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Molly pressed forward shocked and unbelieving, sniffing over the crumpled body then pressing one ear close hoping for a pulse... and finding one! A weak one, so faint, wouldn't be lasting much longer. She whispered "He's still alive, but not for long. It's that arrow in the chest that did it to him. The others are not so important." She raised her head in sudden alarm. "We have to stay alert!" she said "The ones who did this may still be nearby."

Garth growled "I can't quite believe they'll be stalking us in the dark, without torches, but they may have left other things behind. Nathan's corpse, perhaps. I'll sniff around for what I can find. You do what you can for John."

Molly nodded and bit away tangled branches for space then spat out bark chips and fussed helplessly over their fallen comrade knowing there was not a damn thing she could do for him. Bury him, perhaps, or devour his heart in that curious bloody tradition the hellhounds had latched onto... but actually cure? Nothing short of a mage's power could have a chance of doing that! If only Shamus were still--

But wait! She did have a mage's power at her command! If it worked there would be consequences, of course, but every choice begets consequences. Including the choice to do nothing. She fumbled at the silk pouch beneath her neck and jerked it upward over her head, frantically loosening the drawstring and spilling her master's mage gem upon the ground. She nose-touched the stone briefly to verify its power then turned away and seized an arrow shaft in her teeth, wrenching it free and casting the vile thing far away from her. She pulled them all, five feathered shafts and five vicious-barbed magic-blighting steel heads in total, saving the chest arrow for last--and from that last wound dark blood dribbled, barely flowing, John's last dregs of vital force surely ebbing out with it. Instantly she seized the gem in one paw and pressed it firmly against the ragged wound, activating its power and channeling the flow outward, directed at John Smallberries not herself, hoping the stone's transformative power might rebuild his broken body during those last few seconds in which the spark of his life still glowed.

The spell was working at first, really it was, but John's soul seemed adrift already and reluctant to come back, and... she felt it there, at the fringes of her awareness, felt or imagined broken words from it: ... failed... didn't think... stupid-so-stupid-don't-deserve...

Molly tried to call it back, reached out desperately with tendrils of herself that just drove it further away. Borrowed force in abundance roiled through her but force was useless here. No force can compel a spirit to stay in this world once it has chosen to go, and this one already had...

Had stopped.

John's soul lingered flickering just at the limit of her perception and... something was out there with it.

Something familiar, something she had felt before.

Shamus.

It was Shamus she sensed, Shamus gently shepherding John's soul back to her, Shamus settling amiably within her and subtly guiding her as she tucked and wove it into the still-changing mortal form beneath her paws.

The deed took but a moment then she was done and Shamus' spirit lingered still within her, reluctant so soon to part. Molly whispered to it "Thank you," while from her heart she sang out_... I love you..._ not expecting an answer but knowing with utter certainly she was heard... and then it was gone, or most of it, the sights and sounds and smells of our mortal world filling all her senses and John Smallberries' new-made hellwolf lungs breathing soft and deep and pain-free beneath her trembling paws.

He was much larger now--how does the magic do that?--twice the mass but hardly any taller. His new fur was softer and far thicker than it had been but just as black; a black so dark her night-sharp eyes could see no detail in it, so dark it made her own black fur look gray.

Beneath her touch John was twitching now, stirring much sooner than she had expected him too. Just breathing freely and not bleeding would have been enough for her but he was showing every sign of rousing soon to full wakefulness.

She heard Garth coming back her way and waited silently until he was beside her, smelling of human meat. He dropped a tooth-mangled arm by her feet and said "Lots of blood but no corpses. Except for this thing, of course. Found it flung out in the--what the sarding hell did you do to John?"

"What does it look like I did?"

"I can see what you did! I'm just... impressed. Wish I'd thought of that. Should be interesting to hear what he says when he wakes up!"

John lifted his massive head and mumbled "When who wakes up? Garth what are you doing here? Did you get killed too?"

Garth told him gently "No. I'm not dead and you're not either. This is not the underworld and we both still have work to do. How are you feeling?"

John nosed his side where the chest arrow had been and looked very, very confused. He nosed again and said "I feel... fine. Really damn wonderful. Fur feels kinda funny but... never mind that. Tell me true now, din't I have an arrow stuck in here somewheres?"

Molly told him "Yes, you did. Five arrows. We pulled them all and used magic to heal you."

John flopped back on his side and grumbled "Magic. O'course. Solve all yer sardin' troubles by magic. So sardin' convenient! Tell me now, Molly--ain't yer master dead these days? How many dotin' archmage guardians d'ye got?"

