Monty dove into the passenger seat. Kowalski had the car rolling before Monty closed the door.

• • •

The Wolves ran, and the patrol car stayed close enough to see them but far enough back to maneuver around anything unexpected.

Then Simon caught a scent—fresh enough and so familiar.

He stopped, explored the shoulder of the road. Followed the scent across the road and into the trees on the other side.

The patrol car pulled up. “Wait!” Montgomery shouted.

He hesitated, but the need to find his Meg was stronger.

<I’ll help them follow the trail,> Nathan told Simon and Blair.

That much decided, Simon waited just long enough for Blair to join him. Then they headed into the woods, following Meg’s scent on the game trail.

<This way,> Simon said when they reached the fork. He lifted a leg and marked a tree for Nathan to find.

<Why would she go east?> Blair said, also marking the tree.

<Meg would follow the trail in her visions.>

They followed the game trail, followed the scent, moving at a steady pace that wouldn’t leave Nathan and the police pack too far behind.

<Blood,> Blair growled, sniffing some leaves.

<More here.> Just drops from a small wound, but for Meg, there was no such thing as a small wound.

They kept moving, following the game trail and the blood trail.

Then Simon stopped, his ears pricked. Was it . . . ?

“Arroo!”

They were barely in range of that howl, but it filled him with joy. “Arroo!”

“Arroo! Arroo!”

Found you. He ran toward the sound.

• • •

The odd silence wasn’t quite so silent anymore, and Meg felt very grumpy about that—but not quite grumpy enough to tell an Elder that it wasn’t polite to laugh at someone else’s howl just because it wasn’t . . . whatever.

“Arroo!” Practice makes perfect. Miss Twyla had said that. She hadn’t said it about howling, but she had said it. In fact, she’d said a few other things about howling when Lizzy and the other children had been trying to see who could howl the loudest, but they didn’t apply to Meg.

She looked out of the corner of her eye. She couldn’t see the Elder, but she sensed that something large had settled just above one end of the small bowl of land. It hadn’t tried to communicate with her, but maybe its presence would attract some of the Crowgard and she could ask one of them to take a message to Lakeside.

Meanwhile, she was still tired and thirsty, and her ankle hurt. But that presence, while not benign, didn’t feel threatening either. At least she wasn’t alone.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath . . . and howled. “Arroo!”

Moments later she heard “Arroo!”

“Simon,” she whispered. “Arroo! Arroo!”

She waited, hardly daring to breathe. She didn’t wait long before a big Wolf came over the lip and leaped into the small bowl of land.

“Simon!” She threw her arms around him and held on, shaking. Then she felt skin instead of fur, and strong arms wrapped around her as Simon pressed his face against hers.

“Meg.” His voice shook. His body trembled. “Meg.”

“I knew you’d find me.” She squealed when something licked her ankle. Something that wasn’t Simon.

“Blair says you’re hurt.”

Meg pulled back enough to see Simon’s face. “He can tell that by licking my ankle?”

A deep growl near her hip discouraged her from saying anything sassy. She thought of telling Blair that there was an Elder nearby, but she figured he already knew that—and would nip her anyway.

“I tripped and hurt my ankle—and found . . .” She turned her head just enough to indicate a direction without actually looking at the body.

Blair moved away to inspect the body. Simon just hugged her.

“There’s an Elder here,” she whispered in his ear.

“I know,” he whispered back.

“It laughed at me when I howled to tell you I was here.”

She could feel his smile.

Then Nathan was there, practically stepping on her as he sniffed and licked.

“Okay for us to come down?” Monty asked.

Meg looked up and saw Monty and Kowalski.

“Come down,” Simon said.

They moved more carefully than the Wolves, their shoes slipping on old leaves as they made their way down to her.

Kowalski knelt in front of her, opened the daypack he carried, and produced a bottle of water. He opened it and held it out. “I have some food too, but we’ll start with the water. Drink slow. Small sips. Okay?”

So thirsty, but she obeyed.

“Her ankle is hurt.” Simon helped her move her leg to a position where Kowalski could look at it.

Apparently look didn’t mean touch, because Simon snarled and his canines lengthened to Wolf size.

“Have to touch to tell what’s wrong,” Kowalski said, looking at Simon.

The snarling quieted but didn’t stop—and got quite a bit nastier and louder when Karl’s prodding made her yip.

Kowalski opened the first-aid kit. “I’m pretty sure it’s sprained, not broken. Got an elastic bandage in here. We can wrap the ankle to give it some support until we can get Meg home for a proper checkup.” He pulled out other things and handed them to Simon. “You can clean the cuts on her arm, then put some of the antibiotic ointment on them and wrap them. We’ll need to watch them for infection since I don’t think the cuts were made under the most sanitary conditions.”