Bad Grrlz' Guide to Reality: The Complete Novels Wild Angel and Adventures in Time and Space with Max Merriwell Read Online Free Page A
ground, Wauna licked her face, washing her clean. Sarah closed her eyes. Her memories were vague and muddled, but the touch of Wauna’s warm, wet tongue was like the cloth her mother had used to wipe her face each night, rubbing away the dirt with water warmed on the campfire. “Mama,” she murmured, and Wauna responded with a whimper, licking away the salty tears that rolled down the little girl’s face.
Thunder rumbled, a warning of the storm to come. Overhead, the branches of the pines lashed in the cold wind that blew down the mountains, where winter snow still lingered. Sarah shivered and Yepa, a young female wolf, moved to sit close beside her, blocking the wind. Yepa, Wauna’s daughter from the year before, had helped her mother care for the litter of pups, watching over the youngsters, letting them chew on her ears and pounce on her tail. This new youngster was strange, but when Wauna accepted her as a pup, Yepa did the same. She tolerated this pup’s behavior, just as she had indulged the pups that now lay dead in the valley.
Seeking warmth, Sarah huddled between Wauna and Yepa, snuggling against their warm fur. Lightning flashed, illuminating the snowcapped mountains that surrounded them. The thunder rumbled again, and Wauna cocked her ears, listening to the mighty growls from the sky. Lightning flashed white, like sharp teeth in a dark mouth. Thunder growled and barked. Wauna nuzzled Sarah’s ear, whimpering low in her throat.
A few feet away from Wauna, Rolon answered the thunder with a low bark and a whimpering growl. Then he lifted his head and howled, a long, lonely wail that echoed from the mountains. Wauna joined in, singing on a higher note that blended with Rolon’s. Then Yepa and Duman and Ruana and Dur, all Wauna’s children from the previous litters, joined in. Omuso, an older male, came in late, joining the chorus.
Mountain men say that wolves howl like devils, like banshees, like the lost souls in hell. They say the sound is dreadful, terrifying, unimaginably frightening. They shiver when they hear the wailing of the wolves, touched by a chill of the spirit. These men huddle by their fires, fearing the darkness of the mountains that surround them, fearing the wilderness that they hope to tame.
Surrounded by howling wolves, Sarah stared up at the night sky, mesmerized by the flashing lightning. The song of the wolves filled her with a strange feeling, a sense of urgency that made her heart pound faster. This feeling did not come with words—she had few words. But she remembered the touch of a wet cloth on her face, her mother’s hand stroking her hair, her father’s low voice singing her a lullaby, wordless memories that filled her with sorrow and passion.
When Wauna lifted her head to howl again, Sarah turned her face skyward and joined in with a wild young cry, a high note that rose above the others. If any mountain men had been listening, they might have wondered what new terror had joined the pack, a frightening creature with the shrill voice of a child. But there were no men to hear. Sarah clutched the neck of her adopted mother and howled, her face wet with tears and rain.
3 A CLEVER VILLAIN
“The calamity that comes is never the one we had prepared ourselves for.”
—Mark Twain
T HE MINERS FROM SELBY FLAT were delayed by the storm. By the time the pounding rain let up, night had fallen. They left town at first light, but it was a long and muddy trail from Selby Flat to the McKensie’s camp on Grizzly Hill. Beside the South Fork of the Yuba River, the rain had washed out the trail and the men had to climb high on the riverbank to make a new one.
Late in the afternoon, they reached the canvas tent where Rachel lay. Her body was still wrapped in the quilt, as Max had left her. The men stood beside the creek, surveying the wreckage that surrounded the tent. Now that they had reached their goal they were uncomfortable and uncertain of how to proceed.
“I came through here
Thunder rumbled, a warning of the storm to come. Overhead, the branches of the pines lashed in the cold wind that blew down the mountains, where winter snow still lingered. Sarah shivered and Yepa, a young female wolf, moved to sit close beside her, blocking the wind. Yepa, Wauna’s daughter from the year before, had helped her mother care for the litter of pups, watching over the youngsters, letting them chew on her ears and pounce on her tail. This new youngster was strange, but when Wauna accepted her as a pup, Yepa did the same. She tolerated this pup’s behavior, just as she had indulged the pups that now lay dead in the valley.
Seeking warmth, Sarah huddled between Wauna and Yepa, snuggling against their warm fur. Lightning flashed, illuminating the snowcapped mountains that surrounded them. The thunder rumbled again, and Wauna cocked her ears, listening to the mighty growls from the sky. Lightning flashed white, like sharp teeth in a dark mouth. Thunder growled and barked. Wauna nuzzled Sarah’s ear, whimpering low in her throat.
A few feet away from Wauna, Rolon answered the thunder with a low bark and a whimpering growl. Then he lifted his head and howled, a long, lonely wail that echoed from the mountains. Wauna joined in, singing on a higher note that blended with Rolon’s. Then Yepa and Duman and Ruana and Dur, all Wauna’s children from the previous litters, joined in. Omuso, an older male, came in late, joining the chorus.
Mountain men say that wolves howl like devils, like banshees, like the lost souls in hell. They say the sound is dreadful, terrifying, unimaginably frightening. They shiver when they hear the wailing of the wolves, touched by a chill of the spirit. These men huddle by their fires, fearing the darkness of the mountains that surround them, fearing the wilderness that they hope to tame.
Surrounded by howling wolves, Sarah stared up at the night sky, mesmerized by the flashing lightning. The song of the wolves filled her with a strange feeling, a sense of urgency that made her heart pound faster. This feeling did not come with words—she had few words. But she remembered the touch of a wet cloth on her face, her mother’s hand stroking her hair, her father’s low voice singing her a lullaby, wordless memories that filled her with sorrow and passion.
When Wauna lifted her head to howl again, Sarah turned her face skyward and joined in with a wild young cry, a high note that rose above the others. If any mountain men had been listening, they might have wondered what new terror had joined the pack, a frightening creature with the shrill voice of a child. But there were no men to hear. Sarah clutched the neck of her adopted mother and howled, her face wet with tears and rain.
3 A CLEVER VILLAIN
“The calamity that comes is never the one we had prepared ourselves for.”
—Mark Twain
T HE MINERS FROM SELBY FLAT were delayed by the storm. By the time the pounding rain let up, night had fallen. They left town at first light, but it was a long and muddy trail from Selby Flat to the McKensie’s camp on Grizzly Hill. Beside the South Fork of the Yuba River, the rain had washed out the trail and the men had to climb high on the riverbank to make a new one.
Late in the afternoon, they reached the canvas tent where Rachel lay. Her body was still wrapped in the quilt, as Max had left her. The men stood beside the creek, surveying the wreckage that surrounded the tent. Now that they had reached their goal they were uncomfortable and uncertain of how to proceed.
“I came through here
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