Molly murmured "Just the one. But he's special."

"All mages are special."

"Yes, I suppose. But this one brought you back from the dead. That's special even for a mage. Do you remember anything about it?"

John Smallberries squinted in concentration and said slowly "Yes... yes I do. I knew I was dead, and I was fussing and feeling sorry for myself and all of a sudden there he was beside me looking all... I don't remember that part. He didn't say much, maybe nothing a'tall but when he nudged me back here I knew what he wanted and did my best to go along. That's all I remember, really. Was that really the spirit of Mage Shamus that was helping me?"

"Yes. But if you want to call him Saint Shamus I won't be contradicting you."

"Maybe I will. Imagine! A dead spirit with the power to heal mortal wounds! That's a miracle fer sure." John Smallberries nosed his side again, sniffing thoughtfully at the soft thick fur there. He said "Something's changed about me. I smell like... one o'yer lot, dontcha know. Do you have aught more you'd like to tell me about that healing spell?"

Molly replied "Well, yes... that spell I used to cure you was not really a healing spell. You see... you know how transformation spells sometimes sort of... tidy things up while they're working? I don't actually possess a healing spell but Mage Shamus left me a mage gem with a--"

"With a hellwolf transformation spell burned into it. I see it all now. You couldn't ask my permission so you just went ahead regardless, hoping for the best."

Garth growled "Are you unhappy with Molly's decision?" He grinned toothily and added "We could always kill you again, if that would make you feel better."

"Thank you no," John reassured him, "That will not be necessary." He brought a forepaw to his nose and clenched it into a gnarled furry fist. "I have hands now!" he marveled.

"And a bitch cunt..." Molly added.

John rose up shakily and backed his way out of the thicket. He sniffed the chill air and told her "Eh, I'll deal with that later. We got business to attend to now."

Molly chortled,"Really! That's refreshing to hear. Garth got all huffy and bothered when he learned o'his terrible female curse."

"Did not!" growled Garth.

"Did so. You said your friends at the academy would never let you hear the last of it."

"That's their problem, not mine. Sure it was a shock but I swear I wasn't huffy. And I'm used to it now."

"Never mind that!" barked John Smallberries, gnashing his teeth in agitation. "It don't matter what I look like now, nor how I smell, nor what end of a rutting bone sausage I'll be pushing next. What matters is I lost my charge! No one's ever gonna forgive me for that! It was that Tommy Atkins bloke what betrayed us. Has to be. Someone did, that's fer sure! We was bedding down for the night all easy-like then of a sudden there was men everywhere, at least a dozen of 'em with torches and lanterns lit, surrounding the house with us trapped inside like rats in a crock. I charged out the front door to draw their attention and keep 'em busy while my human tried his luck sneaking out the back. We have to smell if he made it safe!"

Without waiting for an answer John Smallberries ran up to the cottage and circled it diligently, sniffing at every pebble and fallen leaf and withered blade of grass. He found a trail at the back door and followed it eagerly... but not far.

"Damn. They got him," he spat, turning sharply to follow the trail as it merged with the main group. He sniffed there at great length and remarked "Not much blood, and he was still walking. That's good."

Molly sniffed over the same places and received not nearly so much enlightenment. Her wolf nose was sensitive enough, she was pretty sure of that, but John had a lifetime of scenting experience and she had just forty seven days. Plus those earlier trials, of course. Before the mage gem. Maybe with more practice she'd do better.

John gave up his snuffling and darted back to the cottage, pushing his way inside without bothering to search for traps. Tossed in one corner were the metal-stripped remnants of his leather panniers and he ignored them, scrabbling instead at a hearthstone until it came loose then digging deeper in the ashy earth beneath it, quickly uncovering a large oiled-leather shoulder pouch. He slipped it over his head but the strap was too long for that, made to rest on a human shoulder, and the pouch dangled too low. John snarled in irritation and shook it off but Molly said "Wait!" and tied the strap shorter with a hasty knot. John snarled again and muttered "I should have thought of that," then visibly brought his temper under control and said to Molly "Thank you, Ma'am. Please forgive my wretched manners, if you can. I'm not in the best of moods but there was no call to take it out on you. Not many gets a second chance like the one you just gave me, and I'm more grateful than I'll ever be able to tell you in words. But I need to go now. Maybe I'll do better this time."

