Chapter 4: The First Rule

The Hollow had a dry floor and a ceiling woven from roots.

The doorpost was carved with the tally marks of whoever had lived there last.

Jory approved of it from the first look.

It was dug into the Silverrun's high bank on the lion side, with one low entrance and a smoke hole he could widen.

It had a flat rock outside, polished by feet, where the lion king had already laid a young boar.

Lucan had scratched the post, been admitted, and gone away again to sleep with his pride.

He had done every bit of it correctly, and he had watched Jory the whole time without blinking.

Bix fell asleep on the hide the minute it was spread.

By dusk the sky to the west had gone a bruised purple.

The wind came first, flattening the grass in long waves.

Then the rain arrived all at once, loud on the roots overhead, and the river began to climb.

Jory was banking the fire when Bix started to whimper.

It was not a cry.

It was the thin sound of a child who had learned that crying brings the wrong sort of attention.

"Hey," Jory said. "Bix. It's only rain."

The thunder cracked directly overhead.

Bix came up off the hide with a howl.

It rose and cracked, a small wolf's voice, and went on and on, and no amount of hushing touched it.

Jory gathered him up. The boy was rigid and soaked in sweat, and he wasn't hearing a word.

"I've got you," Jory said. "I've got you. You're inside. You're dry."

Something hit the doorpost at a dead run.

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