Chapter 7: Two Bowls Become Three

The runt would not eat.

He lay in the nest of furs with his eyes open and his jaw shut.

Every time Thad brought the bowl near, he turned his face to the wall.

"He's three," Tuck said from the foot of the furs. "He doesn't know how to ask."

"Ask what?"

"For food. Nobody gave him any, so he never learned."

Thad set the bowl down very slowly.

Wystan, sitting at the edge of the firelight with his arms on his knees, shifted.

"Then we'll teach him," Thad said.

He thinned a ladle of last night's stew with warm water until it was nearly clear.

He dipped the carved spoon in and held it just under the little black nose.

The nose twitched.

The mouth stayed closed.

Thad hummed.

He had no idea where the tune came from.

It was something his mother used to sing over the stove, and it came out of him slow and low and off-key.

One round gold eye opened.

The jaw loosened a crack.

The broth went in.

The runt swallowed, and Thad's whole body went weak with relief.

"Good," he whispered. "That's good. That's all of it. You're a champion."

By the fifth spoonful the cub's paws were kneading the furs.

By the tenth he was licking the wood.

Thad looked up and found Wystan staring at him from across the fire.

The gold eyes were wet.

"What?" Thad said.

"Nothing." Wystan cleared his throat. "Your tune. It's flat."

"It's meant to be."

"It's a good one."

His ears had gone down flat, and a long black tail had wound itself tight around his own knee.

Thad turned back to the cub before his face did something he couldn't take back.

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