Its early evening now, and Ime sitting in the shade of the old blackwood tree at the far end of the plateau with my writing book open in my lap. The sun is still high and white in the sky, the air still thick with the Deathland heat, but the first faint breaths of a cooling breeze have just started fluttering in the tall dry grasses scattered sparsely around the hillside slopes, signaling the beginning of the end of the day.

Ile finish writing soon.

There isnt much more to say.

Everything is quiet for now – this world, our mountain home, is restful.

My mother is stretched out asleep on a patch of sandy ground in front of our cave, her feet twitching occasionally as she dreams – she spends most of her time sleeping now – and I can hear Chola Se playing with the pups in the vale beneath the plateau, splashing around with them in the shallows of the stream, keeping their minds off their empty bellies until the pack returns from hunting.

Chola Ses injuries are mostly healed now – her nightmares mostly a thing of the past.

I try not to think about that past if I can help it. It happened, its done. That world has gone. What good can come of reliving it? Thats not to say it isnt still with me – its in me, part of me---it is me – and sometimes I cant think of anything else. I think of Starry, of course – he comes to me with every breath – and sometimes I find myself thinking of Juddah and Gilder, wondering what happened to them, wondering if theres any possibility they survived---

But the rest of it, the rest of that human world, I try to forget.

The pups arent the only ones with empty bellies. Weare all hurting with hunger. The hunting hasnt been good for some time now, and I know that if it doesnt improve very soon, the big gray male and some of the others will begin to feel themselves being drawn by the desires of their blood. The ghosts of their ancestors will start whispering to them of hungers past, bringing memories to them of times they wont remember – scavenging scraps from wagon camps, the taste of horseflesh and human young---or running steadily through the Deathland night, their jaws laden with stolen meat, then gorging on the plundered feast and falling asleep with bursting bellies – and these whispered dreams of the past will become their hunger and turn their minds to the night of the rising. Theyle remember the smell of raw blood and burning flesh, the promise of human meat, and theyle begin to be drawn to the town again.