Mr. Crepsley and Gavner were asleep when I got back, tucked underneath thick deer blankets. Gavner was snoring loudly. With only their heads showing, they looked like the ugliest pair of babies in the world! I wished I had a camera that could photograph vampires, so that I could take their picture.

I was about to get underneath the blankets when I had an idea. The wolves had stopped at the trees. I coaxed them in. Streak came first and examined the base, making sure it was safe. When he was satisfied, he growled lightly and the other wolves entered, keeping away from the sleeping vampires.

I lay down on the far side of the fire and held a blanket up, inviting the wolves to lie down with me. They wouldn't go underneath the blanket — the cub tried, but its mother jerked it back by the scruff of its neck — but once I lay down and covered myself with it, they crept up and lay on top, even the shy she-wolf. They were heavy, and the scent of their hairy bodies was overbearing, but the warmth of the wolves was heavenly, and despite the fact that I was resting so close to the cave where a vampire had been killed recently, I slept in complete comfort.

I was awakened by angry growls. Jolting upright, I found the three adult wolves spread in a semicircle in front of my bed, the male in the middle. The cub was cowering behind me. Ahead stood the Little People. Their gray hands were flexing by their sides and they were moving in on the wolves.

"Stop!" I screamed, leaping to my feet. On the other side of the fire — which had died out while I was sleeping — Mr. Crepsley and Gavner snapped awake and rolled out from under their blankets. I jumped in front of Streak and snarled at the Little People. They stared at me from underneath their blue hoods. I stared at the large green eyes of the one closest me.

"What's happening?" Gavner shouted, blinking rapidly.

The nearest Little Person ignored Gavner, pointed at the wolves, then at his belly, and rubbed it. That was the sign that he was hungry. I shook my head. "Not the wolves," I told him. "They're my friends." He made the rubbing motion again. "No!" I shouted.

The Little Person began to advance, but the one behind him — Lefty — reached out and touched his arm. The Little Person locked gazes with Lefty, stood still for a second, then shuffled away to where he'd left the rats they had caught while hunting. Lefty lingered a second, his hidden green eyes on mine, before joining his brother (I always thought of them as brothers).

"I see you have met some of our cousins," Mr. Crepsley said, stepping slowly over the remains of the fire, holding his hands palms-up so the wolves wouldn't be alarmed. They growled at him, but once they caught his scent they relaxed and sat, although they kept a wary eye on the munching Little People.

"Cousins?" I asked.

"Wolves and vampires are related," he explained. "Legends claim that once we were the same, just as man and ape were originally one. Some of us learned to walk on two legs and became vampires — the others remained wolves."

"Is that true?" I asked.

Mr. Crepsley shrugged. "Where legends are concerned, who knows?" He crouched in front of Streak and studied him silently. Streak sat up straight and ruffled his head to make his ears and mane erect. "A fine specimen," Mr. Crepsley said, stroking the wolf's long snout. "A born leader."

"I call him Streak, because he's got a streak of black hair on his belly," I said.

"Wolves have no need of names," the vampire informed me. "They are not dogs."

"Don't be a spoilsport," Gavner said, stepping up beside his friend. "Let him give them names if he wants. It can't do any harm."

"I suppose not," Mr. Crepsley agreed. He held out a hand to the she-wolves and they stepped forward to lick his palm, including the shy one. "I always had a way with wolves," he said, unable to keep the pride out of his voice.

"How come they're so friendly?" I asked. "I thought wolves shied away from people."

"From humans," Mr. Crepsley said. "Vampires are different. Our scent is similar to their own. They recognize us as kindred spirits. Not all wolves are friendly — these must have had dealings with our kind before — but none would ever attack a vampire, not unless they were starving."

"Did you see any more of them?" Gavner asked. I shook my head. "Then they're probably journeying toward Vampire Mountain to join up with other packs."

"Why would they be going to Vampire Mountain?" I asked.

"Wolves come whenever there's a Council," he explained. "They know from experience that there will be plenty of scraps for them to feed on. The guardians of Vampire Mountain spend years stocking up for Councils. There's always food left over, which they dump outside for the creatures of the wild to dispose of."

"It's a long way to go for a few scraps," I commented.

"They go for more than food," Mr. Crepsley said. "They gather for company, to salute old friends, find new mates, and share memories."

"Wolves can communicate?" I asked.

"They are able to transmit simple thoughts to one another. They do not actually talk — wolves have no words — but can share pictures and pass on maps of where they have been, letting others know where hunting is plentiful or scarce."

"Speaking of which, we'd better make ourselves scarce," Gavner said. "The sun's going down and it's time we got a move on. You chose a long, roundabout route to come by, Larten, and if we don't pick up the pace, we'll arrive late for the Council."

"There are other paths?" I asked.

"Of course," he said. "There are dozens of ways. That's why — except for the remains of the dead one — we haven't run into other vampires — each comes by a different route."

We rolled up our blankets and departed, Mr. Crepsley and Gavner keeping a close eye on the trail, scouring it for signs of whoever had killed the vampire in the cave. The wolves followed us through the trees and ran beside us for a couple of hours, keeping clear of the Little People, before vanishing ahead of us into the night.

"Where are they going?" I asked.

"To hunt," Mr. Crepsley replied.

"Will they come back?"

"It would not surprise me," he said, and, come dawn, as we were making camp, the four wolves reappeared like ghosts out of the snow and made their beds beside and on top of us. For the second day running, I slept soundly, disturbed only by the cold nose of the cub when he snuck in under the blanket during the middle of the day to cuddle up beside me.

WE PROCEEDED WITH CAUTION for the first few nights after finding the blood-spattered cave. But when we encountered no further signs of the vampire killer, we put our worries on hold and enjoyed the rough pleasures of the trail as best as we could.

Running with wolves was awesome. I learned a lot by watching them and asking Mr. Crepsley questions; he considered himself something of a wolf expert.

Wolves aren't fast, but they never get tired, sometimes roaming twenty or thirty miles a day. They usually pick on small animals when they go hunting, but sometimes they go after larger victims, working as a team. Their senses — sight, hearing, smell — are strong. Each pack has a leader, and they share food equally. They're great climbers and can survive any kind of conditions.

We hunted with them a lot. It was so cool to race alongside them on bright star-speckled nights, over the gleaming snow — chasing a deer or fox and sharing the hot, bloody kill. Time passed quicker with the wolves around, and the miles slipped by almost unnoticed.

One cold, clear night, we came to a thick briar patch that covered the floor of a valley sheltered between two towering mountains. The thorns were extra thick and sharp, capable of pricking the skin of even a full vampire. We paused at the mouth of the valley while Mr. Crepsley and Gavner decided how to go on.