John turned away and set out tracking without speaking another word. Garth and Molly followed him without hesitation. The trail was impossible to miss, stinking of human blood and human piss and near a score of frightened horses. John took it at a loping run, rarely dropping his nose to the ground. After a time he told them "You don't have to do this. You've done enough for me already."

Garth was smiling a tongue-lolling-smile and he drawled in reply "You're headed for trouble, seems like. I do believe we're headed that way too."

John Smallberries growled "As you wish. Just don't do anything too stupid, please. It's likely I'll not be able to save you if you do."

Molly barked "Yes, sir!" but Garth remained silent. Perhaps he was trying to decide if an unemployed Royal Academy commissioned officer outranked an unknown but likely low-level non-commissioned officer on active secret assignment.

Molly thought Garth's choice to remain silent was an excellent one, all things considered, but there was no question whatsoever about her military ranking! She said "I'm no soldier but I can follow instructions. How will I be most useful?"

Garth harrumphed softly but she bumped his shoulder to quiet him. John would fight better if he thought he was in charge, and this was no time for an argument over the value of book-learning versus solid four-footed fighting experience.

John said "They're all mounted but at least two of 'em dead, strapped down across the backs of their horses. Might be two corpses to the horse, might not. Nathan is most likely mounted on his own horse--a tethered horse, they would not trust him to hold his own reins--or he'll be bound straitly and tied on crosswise like a pack bundle if they're truly fearful he'll attempt an escape. We'll need to separate him from the others, but without throwing him from his horse or having it fall on him. That part will be tricky. I think your best job will be to hang back hidden for the first few seconds while Garth and I attack the main body, then when they're fully engaged streak in quick-like and part the horse's tether cord. You'll need to stay low to the ground to avoid sword strikes but watch out for the hooves! Horses will strike faster than a man but just as deadly. At the last instant leap up high to cut the cord with your teeth or wrench it from the keeper's hand, but if you hold it you'll needs be yielding to Nathan's horse and let it run or it'll destroy itself and its rider in panicked rearing. Most likely you'll be forced to release your bite-grip on the tether but no matter, just drive the horse out into the darkness, away from the others, doesn't matter which way you go aside from that. We'll find you soon enough. Can you do that?"

Molly grinned toothfully, heart already hammering at the thought of battle. "We'll just see if I can, won't we?" she growled, and the three hellwolves ran silently for quite a while after that.

Soon they reached a cart road, headed straight back toward Hightshame. John stopped there and began to nose about beneath the root-end of a fallen oak tree. He shrugged off his satchel and scratched out a shallow hole, then tossed the satchel in and said "There's money in there, and Nathan's notes and other papers. If I'm killed you can keep the money but please take the rest to Valinoin and deliver them to a king's officer. Canine or human, don't matter 'bout that, just promise me you'll do it."

Garth and Molly promised, then Molly tugged off her gem pouch and tossed it beside the satchel. She scratched dirt back over them both and said "If Garth and I are killed, you can keep the stone."

"I'll do that," John growled. He smoothed over the torn-up earth and kicked leaves over all then launched himself on the trail again, no longer sniffing and why bother? Clearly the ones they sought were headed for the garrison. Perhaps they were safely quartered there already!

Molly growled at the thought of losing them and ran faster, pushing ahead of the others, and without need for words the three began to gallop as fast as they could run without exhausting themselves. They came upon the baron's men nigh at the garrison gates, within shouting distance of of the lighted walls. The band was moving briskly in single file with pole-mounted lanterns front back and center; fourteen men mounted and four horses bearing burdens difficult to evaluate from afar. Behind the central lantern was a man hunched over with hands held before him as if bound, and his horse was led by a tether cord affixed to the saddle of the lantern-bearer. That one would be Nathan.

This was no time for subtlety, no time for stalking. Like two hammer-blows from the darkness Garth and John struck, knocking the front and back riders from their horses and dashing their lanterns to darkness too, then leaping onwards, straight from the horses' backs, to straightaway knock down two more men.

Molly wasted no time but ran in too, fox-slink-low to the ground, slipping close among them before a single man knew she was there. Quick-leap straight upward and the tether cord was in her jaws, slipping back between the shearing teeth with no thought or effort at all. She bit down snicker-snack and the cord parted as if cut with a knife; cut so quick and clean both ends snapped free and were lost to her. She rounded slaver-snarling on Nathan's horse, trying her best to frighten it into flight, and the wretched creature reared up screaming in terror, throwing off its rider before turning and leaping deer-like away from her. Damn. Too frightening. Nathan lay unmoving on the ground while the rider behind him froze in shock and the tether-man bellowed for help and frantically wrenched his saber from its scabbard. He wheeled his horse to trample her but Molly hunkered down and leapt straight at him, or nearly straight, avoiding horse hooves and saber-blade but snagging his lantern standard with one foreleg and tearing it from his grasp.

