The Heartwood Kita

The man laughed, but he said that he was confused.

Shiranui rested on his side. He drew his head across the leaves on the ground to look at the man. There was a glint of mirth in the ruby red of his eyes. There would be no answer to the preacher’s question. Who could say why it was that the white wolf did not speak? There did not have to be a reason for it. Shiranui had never spoken the word of common man.

It was not needed.

The white wolf did not need the blessing of a healer, the medicines of a shaman, or the touch from the hand of God. Shiranui understood more than most. He was a watcher, a listener. A wolf of the wild did not need the common words.

Shiranui lounged, watching the dog.

After a moment, the wolf curled his lip playfully and nipped at the air near the other man. It was a teasing gesture. Perhaps, a demonstration of how much Bartholomew spoke. There was no way to be certain.