Runt by Marion Dane Bauer Page B

Raven, but he didn't. He knew that Raven, for all of his constant quibbling with King, would only defend his father.
    In the distance, voices rose. Runt lifted his head. His family had begun a howl, a song of Helper. His life. His death.
    Runt pointed his nose at the fading sky, ready to join the song, but no sound came from his throat. He lowered his head, laying it across his brother's body again. After all, no one had asked him to join them.
    "Aren't you going home?" Raven asked. "Or are you going on with Bider?"
    Runt considered. Those were the choices. Go home, where he had no gift to give—not even his voice—or join Bider on an impossible quest.
    Surely, no one missed him at home. And the flight he had taken off the old moose's leg had taught him how little use he would be in this hunt.
    He closed his eyes.
    When he opened them again, Raven was gone. The light was gone from the forest, too. Helper's body was stiff. The vultures sat like stones in the tree just above them, waiting. No doubt other forest creatures waited, too. Not to mention the hordes of insects and the worms that had already begun silently to feast on the young wolf's body.
    The gift of Helper's life was returning to the forest. Back to them all. As young as he was, Runt understood that. He understood, too, that there was nothing more he could do here.
    He rose and began plodding deeper into the forest, following the trail left by the wounded moose. Whether he could be any help in the hunt or not, at least he would find Bider.

15
    Despite the hours that had passed, the trail was easy to locate. The enormous moose had crushed bushes, wounded trees, dripped blood. And so Runt put his nose to the ground and followed. His shoulder was sore from the kick he had received and had stiffened during the time he had been lying with Helper, but he ignored the pain and concentrated only on the trail.
    He would help Bider. He would help Bider bring down the moose. And when they arrived home to the pack, their faces bloody, their bellies full, dragging a chunk of meat between them for the rest to feast on, they would both be heroes. Even he, Runt, would be a hero.
    As Runt loped along, he remembered the sensation of sailing through the air, thrust by
the moose's kick. He was lucky, he knew, that the kick had only thrown him, not crushed his skull or broken other bones. But even remembering this, he stayed on the trail. He needed food. They all needed food. And with food would come a place in his family.
    Runt finally found Bider lying in a patch of morning sunlight by a small stream. The moose Was nowhere in sight.
    Runt approached slowly. "I came to help," he said.
    "Help?" Bider snorted. "Some help you would be. It's your father I need. Your father and Hunter and Helper and—"
    "Helper is dead," Runt interrupted.
    "Silver," Bider finished, as though Runt hadn't spoken. "Silver is a fine hunter. I would be glad to have her at my side."
    Runt sat down next to the white wolf, just sat there and watched the stream burble past.
    "We could have taken that moose, you know," Bider said at last. "If we'd only stayed together, we could have run him to the ground and taken him. Our bellies would all be full by now."
    "I know," Runt said.
    "He's a coward," Bider added.
    "Who?" Runt asked. But of course, he knew that, too.
    "Whooo?" a voice repeated from a spruce tree near by. "Whooo?" Owl with his endless, foolish questions.
    In any case, Bider didn't bother to answer either of them.

    When Bider and Runt arrived back at their new site, the pack had scattered over the hillside. There was very little activity. Even the pups lay still, not pouncing on one another or wrestling or investigating whatever moved in the grass. King was in his usual spot. As Bider and Runt stepped into the clearing, King's gaze slid across Runt and settled on the white wolf. But what those amber eyes saw, Runt could not even guess. Did his father know that he had followed Bider, ready to