My pack is large, perhaps even the largest among all wolf settlements. Otherwise you won't survive in Icebang. We and the mothers are not a couple, but much more. Usually people like me live in families or small groups: wolves do not accept rivals and do not tolerate strangers. But the laws are different in the north.

My pack... Keeping the enemies from getting to her is all I can do.

Too bad I can't turn into a wolf right away. If I do this now, the blood will rush out of the wound in an instant and I won’t be able to get away.

I wrap myself in a wool cape. It smells of sheep and paint and the sweat of the woman who wore it before me. Wool tickles and scratches bare skin.

I don't need to open the tent flap to recognize the man guarding the exit. This is Ilyas, who followed my trail. And the hunter Sattar is clearly sitting nearby.

“Not ordered…not ordered to let you out,” the first one says uncertainly, noticing me. He frowns at me, and for some reason avoids my gaze. Ilyas's face is weather-beaten in the wind, and everything is overgrown with light bristles. If I run it over it, it will certainly turn red and scratch the skin.

But he is not afraid of me. But Sattar is uncomfortable more than him. The smell of fear betrays him, and you want to bare your fangs. He is a weak victim.

“They didn’t give you… clothes?” - Ilyas says in bewilderment. His gaze lingers on my hand holding the cloak to keep it from slipping off.

I'm not going to answer. Instead, I look directly into his bright eyes, amused and boldly challenging. He feels fear for me, but he is uncomfortable.

- Stop talking to her, Ilyas! You never know what you can expect from this creature! - angrily throws a man from the camp. He has curly dirty hair and gray temples. But it fades under my gaze. He's afraid of me, and that's why he's angry. Like I'm the cause of all his troubles.

In the camp, in addition to them, I see a dozen more people. But there will be much more of them - there are three more large tents. And the people are all armed, and it is not an easy task for my brother to fight with their guns.

“North,” they say respectfully when they see Tarrum.

Larre does not seem to notice them and looks only at me. It squints badly. And I'm cold, cold. Either from his presence nearby, or from the merciless wind.

"Did I tell her to let her out?" - pronounces my guard, and then throws a man with gray temples, - Shut up, Tosh.

Ilyas gestures for me to return. I surrender. Not because he has the right to order me, but only because it is not the time to fight yet. I cannot leave them, hide at night among the shadows and return to my family.

Tarrum gives instructions and then follows me.

- Have you eaten yet? - He speaks. Whether it surprises him or not, I can't tell. Larre touches my hair. It’s uncomfortable next to him: I want to twitch, but he keeps me. - Black. And your wool is black, if my people are not blind. What is the dark she-wolf doing among the ice, what is the night?

I could answer him that no, no, yes, puppies are born with wool similar to coal - a legacy of the past, of old times. Blood is strong, and even after several centuries, we have not had dark wolves. But I am silent, only the teeth will be held together. I dislike his closeness to goosebumps, to trembling in the knees. He is stronger, more dangerous. Terrible adversary.

He releases me.

- Did you bring it? he asks the woman what is in the tent. It is so large that it will be as large as three of me in girth.

“Yes, sir,” he replies. My own voice is trembling, but everyone is looking at me.

– What froze, Aina! Move.

The woman smells like a wool cape on me. The only difference is that now there is fear in her smell. Aina puts things in front of me. My eye avoids, everything looks at the floor. Easy prey.

She is not talking to me, to the North:

- My outfits will be great for her. But I can make skirts. I took the things of the Beli boy - they won’t sit on it, but at least they won’t fall off.

“Get dressed, daanu,” Tarrum orders, and strikes like a backhand. How will a person from the southern lands know how to address the "older" female from the pack?

I take off my cape and put on the things I brought to Aina. On a white shirt, embroidery stretches along the edges of the sleeves: in each thread, woven by the craftswoman's hand, hangs a appendage with protection. I choose not trousers, but a heavy skirt: it is not so easy to move in it, it pulls down, but on the other hand I feel free in it, and the fabric does not cut the skin. And I just want to spur Aina's anxiety. With trembling hands, the woman makes marks and right there in front of me, pricking her fingers with a needle more than once, tucks my skirt to size.

Wolves love to play and provoke. We compete with others and with ourselves. And the fear of the victim to whip up is a common thing. Can I scare you even more? Even more?

Tarrum is watching me. There is curiosity in his eyes. Next to him, I feel like with the don of a strange pack. He is a seasoned wolf, albeit a man. And he can easily bite me. But it is of no use to him. She-wolves are beyond the rivalry of their husbands, they have their own games and games are sometimes tougher.

But I feel the power of Larre. She bends but I stand straight. He is a predator, he is also attracted by fear. Worthy opponent. And the first person I have respect for.

“In Kobrin we will pick up better dresses for you,” he remarks, not counting on my answer.

He's not going to take me out. He needs me. I don't know why, but I need it. But he doesn't care about plans. To Kobrin? All the better. On the way, it is much easier to escape than from the camp, where the guards guard my every breath.

He releases Aina. She is glad to leave, a little more and will start running, if only not to meet my gaze. And the enemy, meanwhile, is so quickly nearby that I don’t even have time to take a step to the side. And also deftly Larre puts a ring on my finger.

Like I felt it. As if he heard my thoughts.

Magic.

Do not take on my habitual, bestial appearance, until the one who puts the metal on my finger does not grant that permission. I can't take off my rings.

Damned Tarrum!

***

She was supposed to come back and didn't come. The silver gray wolf follows her trail, hoping to find her alive. Praying to bury his nose once more in her black fur and smell that cannot but captivate him. If she doesn't, he won't survive.

She is strong, agile and faster than many will be. She just has no right to fall. His wolf... His...

He freezes, catching the human spirit. The people in Icebang... Unthinkable! It just can't be. Well, at least the fetor came from the other side. With another. Not where her trail was.

But he doesn't go astray. Then next to him he smells her stronger. But he is different. Blood... And the spirit of strangers hovers nearby. Strange ... It seemed that he was not there, and then once - he appeared. Strong, sharp. You can smell this one from a mile away.

Then the wolf goes carefully. Carefully nose leads and listens to every rustle. There is no doubt - people are very close. But why should a man fight off his own spirit? The animal will feel and will not turn. And so ... accidentally wandering around is easy.

He approaches people from behind. They do not see him, carried away by their own affairs. Then he notices... her. Wounded, in human form, but alive . Will not feel his presence in this skin. She herself would not want to throw off her wolf appearance, which means she had to.

And next to people, witchcraft hovers nearby, insatiable. They beat off their trace and lured her, dear ...

***

I look at Larre's people and see that they are waiting for something. They listen, cast glances at each other and do not know what to do with themselves. Tarrum sits in the tent with me and reads a book, looking at me through the sheets.

I feel like I'm in a cage. With every second, the fabric walls press and suffocate more and more. And I rush back and forth.

Larry leaves. Suddenly, without him, without his silent presence, the tent is empty.

Ilyas appears instead. He sits up and stretches his legs. He looks tired, there are inky shadows under his eyes. Ilyas tells me:

"Don't hesitate, Leah.

What did he call me?

“You must have a name,” he says, smiling.

He is silent. On his cheeks are shadows from whitish eyelashes.

“Don’t be afraid of me,” Ilyas asks, surprising me even more. I want to say that next to him is warmer than with any of the people.