Then a gust revealed her father, on the far side, standing between the horse and Arlen the hound, who he was holding by the scruff of his neck. Arlen's teeth were bared and he fought against her fathers grasp. Arlen liked hunting, but he did not like waiting. There, beside her father, was Col, her brother. Morg gritted her teeth. This was the second time he had gone on the hunt, and he was only seven, one winter younger than her. He was