"It's challenging in these gusts. You see those owls flying in?"

"Yes, sir." Faolan had never seen so many owls before. They seemed to be pouring in from all directions.

"See how they are flying just off the wind? *Crabbing,' they call it."

"Crabbing?"

"Yes, like a crab walking sideways, except they are flying. The wind is pushing them one way, away from their destination. So they angle their flight toward the direction of the wind. They are not really flying sideways, but instead of flying directly toward the slopes, they have slightly turned into the direction of the oncoming wind to compensate for the wind drift. The amount that the owls turn is called the wind correction angle. Now think about doing that when you jump."

"You mean I should jump into a gust."

"Yes, smack into it. And don't start your twists, flips, or pikes too soon or you'll miss the thermal drafts, and that's the great treat of leaping when the She-Winds blow." Twist looked up suddenly. "Look, Faolan! Look at that Masked Owl up there. By my marrow, I think it's your old friend Gwynneth a" a lovely flyer if there ever was one."

"How does she do it?" Faolan was amazed. His dear friend appeared to be gliding effortlessly in the buffeting winds above, never even waggling a wing.

"She's riding the thermals, those billows of warm air. They lift the owls up high. A free ride, you might call it. And you can do it, too. We can't get as high as owls do, to *owl point' as the term goes, but there's a place at the very top of a lifting draft that is known as the wolf's peak. Jump into a thermal and let it take you. It's the closest we wolves ever get to flying. Ready to try it?"

Faolan was so excited that his paws were almost dancing on the bones.

"All right. Now let's not rush this," Twist said. "When I say jump, you jump."

Faolan sensed the lead edge of a very hot gust.

"JUMP!" Twist shouted.

Suddenly, Faolan was rocketing into the air. It was so fast he barely had a chance to breathe. Embers whizzed by him like shooting stars. He had entered the sky, a peculiar firmament in which the constellations were composed of red swirling stars.

Faolan wasn't flying and yet he might have been. He had fur not feathers, legs not wings, and yet he felt a strangely familiar sensation a" a stirring just where his shoulders joined his backbone. The billowing drafts of warm air caressed his underbelly and lifted him higher still. He wasn't as high as the owls, but he was in their world and it felt good. So good that he almost forgot to do any of the moves he had learned. So he drew up his hind legs for a backward walkover.

"Faolan! Welcome to the sky!"

"Gwynneth!"

She waggled her wings and flew off.

"Very nice, very nice indeed!" Twist said when Faolan landed back on the top of the cairn. "But you nearly forgot your scanning maneuvers."

"I know! I know!"

"Don't worry. It's a common thing for young Watch wolves when they first discover thermals. Look over there at Edme on Morgan. She's getting a lot of bounce out of them."

Yes, Faolan thought, and she is managing several scanning moves a" a double twist linked to a backflip. Edme was not nearly as easily distracted as Faolan.

"What a jumper you are!" Gwynneth exclaimed as she alighted on the cairn. "A natural if I ever saw one." Faolan felt a surge of happiness stream through him.

"Well, I forgot to do any real scanning moves. It was just so a so a wonderful."

"You looked like you belonged up there with us."

"Really!" Faolan tipped his head to one side and looked deeply into Gwynneth's shiny dark eyes.

"Yes, really, Faolan. I never saw anything like it!"

After his shift was over, Faolan trotted happily back to the den. "Wasn't it fantastic, Edme?" he said, sliding down the slope into the den. "I mean, those drafts lift you right up. I felt it was as close as I'd ever come to flying like an owl a"" He broke off mid-speech. "Edme?"

Edme was curled into a ball in a far corner with her muzzle buried between her paws. Absolute silence as loud as any noise engulfed the den.

"Edme, what is it?"

Without looking at him and with her muzzle still buried, Edme mumbled something in a m.u.f.fled voice that Faolan had to strain to hear.

"You've been what?"

"Dalach'd," Edme said again.

"Dalach'd? No!"

"Yes. I can't jump for three nights."

"But why? What did you do?" Faolan asked.

"You know that arrangement of bones that they make so you can grip better?"

"Yes."

"I didn't show the proper reverence for the keybone."

"And so you got dalach'd? I mean, Twist never said anything about proper reverence. Did Winks tell you that?" Faolan asked, totally bewildered.

"It wasn't Winks. It was Banja. Winks wasn't feeling well."

"Banja a" that old she-bag of a wolf!"

"She hates me, Faolan. I don't know why. I mean, she's missing one eye. If anything, she should understand me better, like Winks does. I'm not allowed on the cairn for the next three nights. How will I ever learn to navigate the She-Winds?"

"It's wrong. Completely wrong. Winks would never have done such a thing. I think we should protest," Faolan said staunchly.

"No, no. And it's my problem, not yours. I'm just going to try and forget about it." Edme circled her caribou pelt before she settled down again to try to sleep.

Neither wolf could close their eyes. They were both thinking about Banja and her unrelenting criticism of Edme. It was a mystery. Although Banja's constant harping didn't qualify as abuse, it was damaging.

"Faolan, you asleep yet?"

"No."

"Do you ever miss them?"

"Miss what?"

"The old days."

