Chapter 24: First of November

The pack gathered in the yard at dawn on the first of November, because the law said a strike is read at dawn.

Nobody had told them there would be one.

They came anyway, three hundred of them, in coats over their pajamas, and stood on the frosted grass around the stone.

I stood by it with Garrick's hand in mine.

The stone looked smaller in daylight.

The oldest elder came out of the hall with the cane in one hand and the pack's roll under his arm.

The crowd parted for him.

He laid the roll on the stone, open.

Then he turned to the gate, where Enid Sayre stood alone in her black wool coat.

She had slept in her chair, and she looked it.

"Enid Sayre," the old man said.

His voice shook, and he made himself go on.

"Your husband tapped this cane to stop a pen eleven years ago, and you tapped it again a month ago."

"You paid for a wolf's silence, and you taught your own daughter to lie."

"By the law you used on them, you are struck from this roll."

"Your name, your house and your place in this pack are gone. You may never set foot on this land again."

Nobody laughed.

Nobody cheered either.

Enid stood very straight.

She looked at the pack, and the pack looked back at her without a word.

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