Chapter Six

Atar felt something sniffing at him, and he recoiled. He opened his eyes when the deep growl filled his head. The memory of his beating jarred him to his feet, and he felt shame. The great wolf Bulliwuf glowered at him in disgust. Atar saw with some surprise that the day had almost passed, afternoon light blazed down, softening the harsh, dry land. All he wanted to do was forget about this. He got up and began to lope in the direction where the cloud of dust still hung in the air. His head hurt and his body was bruised, but he could not die, so he began to run.

As time went by, and the ground moved quickly beneath Atar’s strong legs, he let his mind drift to a time before. A memory, dim and undefined, struggled to the surface of his brain.

His little feet hurt him, but not as much as they could have hurt him if he hadn’t been riding the silver wolf for such a long time. An unfamiliar pain rumbled in his tummy, and he almost wished he could have a nap, but he hated naps. He cried out as pain shot through his tiny foot. He must have lost his sandals while he was riding. Whimpering in fear, he reached out for the furry wolf, but he was not there. A piercing wail issued from his dry throat. Where was Mama, where was his bed?