Faolan was on his feet in no time. "Edme, have you gone cags? Miss being a gnaw wolf? Miss the MacHeaths and the delightful time you had in that lovely clan!"

"No, not that. But you know, when we were all at the gaddergnaw. I think that was the best time of my life. Except for Heep, I really liked those other gnaw wolves a" Creakle, Tearlach, the Whistler."

"I do miss the Whistler. He was a"" Faolan paused. "He was something special, I think. I loved his voice. It was almost as if that hole in his throat a I don't know, drew in a special kind of air that made his howls so much more beautiful even though he kind of croaked when he talked."

Imagine, Faolan thought. Banja has driven us to long for the awful old days when we were gnaw wolves. And then he remembered two other wolves a" Mhairie and her sister, Dearlea. By this time, Mhairie was probably a lead outflanker for the MacDuncans. Both of these sisters had come to his defense when he was wrongly accused of murdering a malcadh on the ridge, and then both of them cried with relief when he was exonerated of the crime and selected for the Watch. He was caught between the poles of two emotions a" the sadness that comes when missing old friends, and anger at Banja that he was looking back with such wistfulness to a time marked by scorn and abuse.

"One last thing, Faolan," Edme said in a small voice.

"What?"

Edme hesitated. She had vowed that she wouldn't tell Faolan this, but it felt like a stone too heavy to carry alone.

"What?" Faolan asked again.

Edme sighed. "You know what she said when I didn't hit the keystone at the proper angle?"

"What?"

"She said, *You and your friend Faolan are moldwarpy curs.'"

"What? She called us moldwarps?" Moldwarp was one of the most disparaging terms a wolf could use.

"Yes. I don't know what she has against you except that you're my friend."

"Cag maglosc," Faolan muttered, and then launched into what sounded to Edme like a string of Old Wolf curse words.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

A TWINGE IN THE MARROW.

TINY WHITE FLOWERS NO BIGGER than a pup's dewclaw bloomed out of the moss that clad the rocks of the Beyond. At night it seemed as if both the earth and the sky blossomed with stars. But the moss-flowers didn't last. The wind blew in an unseasonable snowstorm, which snuffed the flowers out.

At the Ring, there was incessant talk about the peculiar weather. The elders seemed worried, but Faolan was rather pleased, for the owls followed the She-Winds, and his learning took on a new dimension. He met owls, from Masked Owls to Great Grays, diving into the ember beds.

Although the weather was colder than usual for summer, Faolan rarely went to his and Edme's den when they were off duty. It was simply too interesting to hang about with the owls. Especially when a bird rarely seen in the Beyond arrived. She was a magpie who went by the name of Trader Luce and traveled with her a.s.sistant and a bundle of wares the likes of which neither Faolan nor Edme had ever seen.

"Where do they get all those a those a" Faolan grasped for a word to describe the strange objects. "Those things?" he finally blurted out.

"They belonged to the Others," Gwynneth replied. She noted the blank expression in the two wolves' eyes and sighed. "It's very hard to explain what the Others were."

"They were, not are?" Edme asked.

"Yes. They've been gone for thousands upon thousands of years."

"But what were they when they were?" Faolan asked.

"Well, to begin with, they didn't have wings," Gwynneth replied.

"Did they have legs?" Edme asked.

"Only two."

"What!" Edme and Faolan both shrieked.

"How could they get around on just two legs?" Faolan asked.

"Obviously not well if they've been gone for thousands of years," Edme replied.

"We only know about them because they left things behind." Gwynneth paused. "Let me take you down to meet Luce and you can see her *merchandise,' as she calls it."

"Merchandise?" Faolan and Edme said.

Gwynneth shook her head wearily. "I think it's a term from the Others. Means *stuff.' Come along, I'll introduce you. But for Glaux's sake, don't barter for anything. Luce would love to get her beak on some of your gnawed bones, I'm sure. You have to understand, for Luce, everything a" and I mean everything a" is merchandise." Faolan and Edme climbed down from the outcropping. Gwynneth was perched beside the magpie when they arrived.

"Luce, this is Faolan and Edme, new wolves of the Watch."

"Oh, my! So pleased to meet you, my dears. Can I interest you in anything?" She looked at them both and then focused on Edme's missing eye. "Mercy, I have just the thing for you! It's a false eye. Looks rather like a marble, doesn't it?"

Marbles, false eyes. Faolan's and Edme's heads were spinning.

Trader Luce held up a round white object with a bright blue center. "I only wish my dear granny had seen this. She was missing an eye like you, Edme. I'd give it to you for a gnawed bone. Not a femur or anything grand. A little tibia a" a mouse's tibia would do."

"Stop it, Luce!" Gwynneth interrupted sharply. "You know it's forbidden for Watch wolves to trade bones. So get that idea out of your head right now."

"Sorry. I was just asking. Is that a new policy?"

"It's not a new policy. It's been around from time immemorial," Gwynneth snapped.

"Well, don't get all huffy about it." Luce turned away and squawked at her a.s.sistant, another magpie. "Dotty, bring those lace doilies over here on the double. Some gad-feathers might be flying in. They always go for that stuff."

Gadfeathers! Faolan had heard the word before, but now it stirred a little twinge in his marrow.

"Gadfeathers?" Edme asked. "What are gadfeathers, Gwynneth?"