The rest of what Phelan was going to say was obvious, but Argus wanted to hear him say it. “If it does not, then what?”

Phelan turned to Argus and shrugged. “Then he will die.”

“No!” shouted Tora. “He will NOT die! We can’t let that happen. There has to be something we can do to at least try and save his life.”

Phelan was silent for the longest time, then said, “Water.”

“What?” asked Tora.

“His body must be cleansed…from the inside. Give him water. As much as he can drink. It will help to rid his body of the taint.”

“Do you think it will work?” asked Argus, his voice suddenly bright and full of hope.

“Noble is young and strong.” Phelan held out his arms and turned his palms up. “The rest will be in the hands of Mother Earth.”

The pack left Phelan and headed for home, running as if all of their lives depended on it.

Chapter 8

The pack returned home around four in the morning and immediately told Phyllis what Phelan had told them about silver poisoning, or the “Taint of Argentum” as he’d called it.

“Silver,” said Ranger Brock. “That makes sense. There’s really nothing else that can hurt the four of you.”

“But all of the myths and legends I’ve ever heard or read about said that any silver entering a werewolf’s body at any point is fatal,” said Tora.

“I think the important word here is myth,” the ranger answered. “Myths are supposed to be made-up ideas or concepts, legendary stories without any real basis in fact or natural explanation.” He looked around the room at the members of the pack. “You four are supposed to be myths…but here you are. Maybe the myths we know about silver are wrong, too.”

The room went silent as they thought about what the ranger had said.

“Or,” said Harlan, “maybe he just got a little bit of it. Just enough to make him sick, but not enough to kill him.”

The ranger nodded. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

“I have a question.”

Everyone turned to look at Argus.

“How could Noble have got silver in his body? If he was cut or hurt he’d have told us, and we all eat pretty much the same food. So why is he sick and not us?”

“That’s a good question,” said the ranger.

But no one, it seemed, had an answer.

“Maybe you can keep that in mind at school today,” the ranger suggested. “You know, take a look around and see if you can figure out what made Noble sick.”

Just then Phyllis entered the room with a pitcher full of ice water, a tall glass, and a bunch of bendy straws that would allow Noble to drink without getting up from his bed.

“I hope you’re thirsty,” said Harlan.