was sleek and glossy, with a soft golden hue that darkened to brown on her back, tail, and face. Like many females of her generation she had pronounced hips, a narrow waist and only two breasts, but as Da-Lan had noted earlier, those two were round and firm and strangely enticing under her chest wrap. She wore a matching length of cloth around her hips. It hung to mid-thigh, leaving most of her long, shapely legs exposed. She had tied the cloth in a knot above her tail, and when she turned to look around the camp the skirt flared open to expose a pair of firm buttocks. But they were visible just for an instant, for she was soon facing back his way.

Da-Lan suddenly realized that she was looking straight at him, and his skin went red under his fur. Before he could pretend to be doing something other than staring at her she started striding in his direction. So What? He Reasoned. We're friends. Who says that you can't stare at your friends? But his cheeks were burning all the same.

An-Gar-Lun arrived in front of him in less than a minute and she stood there staring down at the seated wolf with an unfamiliar expression on her face. To Da-Lan she looked sad and determined at the same time. It made his brow wrinkle in confusion, but before he could ask her what was wrong her expression softened to something akin to the look he had always dreamed of seeing on her face. She smiled down on him in a loving way and she reached out and took his muzzle in her paws and then she said "Come with me."

Mystified, hopeful, and a little scared, Da-Lan dutifully stood and let her lead him by the paw toward the smaller caves at the edge of the den. These caves were not as deep as those in the centre, and not as well ventilated. They were seldom occupied. Mated Wolves preferred the central caves where there was always someone about to keep an eye on the cubs while they played, and unmated wolves generally slept in the large communal caverns.

These small caves were also harder to defend because they were separated from the main den and faced a different direction, but for that same reason they were very private. It was a popular trysting place for adolescent wolfs experimenting with their sexuality before choosing a mate for life.

At the very end of the rock face there was a lone cave that the three had taken shelter in occasionally when they were younger. Da-Lan saw that someone had fixed a buffalo hide inside to keep out the elements. The thick pelt would also block the view of any passers-by and muffle any sounds coming from inside the cave. Da-Lan could not recall ever seeing the hide there before today.

When An-Gar-Lun swept the curtain aside he saw that more changes had been made inside. The floor had been leveled, a platform had been built at the rear of the cave and soft furs were piled on it. Da-Lan suspected that under those furs was a thick layer of straw and moss. A lantern, one of the few luxuries that the foxes traded in that the wolves found useful, was hanging from a spur of rock on the right-side wall. A wooden platter attached to a log to form a small table stood against the left-side wall. There was a stuffed hide cushion on each side of it so two could sit comfortably. A small bowl stood in the centre of the table. The bowl was half full of water, and the flower of a lily floated on the surface. An-Gar-Lun lit the lantern and let the hide fall back across the opening while he took it all in.

Da-Lan opened his mouth to ask her who's cave this was, but before he do more than draw a breath she gently laid a finger against his lips. With her other paw she guided his to rest on her hip and left it there. Looking straight into his eyes, for with his twisted legs he was no taller than her, she placed both of her paws behind his head and started running her claws through the thick fur on the back of his neck. She smiled and gazed at him through half-closed lids.

Da-Lan swallowed hard. This was his fantasy come to life. Just as he had rehearsed a thousand times as he lay staring up at the stars, he raised his left paw and turned the back of it to her so that the knuckles brushed the fur on her cheek before dropping down to skim over the cloth that bound her breasts. Reaching farther around with his other paw he traced the bumps of her spine with the sensitive tip of one finger. When he reached the knot of material above her tail he hesitated, and then reversed direction until his paw touched the other knot between her shoulder blades. He left it there and softly caressed the muscles of her back.

The action had drawn them closer together, and their muzzles were almost touching. His was still half open from questions unvoiced. Hers opened as his warm breath tickled the hairs on her chin. Eyelids dropped as mouths widened. Moist lips met in a perfect seal, as if they were always meant to. She squeezed the sides of his face as their maws pressed hard against each other. His paws found the knots again and with two tugs they were gone.

"Annie!" He gasped out their pet name for her.

"Shhh, Sai-Ko." She whispered as she pressed herself against him. She had not called him that particular name, Dreamer, for years. She reinforced her instruction by pulling his mouth back to hers.

Da-Lan surrendered to the fantasy.

