Crafty devils, he thought. Pack hunters. If they had been inclined to attack him he would have had precious little chance. Even though he had sensed the one above him, the other could have seized him effortlessly. Tactics, tactics, he mused. And where was your awareness, your sensitivity to the nuances of your surroundings, great leader? As scattered and disordered as that damned stream, he concluded, with a scowl. He stooped down to examine the immediate terrain.

A dark stain of dampness on a small stone showed that it had been turned over recently and some scuffing of the grass bounding the merging rock indicated which way the animals had gone. It was not up the hill but along the contour towards the shoulder of the mountain to his right. Andawyr sniffed thoughtfully and massaged his squat nose. A little caution managed to force its way into his thoughts again.

Chasing wolves across the mountain. Is this a good idea?

He rationalized. They’d run away once, they’d probably run away again. Besides, he had the Power if he really needed it, and he wasn’t going to be taken unawares again. And why not go this way, anyway? It was still early, the weather promised to be marvellous for the rest of the day, and while this was not the way he had originally intended to go, it was as good as any. He quickly ran mentally through a route back to the Cadwanen to confirm to himself that he was not being recklessly impulsive, then he dismissed the caution completely and strode off towards the distant skyline.

Questions bubbled through him, matching the rhythm of his steps. These animals had touched his mind! How could that be? Had he suddenly, unknowingly acquired Hawklan’s gift? Was it some inadvertent consequence of his latest studies into the Power? And if so, would there be others? And would they all be so benign? It was not a particularly welcome idea.