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roamed the area but spotted no more of the big beasts.
    Seeing that Nestor would survive, Joash turned in horror toward Harn. The huge, tawny-colored dog panted on the ground, his exposed side torn and bloody. Lord Uriah had given Joash express orders that Harn must not fight sabertooths. Now Harn would die because the order had been disobeyed.
    Meanwhile, the wagon masters begged the charioteers to escort them back to camp. “The new stallions,” wailed the chief wagon master. “You can’t afford to lose the new stallions.”
    “The sabertooths we saw earlier surely went south,” Herrek said.
    “No! The sabertooths are here,” the chief wagon master shouted.
    “That one was a young male,” Adah said.
    The chief wagon master stared uncomprehendingly at her.
    “Examine the beast’s wounds,” Adah said. “Another sabertooth recently attacked him. This one acted alone, not with a pride.”
    “Madness!” the chief wagon master cried. He turned back to Herrek. “Escort us back to camp.”
    “Hurry there,” Herrek shouted. “I’ll not fail those who need my help against sabertooths.” He nodded sharply. Gens flicked the reins, and the chariot surged south.
    The chief wagon master shouted panicked orders to his cousins from Havilah Holding. Others rushed about yanking up stakes. Others pulled down the awning, or heaved heavy water-skins into the wagons.
    Joash hardly noticed any of that. He was sick with grief, and dreaded explaining Harn’s wounding to Lord Uriah. He carefully washed the blood, examined the broken ribs and the ugly flaps of torn skin. Harn’s eyes glazed over, and his panting turned shallow. Only quick action might save him. First, taking a steadying breath, Joash pressed the ribs together, and with a needle and catgut thread (sometimes he mended Herrek’s clothes) he sewed the skin together. Harn barely whined, too in shock to feel this new pain. After wrapping on a bandage, Joash wiped his eyes, stood, and stretched the kinks out of his back. He looked around in surprise. The wagons already trundled across the plain.
    “Wait for me,” Joash shouted.
    It was too far for them to hear. Beyond the wagons, the faster chariots churned dust.
    Joash wanted to bolt after them. Harn whined and thumped his tail against the ground. Joash bit his lip. He was afraid to remain alone out here in Giant Land, but he stroked Harn’s neck and whispered encouraging words.
    A vulture circled overhead, showing Joash that predatory creatures already began to gather. In time, there would be jackals, hyenas, and maybe more sabertooths.
    Joash hurried to the abandoned camp. In their panic the others had left much behind. He pulled up two poles, laid them side by side, and cut empty water-skins to fashion crude netting between the poles. Carefully, he worked Harn onto the netting and lashed him into place. A hyena from somewhere in the distance uttered its strange cry. Joash studied a tall, waving field, his closest destination. Beyond the large stalks were purple flowers, and then a line of thorn bushes.
    His legs felt leaden. He should have kept one of the other dogs and hooked it to his hastily built travois. Now, he’d have to be the beast of burden.
    “Are you ready, boy?”
    Harn panted, his tongue hanging from his mouth.
    The hidden hyena cried again. Joash glanced at his javelin, remembering how well he’d thrown when scared. He studied the spear lodged in the nearby sabertooth carcass. While a runner often picked up spears that missed their targets, he only touched such weapons because of a warrior’s previous permission. That seven-foot weapon of war belonged to Herrek. A non-warrior was forbidden to touch it. Vain about his weapons, Herrek might look upon such an action as an insult.
    The hyena yelped louder.
    Joash tore the heavy spear free of the carcass. Flies buzzed and a coppery stink wafted. Joash wiped off gore and lashed the spear to the travois.
    In the distance, the cooking-wagons and