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appeared with less frequency. The weather evened out and started to feel as it normally did in the Moon of the Shedding Antlers, though they found fewer antlers. It was as if the migratory herds were not returning in the great numbers they usually did. The thought gave Faolan pause. Had he seen this sparseness of antlers before? There was a haunting familiarity in the scarcity. But how could this be? It was only the third summer he had ever known — only the third Moon of the Shedding Antlers he had ever experienced. Once again something rustled in Faolan, like a distant wind blowing tatters of memory from an ancient place.
    He turned to Edme. “When you were in the
gadderheal
of the MacHeaths, you mentioned the Long Cold and the Ice March and it … it …”
    “Disturbed them, I think.”
    It disturbs me as well,
Faolan thought.
    They were within a day’s run to the region of the Ring of Sacred Volcanoes. In spite of their excitement, they decided not to push on. They had heard that the most spectacular time to arrive at the Ring was near twilight when the volcanoes often erupted, painting the fiery swathes of flame and plumes of ash against the purpling sky. So they found a mountain cat’s abandoned den and settled in for the night. There was no moon, but the stars were rising and seemed brighter than ever. An icy drizzle began to fall. Again they shook their heads in wonder at the oddities of the season. But they were too tired to speculate on the whimsies of nature and soon were fast asleep.
    It was as though he were moving through alandscape that was neither earth nor sky. Deeper and deeper, Faolan traveled into a misty place where the seasons of the moons fell away.
I feel as though I am wading through the shoals oftime,
Faolan thought. His pelt felt loose on his shoulders, his bones insubstantial. And yet he seemed to sense a twinkling in his marrow.
I am nothing and I am all.
He trotted on through the banks of rising mist. In the distance, he spied a trail through the vapor made by a very old wolf, an “ancient,” as the first wolves of the Beyond were called. The ancient was nearly toothless, and Faolan could see that his once bright green eyes had turned milky with age.
He must be almost blind,
Faolan thought, and yet the wolf looked down at the trail as if searching for something.
Hoofprints. He’s looking for elk!
Faolan knew that the old wolf was bothered by the same questions Faolan had wondered over — why this scarcity of antlers? The elk had not returned. Why? Where had they gone? The old wolf’s knees began to buckle beneath him. And it came to Faolan that the wolf had come to this remote place to begin the steps of
cleave hwlyn,
the act of separating from his clan, his pack, and finally his own body.
He is dying,
Faolan thought. His life had been fully lived, and now his time had come. Faolan watched as the stars began to break out, his marrow quivering as he saw the first rungof the star ladder that led to the Cave of Souls.
I will see him slip his pelt and climb the star ladder. Should I be watching?
Dying was a private act and yet … it all looked so familiar!
    But Faolan did not see the old wolf climb the star ladder. He woke up just as the last star of the night was dissolving into the gray of the dawn. He sensed he had dreamed a wonderful dream tinged with sadness, but he could remember nothing about it. Not a shred. He felt acertain peacefulness, a comfort. He looked over at Edme, who was still sleeping, and sensed that she was dreaming, too, perhaps of her mother, Akira.

CHAPTER EIGHT
V IEW FROM A R IDGE
    AS FAOLAN AND EDME MADE THEIR way east toward the Ring of Sacred Volcanoes, they noticed an increasing number of owls flying up from the Hoolian kingdoms to the south.
At least,
Faolan thought,
something is moving in the right direction this moon.
    “Faolan, if we climb up this ridge, I think we might get a glimpse of the volcanoes.”
    “Let’s go!” Faolan said. And the two wolves