The lantern struck the ground and went out and... it was the last one. Darkness overwhelmed the humans and they floundered blindly, unable to tell friend from foe. Molly skulked back to Nathan's huddled form and seized it by the tunic collar, quickly dragging it clear of the melee as wild hoofbeats thudded off in all directions and human voices cried out in rage, in terror, and in pain. Soon the voices grew silent and Molly waited, tensed to act until "They're all dead," came John Smallberries' exhausted voice.

"I'm here," replied Molly, and from the garrison an alarm bell began to to clang. Nathan was stirring and she nosed his face gently, murmuring comfort-words. So cold he was! Cold like Death himself, and with a massive cold oozing bruise on the side of his head. An older bruise, from his capture, not anything related to falling from the horse. She called out "Bring me a knife, and a heavy coat... no make that two coats, and some water, and food if you can find it." She nosed and paw-massaged his ill-clad body--how dare they steal his greatcoat and cap from him!--found no obvious broken bones. The rest would have to wait until he had some warmth in him.

A small belt dagger was brought to her and she cut Nathan's wrist bonds, then massaged his arms and hands to get the blood flowing. John brought a water flask to his mouth and he drank clumsily, spilling most of the water down his chin. He turned his head away from the cracker-bread Garth offered him and tried to speak, but no words came from his lips.

Molly sidled close and and settled belly-down to the icy ground. She ordered "Load him on my back. Lay the coats on top and push yourselves on both sides of me so he doesn't fall off."

Nathan was rolled atop her and blood-soiled greatcoats tucked snug then Molly grunted, caught by surprise as a pack of looted sundries thudded hard across her neck. She rose up carefully and stretched to settle the weight then they were in motion again, the three of them pressed firmly shoulder to bloody shoulder, leaving the road behind and striving valiantly to put distance between themselves and the overwhelming reprisal force no doubt already on the move to hunt them down.

Garth and Molly knew the land now and quickly found a small creek to hide their trail. Garth and John rinsed off the worst of their blood there, shook themselves, and resumed their flanking positions. They waded upstream slipping frequently on the slimy stones, then took a minor fork and slip-stumbled more, but Nathan was growing stronger with the return of warmth to his body and did a fair job of holding on through the rough spots. He never actually fell into the water, that is, although his coat-blankets got far wetter than was good for him.

At last they reached a place that was dry and flat by the creek-side, and seemed safe enough to risk a rest. Nathan roused himself enough to take more water and a bite of bread but great agues of shivering overwhelmed him now, and he still could not form words to speak.

The shivering was a good sign. If they had fire and a bed he could be wrapped in blankets with hot rocks placed all around but they didn't have a bed, nor a fire. Only themselves. Molly shook herself as dry as she could manage and laid a coat on the ground driest-side-up. She directed Nathan to lie on it then got his boots off and pressed up against him with her furry back to his belly. She said "I'll need an assistant here. It's hard work. Hope you can handle it. You'll have to lie on this man's other side and take a nap with me until he feels better. Any volunteers?"

Garth said he still had work to do and volunteered John Smallberries for the job. He explained "I need to find Tom Atkins, and John doesn't know were he lives. I'll fetch back our buried treasures while I'm at it."

"Be careful!" John growled, shaking himself vigorously then nestling his underbelly against Nathan's back so the man was sandwiched between two dampish but extravagantly thick-pelted black wolves. Garth threw the second cloak over all and tucked the water bottle and cracker-bread and Nathan's boots beneath so they'd be warm for him in the morning.

He promised he'd be careful then he was gone and Molly told John "Seems I hardly know ye an' already we're sleeping together! Yer a smooth seducer in sooth sir, but ye'll not be gettin' me pregnant this day. Garth Mactire has already seen to that."

John Smallberries' head was directly behind hers, in convenient ear-snuffling position, and he did that chuckling "Already? It's barely December! How can you be pregnant this time of year?"

Molly stretched back to give him a better angle and replied "I was dabbling with a lust spell and it got out of control. Garth is pregnant too, in case you're wondering."

