Swiftcurrent Creek copper thunder

He paused in his step, stiffening—realizing, after a delayed moment, that his son was actually calling to him—requesting more information. He had almost missed the quiet question—but when he dropped the dead wolverine to now look back to dead-Jakub, the terror that flashed in the eyes of the dark wolf gave him pause.

“The taiga. A pair of wolves—parents of young pups. One of our own was bitten. She’s left…” He swallowed—acid in his stomach—acid in his throat. He would not vomit. He would not… “She came to give us a warning and she left to…”

No, he could not say it, and he found his eyes straying to the sudden halt of Muskrat’s steps, studying the curve of her spine. “It spreads through saliva. Once bitten, it’s only a matter of time…”

His teeth clenched. “Just be careful.”

But then Muskrat—her voice—it pulled at him. Phusuqu. White spit… He felt as if his heart stopped—she knew what this was. This was not the boogeyman.

“Is there a cure?” And he hated the desperation that laced his voice—that last sliver of hope—that Lilitu was wrong and there was something they could do.