carriage trundling along behind them. "He sits beside my mate in the thing with round feet."
The wolf sighed. "If he sits much longer, he will no longer be able to run or hunt,'' she said disapprovingly, "and if your mate continues to feed him so much, she will stretch his belly, and he will not survive a lean season when there is little food."
"One will speak with her about it."
"Will she listen?"
"Probably not, but one will speak with her all the same. She is fond of the young one and takes pleasure in having him near her."
"Soon one will need to teach him how to hunt."
"Yes. One knows. One will explain that to one's mate."
"One is grateful." She paused, looking about a bit warily. "Proceed with some caution," she warned. "There is a creature who dwells here. One has caught his scent several times, though one has not seen him. He is quite large, however.''
"How large?"
"Larger than the beast upon which you sit." She looked pointedly at Chretienne.
Familiarity had made the big gray stallion less nervous in the presence of the she-wolf, though Garion suspected that he would be much happier if she did not come quite so close.
"One will tell the pack-leader of what you have said," Garion promised. For some reason, the she-wolf avoided Belgarath. Garion surmised that her behavior might reflect some obscure facet of wolfly etiquette of which he was not aware.
"One will continue one's search then," she said, rising to her feet. "It may happen that one will come upon this beast, and then we will know him." She paused. "His scent tells one that he is dangerous, however. He feeds on all things—even on things that we would shun.'' Then she turned and loped off into the forest, moving swiftly and silently.
"That's really uncanny, you know," Zakath observed. "I’ve heard men talk to animals before, but never in their own language."
"It's a family peculiarity." Garion smiled. "At first I didn't believe it either. Birds used to come and talk to Aunt Pol all the time—usually about their eggs. Birds are awfully fond of talking about their eggs, I understand. They can be very silly at times. Wolves are much more dignified." He paused a moment. "You don't necessarily have to tell Aunt Pol I said that," he added.
"Subterfuge, Garion?" Zakath laughed.
"Prudence," Garion corrected. "I have to go talk with Belgarath. Keep your eyes open. The wolf says that there's some kind of animal out there somewhere. She says it's bigger than a horse and very dangerous. She hinted at the fact that it's a man-eater."
"What does it look like?"
"She hasn't seen it. She's smelled it, though, and seen its tracks."
"I'll watch for it."
"Good idea." Garion turned and rode back to where Belgarath and Aunt Pol were deep in a discussion.
"Durnik needs a tower somewhere in the Vale," Belgarath was saying.
"I don't see why, father," Polgara replied.
"All of Aldur's disciples have towers, Pol. It's the custom."
"Old customs persist—even when there's no longer any need for them."
"He's going to need to study, Pol. How can he possibly study with you underfoot all the time?"
She gave him a long, chilly stare.
"Maybe I should rephrase that."
"Take as long as you need, father. I'm willing to wait."
"Grandfather," Garion said, reining in. "I was just talking with the wolf, and she says there's a very large animal out in the forest."
"A bear maybe?"
"I don't think so. She's caught its scent a few times, and she'd probably recognize the smell of a bear, wouldn't she?"
"I'd think so, yes."
"She didn't say it exactly, but I got the impression that it's not too selective about what it eats." He paused. "Is it my imagination, or is she a very strange wolf?"
"How do you mean, exactly?"
"She stretches the language about as far as it will go, and I get the feeling that she still has more to say."
"She's intelligent, that's all. It's an uncommon trait in females, but it's not unheard of."
"What a fascinating turn this conversation has taken,"
The wolf sighed. "If he sits much longer, he will no longer be able to run or hunt,'' she said disapprovingly, "and if your mate continues to feed him so much, she will stretch his belly, and he will not survive a lean season when there is little food."
"One will speak with her about it."
"Will she listen?"
"Probably not, but one will speak with her all the same. She is fond of the young one and takes pleasure in having him near her."
"Soon one will need to teach him how to hunt."
"Yes. One knows. One will explain that to one's mate."
"One is grateful." She paused, looking about a bit warily. "Proceed with some caution," she warned. "There is a creature who dwells here. One has caught his scent several times, though one has not seen him. He is quite large, however.''
"How large?"
"Larger than the beast upon which you sit." She looked pointedly at Chretienne.
Familiarity had made the big gray stallion less nervous in the presence of the she-wolf, though Garion suspected that he would be much happier if she did not come quite so close.
"One will tell the pack-leader of what you have said," Garion promised. For some reason, the she-wolf avoided Belgarath. Garion surmised that her behavior might reflect some obscure facet of wolfly etiquette of which he was not aware.
"One will continue one's search then," she said, rising to her feet. "It may happen that one will come upon this beast, and then we will know him." She paused. "His scent tells one that he is dangerous, however. He feeds on all things—even on things that we would shun.'' Then she turned and loped off into the forest, moving swiftly and silently.
"That's really uncanny, you know," Zakath observed. "I’ve heard men talk to animals before, but never in their own language."
"It's a family peculiarity." Garion smiled. "At first I didn't believe it either. Birds used to come and talk to Aunt Pol all the time—usually about their eggs. Birds are awfully fond of talking about their eggs, I understand. They can be very silly at times. Wolves are much more dignified." He paused a moment. "You don't necessarily have to tell Aunt Pol I said that," he added.
"Subterfuge, Garion?" Zakath laughed.
"Prudence," Garion corrected. "I have to go talk with Belgarath. Keep your eyes open. The wolf says that there's some kind of animal out there somewhere. She says it's bigger than a horse and very dangerous. She hinted at the fact that it's a man-eater."
"What does it look like?"
"She hasn't seen it. She's smelled it, though, and seen its tracks."
"I'll watch for it."
"Good idea." Garion turned and rode back to where Belgarath and Aunt Pol were deep in a discussion.
"Durnik needs a tower somewhere in the Vale," Belgarath was saying.
"I don't see why, father," Polgara replied.
"All of Aldur's disciples have towers, Pol. It's the custom."
"Old customs persist—even when there's no longer any need for them."
"He's going to need to study, Pol. How can he possibly study with you underfoot all the time?"
She gave him a long, chilly stare.
"Maybe I should rephrase that."
"Take as long as you need, father. I'm willing to wait."
"Grandfather," Garion said, reining in. "I was just talking with the wolf, and she says there's a very large animal out in the forest."
"A bear maybe?"
"I don't think so. She's caught its scent a few times, and she'd probably recognize the smell of a bear, wouldn't she?"
"I'd think so, yes."
"She didn't say it exactly, but I got the impression that it's not too selective about what it eats." He paused. "Is it my imagination, or is she a very strange wolf?"
"How do you mean, exactly?"
"She stretches the language about as far as it will go, and I get the feeling that she still has more to say."
"She's intelligent, that's all. It's an uncommon trait in females, but it's not unheard of."
"What a fascinating turn this conversation has taken,"