John nuzzled lower down her neck and chuckled "Sweet! Can you do it again?" He opened his mouth to say more but strange sounds from Nathan stopped him. The human's head was right there between them, after all, half-forgotten and half-smothered in half-wet wolf fur. Now it drew a shuddering breath and said "Ahh... please not... ah... not right now. I don't think I'm... ready... for that."

John yelped "Nate!" and squeezed the human tight to his chest, provoking a coughing fit and protests that were difficult to understand but seemed to consist entirely of garbled foul profanity. At last the man sorted out his thoughts and asked "John? John Small-berries? Thought you were... thought you were dead."

"Not dead, just different," John replied. He relaxed his grip and asked "Do you want us to let you go now?"

"Ah... thank you no. I need the warmth. Just... let me rest... please."

"Of course, Nate," John soothed, and both hellwolves held very still while Nathan's shivering slowly faded and his breathing grew more relaxed, then shifted into the steady rhythm of peaceful sleep.

At last John whispered "I still think yer smokin' hot. Maybe next year." Molly whispered back "Careful, stud! It may be your belly that gets big when the humping's done!" Then they both grew silent again, breathing steady and soft for Nathan's comfort, and soon they were sleeping too.

Chapter 10

Garth's boom-rumbling voice aroused them saying "Wake up you slug-a-beds! It's morning now, more or less."

Molly snapped her eyes open to starless overcast near-darkness tempered by the first pale glow of dawn's impending light. Small snowflakes were in the air and a thin dusting of them on the ground, but no snowflakes rested on her fur nor on the greatcoat half-draped over it. Molly and John were both too hot for that. Garth was wearing Nathan's satchel on his neck and a set of the Hawk's Valley food panniers on his back. In his outstretched paw-hand he held the mage gem, and beside it the silk carry pouch with its tiny lump of a pebble inside. Why was she still keeping that vile thing? Never mind, perhaps tomorrow she would discard it. Still lying on her side Molly took the gem in both paw-hands and cradled it gently, feeling with her own flesh the thrum of its magic and the truth of it's return, then tucked it back in the pouch and slipped her muzzle through the lanyard.

Behind her Nathan was stirring and she made room for him, John did too, both edging aside so the greatcoat remained draped over him but he could sit up if he wanted to. He did that slowly, pulling the still-warm coat over his shoulders and "C'e la merde!" he groaned. His boots were close beside him and with considerable fumbling he loosened the laces and pulled them on, then carefully rose to his feet. He wavered there a moment, caught his balance, donned the coat properly then moved off a bit and loosened his trousers for a long steaming piss. Molly smiled at the performance, overjoyed to observe no agony of broken bones. You can palpate all you like but there's no testament like actual standing and walking to truly answer that question.

When Nathan was done he turned back to face the others and especially John Smallberries. He peered diligently but the darkness was still too thick for human eyes to see much. He stretched out a hand to touch and at last asked "John?"

"Yes, Nate?" John replied, fluffy new wolf-tail happily fanning the freezing air.

"You feel different."

"Just a mite o' healing an' transformation magic Molly wrought for me. Brought me back from death itself, she did."

Nathan turned to Molly in astonishment. He whispered "You're a mage?"

Molly hung her head modestly and answered "I'm no mage, sir. I'm naught but a hedge witch borrowing the power of my betters. An opportunity came to me and I took it. Nothing more than that."

"Then hurrah for opportunities seized!" cried Nathan, facing Molly half-blind but with a strange exalted expression embarrassing in its intensity. "They're a rare and fleeting gift, wasted far more often than claimed. Molly O'Dowd, you said your name was. I will remember it."

Molly looked away, seeking for some pretext to change the subject. She found one and said "Look! Garth has brought your satchel! Do you want it now?"

"Yes! Er... yes, please."

Garth dipped his neck to drop it at Nathan's feet and he quickly snatched up his treasure, fingers twitching to inspect it but holding back from politeness.

Garth laughed "Open it, man! You won't be hurting my feelings."

Nathan opened the satchel and quickly fingered through it, clearly knowing it all by feel, then he laced it shut again and said "Thank you sir. I feel better now. And thank you from the bottom of my heart for your audacious and masterly rescue last night. Did you find Tom Atkins?"

Garth's ears drooped and he replied "Yes, I did. His home is burned and he's a fugitive now, but I found his trail and followed it, leaving lots of scent marks to maybe scare off tracking hounds. Tom's not alone. Several of his friends are on the run too. I'm going back now with this food for them. Do you want to go with me?"

