Given his most recent escapade with the snake, Elijah should not have been out as late as he was. At three months old, he was growing rapidly. With his hybrid blood, wolfish traits were starting to become apparent—he was broader than his lithe sister, but shared their smaller doggish paws. His pelt had begun to grow in, but it was still fluffy and puppy-like as opposed to sleek like his mother. Still, with his dappled pelt, night was a friend to the soot-gray and white child.
What had attracted him to the stranger was the oddity of the man’s appearance. Sheltered as he was, Elijah had never seen anyone who looked so odd. He had crept after the dog and his mount as best he could. It was a noisy approach, however, and when the man dismounted Elijah did not think to hide. Instead, he approached from the underbrush with black ears high, feathered tail wagging in a greeting. Like the bandana around his neck, his face was all smiles. Yet he said nothing, unused to using his voice.
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