Chapter 13: Wednesday at Noon

The old dog walked the whole road to Highridge, and I walked behind him.

I hadn't decided to follow.

My feet kept going.

The packhouse gates stood open, and every window was lit.

Dane was in the yard under the porch light, on his knees in the gravel.

His hands had half curled into claws and his spine was bowed.

The sound coming out of him went up and cracked and went up again.

Vernon knelt in front of him with both big hands on his shoulders.

He looked up and saw me at the gate.

"Dev," he said. "Sweetheart. You came."

"The dog came," I said. "I followed him."

The old dog lay down on the bottom step, in his old place.

I took one step onto the gravel.

Dane's howl cut off.

His shoulders dropped, his hands opened, and he lifted a wet human face and looked at me.

It was the plainest proof I would ever get.

I had walked into a yard and a boy had stopped screaming.

I took the step back, and he began to break again.

"Stay," Vernon said. "Please. Just tonight."

"Wednesday at noon," I said.

I turned around.

It took the old dog a long moment, but he got up and came with me.

On Wednesday the Moot hall was the packhouse dining room with the long tables pushed against the walls.

The whole pack stood in it, shoulder to shoulder.

The baker's wife was in the front row.