The Dog Master Read Online Free Page A

in on the air currents, gave the mother-wolf the sense of days passing. During the daytime, the man was often absent for long stretches, but as night fell he would build a fire at the bottom of the crevice and remain until sunrise. She could not directly see him: a large pile of loose rock separated the den from the rest of the cave, but he was detectable by his scent. In the morning he would climb over the mound of rocks and toss her small pieces of the odd dry meat. He came very close to her, and she could eat without having to rise fully off the cave floor.
    Then one morning he broke the pattern. He left and did not return. The mother-wolf had grown accustomed to regular, small feedings, and though her food cravings increased daily, these consistent meals staved off the worst of her hollow, empty pains. This day, though, her hunger and anxiety rose within her mercilessly. She had to have food or her pups would perish. Normally, her mate would bring her food, regurgitating for her and, when they were old enough, her young. Now, though, the man had taken on that role.
    And he was gone.
    The fear was a motivator even stronger than starvation, and the mother-wolf whined. She would have to leave her young and go hunt.
    She did not contemplate the impracticality of her decision. Even as she moved, dropping her pups from her teats and dragging her useless rear legs, there was no understanding that there was nothing she could possibly pursue in her wounded condition. She was driven by maternal imperative.
    She had made it no farther than the base of the shaft, which stank from the pile of burned wood marking the now cold fire of the man, when a sudden riot of smells came to her nose. It was him, the man, and something else—a fresh kill.
    When the man appeared, crawling, and saw her standing in the dwindling light from the shaft, he made a loud, frightened noise, startling her. She growled reflexively, feeling vulnerable, and the two of them froze, facing each other, tense.
    â€œI have brought you fresh meat. Reindeer.”
    There was a tremor in the man’s sounds and he still smelled strongly of fear, but the mother-wolf felt herself relaxing. This was familiar to her: a man, afraid but determined, bringing food.
    She associated being fed with the den, so she turned and, as quickly as she could manage, pulled herself back over the pile of rocks. It felt good to be by her young, who registered her return with small squeaks. She waited expectantly.
    Before he came, the man lit a fire. And then he crawled over the rocks and came to her, extending a bone with a knot of meat clinging to it. Mouth watering, the mother-wolf took the food from his hand.
    â€œI wish I could tell you I took down the reindeer myself, but I have thus far not been successful hunting on my own,” the man said.
    The wolf crunched down on the bone with her powerful jaws.
    â€œWhere is your pack? I do not understand why you are here by yourself, though I do not know very much about what happens when a wolf gives birth. I have never seen any animal with newborn young. Perhaps it is your way, that the mating pair goes off by themselves. I would be very unhappy if a pack of wolves was here to greet me when I came back. I think from this point forward I will come down the shaft, just to avoid such an encounter.”
    This, too, was familiar to the mother-wolf. The humans who fed her often made their low, monotonous sounds while she ate.
    â€œAnd I do not understand why you just accepted food from my hand.” The man’s sounds were softer now. “No wolf has ever done such a thing, to my knowledge—I would have been told of it. Is it because of the wounds you have suffered?
    â€œAnd do you wonder about me? Who I am, and why I am sharing a cave with you, a wolf, instead of with my own people? How this came to be?”
    The man drew in a great breath, exhaling it in a loud, mournful sigh.
    â€œFor now, we both are alive. But no