* * * * * * * *

It was hours before he found the time, the interest, or the energy to speak of anything other than how wonderful she was, how marvelous he felt or how magnificent this act he had been anticipating all these years had been. When they were finally too tired to do anything else other than talk he felt a little apprehensive about bringing up what had just transpired between them, so he asked the question that had first come to mind when they had arrived instead.

"This cave is a lot more comfortable then it was when the three of us used to shelter here." He commented, hoping he sounded nonchalant. "Who fixed it up?"

"The Ro-Da and the matrons." She answered from where she lay naked atop of him, referring to Ro-Ro's mate and the council of older females that were the de facto rulers of the den.

"The Matrons?" He asked, puzzled. The matrons may assign newly mated couples a cave, but new families were responsible for arranging their own living space. "Why would they do such a thing?"

"For the Mi-Ran." She said as she rolled off him to cuddle at his side.

"That old hag?" He laughed. "It will take more than a soft bed and softer lighting to draw males to her."

"You don't understand." She said softly, sliding her head under his arm.

"What don't I understand?" he asked, as he turned toward her and lifter her head so that she was forced to look him in the eye, a new fear knowing at the back of his mind. An-Gar-Lun bit her lip and looked lowered her eyes for an instant before she met his. Then a clear, almost tranquil, expression came over her, and she spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.

"This is my cave. I have accepted the title of Mi-Ran."

* * * * * * * *

Silver-Tip checked out the wagons one last time before the caravan moved out. The other foxes watched him silently as he moved from wagon to wagon, pulling on ropes that were not loose, tightening straps that were already tight, inspecting harnesses that were either brand new or freshly repaired. Finding nothing amiss he stood with his paws on his hips, trying to think of anything else that could possibly need doing. The rest of the group began to fidget. Usually they left their winter campgrounds as soon as the meadows had dried out enough to support the wagons that served as their homes, workshops, and mobile trading posts. But the ground had been hard enough for a week, and still their leader Silver-Tip was reluctant to depart.

He realized that he was looking for excuses to delay. Bad signs had been reported by foxes returning from their individual voyages and for the first time in his long life Silver-Tip was apprehensive about traveling. The wolf packs in the mountains to the east were getting larger, but the herds they hunted were getting smaller. On the dry plains between there and the meadows where the foxes made winter camp the coyotes were said to be cooperating instead of hunting alone as usual. Strangest of all were rumors from the coastal region to the west of the rise of a king. Of all the creatures that inhabited this land only the cat tribes and the dog villages seemed normal and peaceful, and that would only last as long as they stayed out of each other's way.

The old fox sighed and looked around at the assembled group. They were a rag-tag bunch, most of which were foxes with reddish fur with the usual white and black markings. One or two, like him, had the genetic mutation that caused the fur on their body to be black with a sprinkling of white hairs among them. The resulting pattern made them look like they were always frosted with snow or, in his case, silver. Thus the origin of his name, Silver-Tip.

But not all of the band were foxes. Outcasts from the other species were sometimes allowed to travel with the caravan if they had special talents and accepted the fox's leadership. Coyotes, cowardly as they tended to be, nevertheless made good scouts. Lone wolves or rouge dogs provided muscle and served as guards when they were on the road. Cats were good hunters, and their skill with a bow from a distance came in handy when negotiations went bad and the foxes needed cover for their retreat. But the strangers were not always reliable, and he wondered where their loyalties would lie when it came to real fight.

His eyes lit on his new mate, the strange and exotic Aster. Her downy fur was grey, with just a hint of violet. The way it surrounded her bright yellow eyes made her face look like the flower she was named after. She wore a long woollen dress that did nothing to disguise the growing lump in her belly. He realized that this was the real reason for dragging his paws.

He shook his head sadly. He wanted nothing more than to settle down in a quiet burrow and raise a new family with Aster by his side. But foxes needed to trade to survive, and the packs, villages, tribes need the goods they made from the scraps of metal and plastic they turned over in exchange. As the leader of the foxes, it was his duty to direct the caravans and carry out the negotiations with the other species to ensure the continued welfare of the group, at least until someone better stepped up to take his place. Unfortunately, there were no suitable candidates at the moment. He would have to swallow his fears and face his responsibilities. He turned to the assembled group and raised his voice so that all could hear.

"Let's roll!"