Lone Wolf (Wolves of the Beyond, Book 1)
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A wolf mother has given birth, but the warm bundle snuffling next to her brings only anguish. The pup, otherwise healthy, has a twisted paw, and the mother knows what the harsh code of the pack demands. Her pup will be taken from her and abandoned on a desolate hill. The pack cannot have weakness - the wolf mother knows that her pup is condemned to die.
But alone in the wilderness, the pup, Faolan, does not perish. This his story - a story of survival, of courage, and of love triumphant. This is Faolan's story, the wolf pup who rose up to change forevever the Wolves of the Beyond.
blinked because for just a moment the small movement of the head was so essentially bear that it was hard to believe that the wolf was not one despite his appearance. It had been a long time since Faolan had tasted salmon, but desolation chased away his hunger. He yearned for Thunderheart more than ever but was glad to know that now he was truly back in the Beyond. The rapids of the salmon run confirmed this. This is where I belong, he thought. I am a wolf of the Beyond. But there was little
story of a chieftain from the time of the Long Cold who had grown old and toothless with age and lost his hearing, and whose eyesight had dimmed. In the tradition of old wolves, he had gone out to a remote place to begin the steps of cleave hwlyn, the act of separating from his clan, his pack, and finally his own body. He had felt the marvelous sensation of slipping free from his pelt, becoming nothing more than a soft mist. He looked over his shoulder at his pelt glistening in the moonlight. His
I think about it, yes, the most distinct marks seemed to flare slightly to the south.” “None to the north?” “Uh…uh…I’m…” she stammered. Finally, she said, “I cannot really say those marks were less distinct, but very possibly.” “Might this suggest that we are dealing with…well, not a clear-cut situation if only one paw seems to bear the symptoms of the foaming-mouth disease?” “One paw, two, three, or four!” Duffin MacDuff stepped forward. “What does it matter? This disease means doom.” “Yes!
“Oh, you like that!” She did it again, and he squealed now with delight. She set him down. He immediately rolled onto his back, holding his tiny paws in the air expectantly. The grizzly thought this was a signal that he wanted some tickling. She began to speak with a mixture of words, snorts, and huffs. She wasn’t sure if he understood her or not. It didn’t matter. “Oh, Great Ursus, you want me to do this again, you funny little fellow.” The words of the wolves and the bears and the owls did
once again on the line. Framed for a crime he didn’t commit, Faolan must hunt the true culprit . . . while his own pack hunts him. Turn the page for a sneak peek. IT WAS THE SMELL OF GRASS — late summer grass, clover water, and bitterroot with a faint trace of ash. The vivid scents flowed through Faolan like a river, stirring lost memories. This is my pack, the Pack of the Eastern Scree. This is my clan, the clan of the MacDuncans. Each smell seemed to reassure Faolan that at last he was home.