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arms. The skull hit the stone with a loud crack that echoed across the
chamber.
Cringing, Tol chuk bent his back into proper og re form. His duty done, he
began to step back toward the narrow path, away from the Triad.
No. That path is no longer open to you. Again the voice carried through the
air from all three og res.
You have harmed one of your tribe.
Tol chuk stopped. His eyes fixed on the worn rock. The ancient ones knew of
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his violation of the law.
Words slipped from his lips. I didn t mean to kill
Only one path is open to you now.
Tol chuk raised his head just enough to spy the hunched forms. Three arms were
raised and pointed toward the distant black eye, the tunnel that no og re
except the Triad entered.
You walk the path of the dead.
MOGWEED HID IN THE SHADOW OF A HUGE BOULDER AND stared east toward the
mountains. Fardale, with his keener senses, had gone ahead to scout the route
forward. After crossing the golden meadows of the low foothills, they had
reached a more rocky and treacherous terrain.
Gnarled oaks and an occasional spray of pine dotted the higher foothills, but
spiked hawthorn bushes covered most of the dusty ground. Luckily, after
struggling through rocky gulches and up steep cliffs, Fardale had come upon a
more hospitable path leading up to the peaks. The trail was a welcome sight.
Ever cautious, Fardale insisted on investigating the trail before trusting it.
After the day s journey, Mogweed s clothes stank of sweat and clung awkwardly.
He picked at them and wondered how humans tolerated living in the drapings. He
closed his eyes and willed the change, wishing for the familiar feel of
flowing flesh and bending bone. But as usual, nothing happened; the manlike
form persisted. He swore under his breath and opened his eyes and looked east.
Somewhere out there lay the cure to the curse on both him and Fardale.
Sweating from the climb, he stared longingly at the cold snow that tipped the
tallest peak on the horizon,
snow that even the hottest summer sun had failed to melt. The mountain, called
the Great Fang of the
North, towered over its many brethren. The range of craggy peaks, named the
Teeth, ran from the frozen
Ice Desert in the north to the Barren Wastes of the south, splitting the land
in two.
Raising a hand to shade his eyes, Mogweed searched the range of mountains
south. Somewhere thousands of leagues away rose this Fang s twin sister, the
Great Fang of the South. From here, the southern Fang remained beyond the
horizon. Even though countless leagues separated the peaks, rumor had it that
if someone stood on the top of each Fang they could speak to one another. Even
whispers could be sent back and forth, spanning the distance.
Mogweed frowned at such a preposterous notion. He had more important concerns
than a child s fantasy. He hugged his arms around his chest and stared with a
bitter expression at the wall of peaks, beyond which stretched the lands of
the human race territories he feared to tread, but knew he must.
Clouds began to build among the peaks, caught on the crags as the wind blew
eastward. The snowy tip of the Great Fang was blotted out as black clouds
churned. Lightning played among the thunderheads. If he and Fardale were to
cross the Teeth before winter set its frozen hand upon the land, they needed
to hurry.
Mogweed searched for his brother among the scraggly trees and brush. What was
keeping that fool? A
worry gnawed at his stomach. What if his brother had run off, abandoning him
to this barren countryside?
As if he had heard him, Fardale suddenly appeared at the foot of the rocky
slide. Anxious, panting from a sudden run, dancing on his paws, Fardale stared
up toward Mogweed, requesting contact. Mogweed opened up.
Even from here, the wolf s eyes glowed amber. Fardale s thoughts whispered in
his head:
The stink of carrion rotting in the sun. Racing legs pursued by gnashing
teeth. An arrow s flight through the open sky
. Hunters approached.
Men? Even though he appeared a man himself and would likely have to interact
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with men during the long journey ahead, Mogweed was in no hurry to meet any.
He had secretly hoped to avoid the eyes of men, at least until they had passed
through the Teeth.
Mogweed slid down the rocky grade to join his brother. Where do we hide?
Racing legs. Pads cut by sharp stone
. Fardale wanted them to run and quickly.
Mogweed s legs ached. The thought of fleeing through this rugged terrain
sapped his will. He sagged.
Why can t we hole up somewhere until they pass, then return to the trail?
Razor teeth. Claws. Wide nostrils swelling for scent.
Mogweed tensed. Sniffers! Here? How? In the wild forest, the beasts traveled
in packs. Ravenous in their appetites, the creatures used their keen sense of
smell to track down isolated si lura and attack. He had not known the beasts
could be domesticated by humans. Where do we go?
Fardale swung around and bounded up the trail, his tail flagging the way.
Mogweed hefted his pack higher on his shoulder and took off after his brother.
His tired joints protested the sudden exertion. But the thought of the
slavering sniffers and the beasts shredding teeth drove
Mogweed past his aches.
As he rounded a bend in the trail, he saw Fardale stopped just ahead, his nose
reading the air. Suddenly
the wolf darted to the left, abandoning the trail.
With a groan, Mogweed pushed past a bramble bush, thorns tearing at his
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