Belhatir was breathing hard, his blood pounding in his ears, when he finally noticed the bite in Dravite's arm. It couldn't have been too severe; the wolf was weak. The only real threat was in the wolf's blood, and Belhatir didn't know enough about diseases to worry. Anyway, he couldn't really think past Aris' snide, "It's rather scrawny, to be thinking of making a meal from so many horsemen."
Belhatir scoffed a self-deprecating laugh under his breath. It never occured to Belhatir to lead. Although he was the Ankal's son, it was generally agreed in the pavilion that Belhatir was strange. He didn't bond with a strider until he was well into adulthood, and he wasn't the most skilled at hunting or fishing or anything really useful, although he wasn't useless. He did his fair share, but only just. The pavilion only just let him stay around.
To lead? Belhatir would sooner eat his own foot, and he would probably be more successful at that.
He didn't hear the distant cry, but he did see Aris and his Strider look up, the horse's ears pointing towards the sound, and Dravite tensing towards it too. "We should go and investigate," he said, and looked to Belhatir as if asking Belhatir if that were right. Belhatir began to shrug, and then he nodded. Why not, after all? They had already come this far.
Dravite stopped at the still-warm animal and broke its fangs loose. Belhatir watched and had the opportunity to really see the wolf for what it was: not a monster, not a dire animal, not even a real threat. It was skinny, it was pathetic, and most of all it was alone in the world. Not even a pack to help it fend for itself. Belhatir suddenly felt a profound sense of shame, a blush creeping over his throat and his cheeks when he saw himself in the wolf. All posturing, all bustle and wind and nothing but bare bones and scabs underneath. Belhatir was so distracted that he didn't see the fang Dravite tossed at him until it landed in the mud at his feet.
Belhatir bent down and dug through the mud with his forefinger for a second until he felt the sharp edge of the fang. He picked it up, wiped it off on his pants leg, and tucked the fang safely away into a pocket. He clambered for his Strider, to catch up with the rest of the group as they galloped towards the sound that Belhatir did not hear.
As they went on, Belhatir began to see two figures in the distance. One of them was a person, slaving over something with four legs. A foal, Belhatir soon saw, stuck in the mud. As they moved even closer, Belhatir saw that it was a woman. Her hair was in disarray, her clothes were bogged down with mud, and a glistening film of sweat stuck to her forehead, baked red in the high sun. She didn't hear them come close, nor did she look up until the foal finally shook free of the muck and on to more solid earth. Only then did the woman collapse, and only then did she see them watching her like hawks.
"Who are you?" Aris demanded, gesturing at the woman and the foal. "And to whom does that Strider belong?"
