Bearclaw Valley By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes,

He didn't expect reason. He didn't expect speech. Yet when reason and speech fell from the demon's maw, Fraser stared at him, the words sinking in, one by one. I'm sorry, he replied meekly. I d-didna ken—I wouldna have come here if I'd known. . .

Because Fraser had no real knack for scent markings. Because his life had been determined by fences put up by masters not of his species, of commands given by those betters. Fences and betters existed in this world, too, but they were different—and he did not know them for what they were.

Until now.

What are you? His brows came together, and he replied, I'm Fraser. I. . .am lost. I canna find my way home.

Reason. Questions. Why now, after all that trouble, after he'd been bloodied? Fraser didn't understand. He just wanted to go home.