"Yes please. It's my job to observe and report what befalls here."

"Very well. I'm ready now. Can you walk?"

Nathan stretched again and patted cautiously at the still-oozing head wound from his capture the night before. He said he reckoned he could walk a ways, most likely, then he found the water and cracker-bread set aside for him and broke his fast while Molly took up the burden of pannier baskets and extra greatcoat and that pack of maybe-useful guard-squad plunder.

Garth led the way avoiding roads while gray daylight grew around them and light snow continued to drift down and the air began stir in fitful breaths of wind. The way was rough but it was not that far, really. They found the rebels adequately clothed but owning little more than that, huddled over hot fires with cut boughs for shelter but no canvas for tents. Perhaps a score of souls were there at the encampment, many of them children, and they were mortal hungry--falling upon Molly's provision panniers with exclamations of astonished joy while Garth oversaw arrangements for Nathan and John to stay with them. Molly wagged her tail and wriggled free and left it all to them, including the bloody greatcoat and guard-loot pack, quickly joining Garth for a patrol of that vulnerable back-trail he'd been telling of.

The trail was unmarked but for fading cold scents and subtle clues in the undergrowth, Garth's footprints of the night before obscured now by fresh snow. Garth didn't follow it far but cut crosswise to a nearby ridge crest where they could observe without revealing themselves. "I left deep footprints and diverse piss-marks over yon," he said, pointing one foreleg toward a boggy open place where two low drainage swales came together. "The real trail runs straight up the ridge from there. If the dogs heed my warning and turn aside the trail will be lost, and they'll not be finding it again. It'll be naught but stinking peat muck to slog through after that, and naught to reward them in return for it."

"And if the dogs are undaunted, and fail to turn aside?"

Garth Mactire beamed broadly and winked her a fire-eyed wink. He licked his jowls and drawling replied "We'll just treat ourselves to another hot hound-dog breakfast then, won't we?"

"Foul monster!" Molly laughed, shoulder-bumping him playfully, "What would John Smallberries think?"

"He'll smell our breath and think we should have brought him some."

"Hmmmpf!" Molly grunted "Maybe we will. More likely they've learned their lesson and they'll leave us alone. Why don't you get some rest now while I watch the trail? You worked hard all night while I was snoring away."

Garth nodded and found a flat leafy place to curl down in, tucking nose to tail and soon breathing the steady slow breaths of deep sleep. Molly regarded him tenderly, resisting the urge to sneak in surreptitious neck-nuzzle. What a treasure he was! She could not imagine where she'd be now without his help. Quite thoroughly dead, she suspected, with bones rotting in a rubbish heap and pelt proudly displayed on Baron William's great-room wall. No, not quite right. Her enemies would never so casually cast aside her fearsome skull. They would flense that and put it on display too.

Molly settled down for a long watch and over time the sky grew darker and the snowfall thicker, so she could barely see clear to that particular back-trail spot Garth had pointed out to her. Soon the snow would do their work for them and there'd be no point sending out dogs at all.

The falling snowflakes were so peaceful, soporific, tempting her to close he eyes just a moment and... what was that? Movement startled her, driving all thought of napping from her mind. Someone was on the trail!

Through swirling flurries Molly espied a man and a dog, just one dog, and behind them a dozen slouching footmen, weedy and ragtag insofar as she could tell through snow and distance and bundled clothes. Not a bowman among 'em, far as she could see. Certainly no man with bow strung and ready for use. By ambush she and Garth could slaughter them all, like as not.

Was this all Baron William thought fit to send them? Surely Tom's brave rebel band deserved the honor of a more formidable pursuing force than that! This business of rebellion was far less glamorous than song and story had led her to believe! Molly sighed and watched closely, banishing such silly thoughts. Ha'penny cheap their rebellion might be, but the pain and death of it were all too dear for those called upon to pay.

The dog was hesitating now, clearly upset by Garth's warning marks, and the houndsman was hesitating too. He knelt down and brushed snow around, scrutinizing the bare earth beneath it and likely finding some of Garth's monstrous paw-prints. He looked upward toward the ridge where Molly lay then pulled his dog firmly crossways, to the right, off the true path and direct along the boggy swale. The men behind him hesitated to follow and unkind words were no doubt exchanged, but in the end they went along and slowly, unenthusiastically, they took the wet cold path of safety and life. When they straggled back much later, exhausted and smeared chest-high in clotted black mud, the houndsman and his hound were no longer with them.

