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Updated: June 27, 2025
"Say, 'If we can. You live on Fenris, too, don't you?" Dad called the spaceport hospital, after dinner, and talked to Doc Rojansky. Murell was asleep, and in no danger whatever. They'd given him a couple of injections and a sedative, and his system was throwing off the poison satisfactorily. He'd be all right, but they thought he ought to be allowed to rest at the hospital for a while.
Matters reached a crisis between Fenris and himself one still, warm night in late July. The two were sitting side by side at the cavern maw, watching the slow enchantment of the forest under the spell of the rising moon; Beatrice had already gone to her hammock. As the last little blaze died in the fire, and it crackled at ever longer intervals, Ben suddenly made a moving discovery.
It was hard to remember all that occurred in the countless life times he had lived since the grizzly had stolen out of the spruce forest. But soon he remembered Fenris and walked unsteadily to his side. The wolf, however, was already recovering from the blow. He had been merely stunned; seemingly no bones were broken. Once more Ben turned to the mouth of the cavern.
Yet it was not an inanimate voice. He recognized it at once as the howl of a wolf, one of Fenris' wild brethren. The creature at his feet started as if from a blow. Then he stood motionless, listening, and the cry came the second time. He took two leaps into the darkness. Deeply moved, Ben watched him. The wolf halted, then stole back to his master's side.
"Are you there, Ez? It's me Ben." But the thickets neither rustled nor spoke. The cracked old voice he had learned to love did not speak in relief, in that moment of unutterable suspense. Indeed, the silence seemed to deepen about him. The spruce trees were hushed and impassive as ever; the moon shone and the wind breathed softly in his face. Fenris came whimpering toward him.
He had something in common with the breed, knowing their blood-lusts and their mighty moods; and dim, dreamlike memory reminded him that he had mastered them in a long war that went down to the roots of time. Fenris was only a fellow wilderness creature, a pack brother of the dark forests, and he had no further cause for fear. "Fenris!" he ordered sharply. "Come here!"
At the Ragnaroek, or twilight of the gods, foretold in the Edda, the monsters shall be unloosed, the heavens be rent asunder, and the sun and moon disappear; the great Midgard Serpent shall lash the waters of the ocean till they overflow the earth; the wolf Fenris, whose enormous mouth reaches from heaven to earth, shall rush upon and devour all within his reach; the genii of fire shall ride forth, clothed in flame, and lead on the giants to the storming of Asgard.
With a glad bark he sped away and almost instantly vanished into the gloom. But Fenris had not broken all ties with the cave. The chain was too strong for that, the hold on his wild heart too firm. If there is one trait, far and near in the wilds, that distinguishes the woods children, it is their inability to forget.
The fire had burned down to coals sullen and angry but he heaped on fuel, and they broke into a blaze. Then, Fenris at his side, he squatted on the ground beside the dancing flame. He watched it, fascinated; mostly silent but sometimes muttering and whispering half-enunciated words.
We'll have to go far enough beyond that to make him have to run like blazes to catch up. You can put it in the Times that the day of monopolistic marketing on Fenris is over." When we got back to the Times, I asked Dad if he'd heard anything more from Bish. "Yes," he said unhappily. "He didn't call in, this morning, so I called his apartment and didn't get an answer. Then I called Harry Wong's.
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