Runt Read Free

pack.
    He hadn't known the soft blue sky or the scent of sunshine on the warming earth or that there were other creatures in the world besides wolves, either.
    Or that his father was in charge of it all.
    King had called him
son
. "My son," he had said.
    Could anything else matter?
    The small black pup closed his eyes and slept.

3
    The pups made the excursion to the mouth of the den the next day and the day after that. Soon they spent most of their time out of doors, retreating to the den only at night or if their mother gave warning.
    Each time the pups emerged into the day, Runt was last in line, but his enthusiasm for the world he found there never waned. When swift-footed Rabbit hopped out of her burrow, Runt raced after her. That he never came close to catching her didn't discourage him at all. Daily he chased Squirrel up a tree, then barked at him in a high, excited voice. "Come down, Squirrel. I dare you to come down!" Squirrel scolded and swore and twitched his tail in irritation. They both knew that Runt was about as likely to catch him as he was the wind, but that
knowledge didn't stop them from playing the game.
    Runt's zeal was far larger than his small frame and often sent him stumbling over his paws or tripping over an exposed root. Or it let him discover that the mudslide created by Otter in the lake bank was slippery, that the lake itself was cold and wet.
    "Please take care," his mother sighed, licking him dry.
    "Look before you leap," Helper warned, untangling him from a stand of prickly raspberry bushes.
    "Stupid pup," Bider muttered, not helping at all.
    Even Thinker scolded him sometimes. "Think," he warned again and again. "You've got to stop to think."
    And Runt did think, of course, though usually only after he found himself in difficulty. Then he thought that if he were only a little bigger, staying out of trouble would be much easier.
    Being small never kept him out of the fray, though. He and his brothers and sisters leapt at one another, strengthening muscles, improving hunting skills, jockeying for place and position in the pack. Whatever the prize might be, however, it never fell to Runt.
    "Keep trying," Hunter said. "It's good practice."
    "You're growing stronger every day," Helper told him.
    "You're growing bigger, too," his mother often said.
    But Bider, when he was near, sneered at the others' encouragement. "Bigger than what?" he would say. "A mouse? A sparrow?" For there was no question. Runt remained the smallest, the weakest, the least apt in the litter, a fact he didn't need Bider to point out.
    And Runt knew that his father knew it, too. King never said anything, either to criticize or encourage. He only watched. He watched when Runt lost a game of tug of war to Runner over a bone, when Leader slapped Runt to the ground and held him there, when Silver stood to nurse the pups and Runt was the only one who couldn't reach. And always King's golden eyes seemed to ask the same question:
Can you do it? Will you survive?
    I can
! Runt wanted to cry.
I can. I can.
And to prove himself, he'd go spinning after his tail until he tumbled into a dizzy heap, or he'd snap at a bumblebee and get his nose stung.
    King would turn away.
    Sometimes the pups took on one another's names. One morning Runner jumped on Leader and knocked him to the ground, rolling him onto his back until he squealed with indignation. For the rest of that day Runner became Leader and the first Leader was without a name. That evening, though, Leader jumped Runner from behind, flipped her over and held her down, sharp baby teeth to her throat, and their first roles were restored.
    Once, when Sniffer was busy investigating a snail, Thinker noticed a stench in the air that none of the pups could name. He reported it to their father.
    "It's
them,
" King said darkly. "Humans." And though none of the pups knew what
humans
might be, they all crouched low in their skins and shivered.
    Still, Thinker proudly took the name of Sniffer for