The hound was on its feet when Calen reached the kennel gate. It stood in the middle of the yard with its head low, and its eyes stayed on Tobin.
Tobin had raised it at first light. He had not let it lie down since.
The first lesson had gone badly. Nine days ago the boy had said the Rest Word too softly.
The hound had stood there for most of a minute, shaking its head as if it had water in its ears. Only on the second try had it folded into the straw.
Calen had written one line about that in the Hask Book. He had stopped there. The rest of the page was about the hound, and he did not want the Ministry to read it.
“Say it once,” said Calen.
“Once.” Tobin took a breath and held his right hand flat in front of the hound’s nose. His mouth made the Rest Word.
The hound did not move. Its ears turned toward him, then back toward the straw, and its legs stayed under it.
