Runt by Marion Dane Bauer Read Free Book Online Page B

back, too. Once he even helped Sniffer locate the haunch of a deer King had cached near the clearing against a hungrier time. For their transgression, their father disciplined them equally with bites on the tops of their muzzles.
    One day the pups discovered Skunk, their noses twitching at the compelling and disgusting smell that hung around the waddling black-and-white creature. Runt was the only
one with enough sense to stay back, proving his encounter with Porcupine hadn't been entirely in vain. But it gave him little pleasure to avoid sharing his littermates' smelly fate. His good fortune seemed only to prove in another way how little he belonged.
    As the summer moved on, the pups' eyes changed from blue to the deep yellow of a mature wolf's. Their down-soft puppy fur was replaced by sleeker adult coats. And, of course, they grew. Their already-long legs, their big paws and tall ears grew even faster than the rest until their body parts seemed awkwardly mismatched. Runt changed and grew with the other pups, but he remained the smallest. And he was still Runt.
    "Why," he asked Helper one day, "did my mother give me such a cruel name?"
    "Didn't you know?" he replied. "Our mother didn't name you. Father did."
    Father!
His father had named him Runt!
    Raven, who had been listening in on the conversation, intruded with his own comment. "There is nothing wrong with being small. Why I've seen a pair of wrens—"
    "Yes, yes, I know," Runt snapped. "They
chased a crow across the sky." And he turned away.

    Autumn approached. Sumacs blazed red, the topmost branches of the maple tree Runt often rested beneath burst with color. The leaves of the aspens shivered on their slender stems, giving out a rattle as dry as death.
    Bears ate their languorous way through the forest. Small red squirrels showered the ground with pinecones, as many as a hundred in an hour, then scurried down to gather them up to store against the coming winter. The reddish brown coats of the deer dulled to bluish gray.
    Some days the hunters were successful and the pack lay in the cooling sunshine, gorged and contented. Sometimes they returned home with bellies still empty.
    It was after several unsuccessful hunts that Raven flew overhead. "Moose!" he called. "Moose!" He often flew in with reports of game nearby. When wolves eat, ravens eat, too.
    The pups stopped their play. The adults woke from their napping or half napping states, suddenly alert.
    King rose to his feet. "Where?" he asked.
    "This way!" Raven croaked. "Very near." And he flew off across the stream into the forest. The wolves all stood, watching the bird's departure, their ears pricked and their noses working.
    King tipped back his head and howled. Silver joined him, and the others gathered around, adding to the song. "Moose!" the song said. "There are moose waiting for us out there."
    Their voices started low, then rose and rose, each on a different note, until the entire forest reverberated with their presence. Even the pups joined in ... except for Runt. He had not howled once since he had sung his way back through the forest from the human place.
    Raven flew back. "Don't sing," he scolded. "It's time for action. Let's go!"
    "Come!" King called. And to Runt's amazement, this time he looked directly at the pups.
    Runt's heart raced. Could his father possibly be calling the pups to join the hunt? Even him?
    "Come!" King said again, and his meaning was clear. The pups were to go on their first hunt!
    Runt wagged his tail and looked at Helper, who wagged his tail, too. "Now," Helper whispered, "you can use what I've taught you."
    Runt intended to do exactly that. He would prove himself to Helper. He would prove himself to his mother and to Bider, too.
    Especially, though, he would prove himself to the one who had named him Runt.

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    King took the lead, and the rest of the pack followed in their usual order. The adults set a steady pace, but the pups' legs had grown long enough over the summer