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afraid. Not of our own good world."
    "But we're afraid of humans?" Runt didn't mean to challenge. He simply needed to understand.
    "We stay away from humans," King growled. "As far away as we can. Humans mean death for wolves!" Then he turned and stalked off.
    The rest of Runt's family drifted away, too, though Helper gave Runt a sympathetic glance and Silver brushed against him softly as she passed. Still, they moved away with the rest. Only Bider, who had stood listening to the whole discussion, his yellow eyes glinting in a way impossible to read, remained near.
    Head down, tail tucked, Runt started toward the balsam trees at the top of the
clearing again. Apparently, it was the only place he belonged.
    "Coward!"
    Runt stopped in his tracks. Was someone talking to him? Slowly he turned to look back. Raven had flown to his place in a tree. King lay on his slab of rock above the den. Silver had settled close by to watch over a wrestling game the other pups had begun. Hunter and Helper were down at the lake getting a drink. Only the white wolf was still close.
    Bider spoke again. "Your father is a coward," he said. "He has never been near a human himself. Not once."
    "Have ... have you?" Runt asked.
    Bider lifted his head. His tail came up slightly, too. "I've followed them when they come into our forest. I've watched them from the shadow of the trees. I've walked among the beasts they keep in captivity."
    "And?"
    "Humans are clumsy, weak creatures. They have no claws. Their teeth are dull. They can barely even run. Your father has no reason to be afraid."
    "But they do smell bad," Runt offered,
knowing, even as he said it, that King must have better reason than the bad smell for his fear.
    Bider tossed his head. "Your father is a coward," he said again. And he walked away.
    A coward? King a coward?
A cold tingle traveled along Runt's spine. Could anyone say such a thing about his father and live?
    But the great black wolf had clearly been paying no attention to Bider's words. He lay placidly on his rock, flipping the tip of his tail for Leader and Sniffer to pounce on.
    Runt shook himself. His father a coward? The idea was unthinkable. And yet it would not go away.
    He headed for his private place at the edge of the clearing.
    Still ... if Bider was right, if it was possible that Bider could be right, did that mean that he, Runt, had been brave?
    Runt curled beneath the balsam, tucked his nose beneath his tail, and thought long and hard.

8
    Runt promised himself he was never going to run from a storm again. Or from anything else, for that matter. And day after day he worked to prove to his father and to the rest of the pack that he was, indeed, brave.
    He was the first to leave the den, the last to return every day. He even began to challenge the other pups for the meat brought home from the hunt. Occasionally, despite his smaller size, he won out of pure determination. Once he snatched a doe's shinbone from under Hunter's nose, and when she stepped back and left the prize to him, he dragged it around all day so the rest could see. But however fearless he tried to be, his father never seemed to notice.
    Then one day, wandering restlessly on the
perimeter of the clearing, he encountered a brown spiny-looking creature he had never seen before.
    "Stay away from me," she muttered. "Don't you dare come near!"
    "Why should I stay away?" Runt asked. He wasn't being rude. He really wanted to know. Surely, his father would take no notice of such a warning. Bider wouldn't, either.
    "Because I'm dangerous," she replied. "I am the most dangerous animal in the forest."
    Runt couldn't help but laugh at such a boast. He knew who the most dangerous animal in the forest was. It was the wolf, of course. Dangerous to deer. Dangerous to the enormous moose, despite their heavy antlers and fierce hooves. Even bears gave the pack a wide berth.
    "Do you think you can scare me?" Runt danced on his slender legs around the creature, so low to the