Molly beamed broadly as she watched them go. Snow was coming to an end but the day's light was half-spent now, more than half, and Molly was certain no more pursuers would be making use of it. Hurray! No death today! Of late she had quite lost her appetite for it.

She fondly gazed upon Garth's gorgeous peaceful-sleeping form, appetites of another sort rising unbidden in her breast. He'd been sleeping over half a December day now, five hours at least. Surely that would be enough to keep him going a bit longer. She cuddled up and neck-stroked him gently, brushing mounded snow from flank and shoulder and tight-curled white-fluff tail. At her touch Garth straightaway stirred and sensuously stretched, then rose to his feet and vigorously shook himself. "Any action?" he inquired, peering down-slope to where their half-hearted pursuers had dallied.

"We had some trackers early-on but they turned away, just as you were hoping they would."

Garth barked "Hah! This proves it once and for all! Truly the peen is mightier than the sword." He swaggered off and lifted one hind leg beside a snow-mounded gorse bush crying, "Take that, you spiky paw-pricker! Melt in awe beneath the power of my rank and steamy prose!"

"Yes dear," Molly responded, rolling her eyes at his silliness and pissing the same spot too, not to be outdone. She strut-kicked fresh snow over all and added "I'll admit yer penetrating essays and knotty conundrums have had a seminal effect on me. It has gratified me beyond words to return the favor in kind." She slipped behind him and tease-tickled his tail whispering "But ha'ye in sooth embraced the essence o'my presentation? Are ye fain I press my point home one more time? For surety's sake?"

Garth flicked his tail away but not quickly, and not far. He said "We're on watch now, woman!"

"The day's growing old," she purred, pressing forward to nuzzle lower, feather-light between his thighs, "How much longer must we stay?" Garth twitched at the touch and hopped forward then stood still, hind legs braced and tail half-raised. He said "Er... not long... I suppose..."

Molly laughed "Sounds fair. You watch and I'll continue to amuse myself back here. When you're done watching let me know!" She pushed her head between his legs and heaved up firmly where his scrotum should have been, for an instant lifting his hind paws clear of the ground, then she pulled back still pressing upward so her muzzle dragged back straight across his spade-shaped female folds.

"Acck... er... huh!" he grunted, tail flipping entirely to one side. Ears down he shuddered and arched his back for her and said "I... uh... I think I'm done watching now."

Laughing madly Molly jumped him then, seizing Garth's thighs with both forelegs and pressing tight against him, probing for and quickly finding the well-placed deep pocket of his lupine vulva then thrusting deep inside without waiting at all. She rutted him roughly but not painfully--knowing well what he could take--hilted giggle-deep from the first thrust and already feeling that peculiar melting-hot male tightness as her knot began to swell. Garth clenched deep muscles tight around her and pant-whimpering he pushed his haunches back and--

"Molly!"

What was that? Molly yelped in panic and yanked free her half-formed knot and--

"Molly Hand-biter! Can you hear me? I beg you please don't kill me... I'm here to yield my surrender. If you'll have it."

Garth whipped around and whispered "Talk to him. I'll circle wide and see if it's a trap." Then he was gone among the snow-heaped gorse-bushes, his white fur blending with them seamlessly while Molly hunkered low and called out "Ho! I'm here, right enough, but I've no interest in yer surrender. Enemies are for killing, don'tcha know. And sometimes eating when I'm in the mood. Might be in the mood right now, come to think of it. Haven't had me breakfast yet today." She heard a canine terror-squeak and added "Heh! And ye've brought a little cur-dog f'me desert. How sweet!"

"Please Yer Worship no! I'm a friend, or wish to be! Tommy Atkins is me grandam's brother, fer pity's sake. He'll vouch for me! Won't ye let me talk to him?"

Molly left her lurking spot and circled sideways, hugging brush-cover to thwart arrow-strikes. The man was close but the brush that concealed her also blocked her view, and she hadn't managed to sight him yet. His tone seemed sincere enough, as far as she cold tell, but it stung to be caught so off guard and she was determined not to add to her error by carelessness now. She found a tree to stand behind and asked him "Are you alone?"

"Yes, Yer Worship. Only me dog is with me."

"What is your name?"

"Zanger Voortdragen, Yer Worship."

"And your dog's name?"

"Beauregard, Yer Worship. He's a foxhound o' great gentleness and worth and I beg ye on bended knee please don't eat him! I swear he's more use t'ye alive! He'll track anything and he's good with children and no man could ask for a better watchdog and--"

"Enough! Your precious Beauregard is safe if he's gentle as you say, and if no trickery is afoot."

