Runt by Marion Dane Bauer Read Free Book Online Page A

him down with a firm paw and washed him every time she came near. Sometimes Helper did the same. But neither of them said much to him.
    His father didn't speak, either, though at least his silence was familiar. What was not familiar was that King had quit watching Runt, quit taking note of his every foolish act, his every mistake. It was as though two of King's sons had died from the porcupine's blow, not one.
    I am alive,
Runt reminded himself.
The humans helped me, and I am alive.
    If existing on the edge of the pack could be considered living.

13
    A few days after Thinker's death, the wolf family set off for a new home. It was past time for the move. Thinker's prolonged dying had kept them close to the den long after they ordinarily would have left.
    The pups were old enough now that they didn't need the warmth and protection of the den, and the family required a new hunting range. They set out at a gentle lope in their usual single file, carrying nothing with them but their warm fur, their powerful, graceful bodies. King, Silver, Bider, Hunter, Helper. Followed by the pups. Leader, Runner, Sniffer ... Runt.
    No one told Runt to follow at a slight distance, but he did. No one called him to close the gap, either.
    King chose a new site on a brushy hillside.
Nearby a gurgling stream dropped to another placid lake.
They're here,
the stream murmured to Runt's ears.
The wolf pups are here
!
    But where is Thinker?
the rippling lake asked.
    "Gone," Runt answered mournfully. "Thinker is gone."
    The other pups discovered a grassy indentation where they could curl together for warmth when the nights were cool. King chose the rise that gave the best overview of the surrounding area. Silver found a place near her mate. Bider settled to one side and just below them both. The two yearlings stayed close, too. Runt sought out the shade of a solitary maple at the far edge of the clearing and turned and turned, trampling the grass to make himself a solitary bed.
    And so the summer progressed. The hunters went out and came back again. When they were successful, they brought food for the entire family, mostly deer, occasionally moose. When they weren't successful, everyone waited for the next hunt and hoped it would be better.
    Something important had changed since
Runt's last adventure, however. The other pups played among themselves, seldom inviting Runt to join them. He couldn't tell whether they were afraid of him or disdainful. He knew only that while the humans had saved his life, they had also left their mark.
    His mother, of course, remained his mother, though she continued to show her affection by giving him a good wash. Runt wondered, sometimes, if he would ever smell right to her again.
    And his father? King seemed sad, abstracted. Sometimes he went off into the forest alone. What he did there, Runt couldn't guess. He never returned with food.
    Helper, apparently feeling sorry for the outcast, began to spend more time with Runt. He singled him out for play, teaching him new skills. Runt accepted his brother's attentions gratefully.
    A large family of Canada geese lived on the lake. When the adults molted, leaving them as flightless as their gangly young, Helper often signaled Runt to join him. Together they crept through the long grass
until they were close enough to leap, sending the startled geese flapping their useless wings and braying into the lake. Helper and Runt always ended by splashing their paws in the shallows, rejoicing in their joke.
    Helper taught Runt to run in step behind him, to move fluidly and silently through the grass. He even taught Runt to scent a cow moose with twin calves as much as four miles away. Still, Runt never again tried to follow when the hunters left on their search for food.
    Runt fed when the others did, jumping up to bump a hunter's mouth to beg the food brought back in their bellies. He joined his littermates in games of tug of war with the bones and chunks of meat the hunters brought