"Thank ye, Yer Worship! Thank y--awwk!"

Molly popped out from concealment to find Garth standing over the huddled forms of a man and a dog, mud-soiled but clearly uninjured--no faintest blush of blood upon the snow--both holding motionless by choice, in hope of mercy.

And mercy they received.

"You may rise now," Garth growled, stepping back from them when Molly reached his side. "Please tell us now why you're alone in the woods making pacts with monsters when you could be safe and warm at home, by a roaring fire."

"Yer Worship I had to! There's evil deeds afoot and no time to waste! The baron's setting up gallows-beams and he's arresting townsfolk at random and the word's out they'll be hanged tomorrow, all of 'em, as penalty for the rebels he can't yet find. No one knows what to do! Tom an' the other leaders are gone and the baron's men are burstin' doors don't matter what ye say and theres no telling what--"

"Hush now Zanger," Molly soothed, fierce facade all at once forgotten, "Garth and I will be there tomorrow, at the very least. Maybe we can help, maybe we can't but I swear we'll be there! And you'll be talking with your precious Tommy Atkins before the sun has set. Who can guess what cunning plans he's kept in reserve? Could be he'll decide it's time to make a stand!"

Zanger rose to his knees and his dog pressed close beside him staring up at Molly as if she were Death himself. Or herself. Or whatever. She rolled her eyes and told him gently "Come along, dog. We won't be eating you today. And we'll be sparing your little man, too. Take that path yonder and we'll walk behind to maintain your enthusiasm for a speedy journey."

Garth rumbled "Molly will walk with you. I'll run ahead to give the earliest possible warning. Follow my tracks for the quickest path." Then he leapt forth and was lost to view while Zanger and Beauregard rose to their feet and followed meekly, both looking always straight ahead and never back to spy upon the fire-eyed nightmare creature strolling close upon their heels.

After a long time Molly asked "Tommy Atkins is your Grandam's brother and yet you were sent to track him down. Is your relationship to him generally known?"

Zanger hesitated a long time and at last said "No. And his true name is not Thomas Atkins. Please I beg ye don't ask me more than that. Ask Tom! I'd be breaking vows to say more but Tom will likely tell ye everything ye want to know."

Molly grumbled "Very well. I'm not so desperate for the facts as to make you break your word of honor. Pray tell me then, what knowledge can you share?"

"There was a battle last night, by the garrison. It went badly, they say, dozens killed by... er..."

"By loathsome monstrous wolf-creatures?"

"Er... yes. So they say."

"And yet you sought us out! You're a brave man, Zanger!"

"If'n ye say so, Yer Worship. Desperation can drive a man t'do strange things." Zanger fell silent but Molly could tell he was mustering the courage to say more. At last he mumbled "Shouldn't be telling ye this, shouldn't tell anybody but... ye'll recall that lightning strike and fire at the garrison a month ago?"

Molly chuckled "Yes, I recall it well. I was there."

Zanger said "I was there too. Folk say lightning struck the stables and caused a nasty fire but that's not what I saw."

"What did you see, Zanger?"

"I saw lightning fall nearby but it never touched the stables. I was in them at the time so I would have noticed a thing like that. The gates were open and men were out confronting... a disturbance."

"That would be me," Molly modestly murmured.

"Aye. It would. All eyes were on that, or most all of 'em and then this crack-o-doom lightning bolt struck down and all was madness and there before me stood a lantern unattended and a mound o' dry straw bedding and... I set it aflame."

Molly yelped "Why? What of the horses?"

"No horse was harmed! The stables there are naught but simple low buildings, easily cleared, and divers men at hand to set about the job. It was not the stables I was set on in any case but the small building next to them. The shed some claimed had gunpowder stored inside."

Molly growled "It did."

"Aye, it did," Zanger agreed. "Men were killed, and I'm to blame for it, but no horse was harmed."

Softly to herself Molly whispered "...never wish for such a time..." She gave him words about war and hard choices and Zanger nodded, shoulders hunched. At last she asked him "Do you want this kept secret?"

Zanger told her "Aye, Yer Worship. For now. Tell it if I'm killed or if some day the time seems right, but not now."

They walked in silence and Zanger's shoulders gradually lost their tenseness but Molly didn't have the heart to ask him more questions. Not long after that came the chatter of voices from up ahead, one of them Tom's, and her time for idle talk with Zanger was at an end.