And he knew why there had been the appeal in the eyes of the prowler as it died and what it had tried to tell him: _Save them ... as you once saved me._ He carried the pups back past the prowler and looked down at it in passing. "I'll do my best," he said. When he reached his house he laid the pups on his bed and built a fire. There was no milk to give them--the goats would not have young for at least another two weeks--but perhaps they could eat a soup of some kind. He put water on to boil and began shredding meat to make them a rich broth. One of them was a male, the other a female, and if he could save them they would fight beside the men of Ragnarok when the Gerns came. He thought of what he would name them as he worked. He would name the female Sigyn, after Loki's faithful wife who went with him when the gods condemned him to Hel, the Teutonic underworld. And he would name the male Fenrir, after the monster wolf who would fight beside Loki when Loki led the forces of Hel in the final battle on the day of Ragnarok. But when the broth was prepared, and cooled enough, the pups could not eat it. He tried making it weaker, tried it mixed with corn and herb soup, tried corn and herb soups alone. They could eat nothing he prepared for them. When gray daylight entered the room he had tried everything possible and had failed. He sat wearily in his chair and watched them, defeated. They were no longer crying in their hunger and when he touched them they did not move as they had done before. They would be dead before the day was over and the only chance men had ever had to have prowlers as their friends and allies would be gone. The first rays of sunrise were coming into the room, revealing fully the frail thinness of the pups, when there was a step outside and Julia's voice: "Father?" "Come in, Julia," he said, not moving. She entered, still a pale shadow of the reckless girl who had fought a unicorn, even though she was slowly regaining her normal health. She carried young Johnny in one arm, in her other hand his little bottle of milk. Johnny was hungry--there was never quite enough milk for him--but he was not crying. Ragnarok children did not cry.... She saw the pups and her eyes went wide. "Prowlers--baby prowlers! Where did you get them?" He told her and she went to them, to look down at them and say, "If you and their father hadn't helped each other that day they wouldn't be here, nor you, nor I, nor Johnny--none of us in this room." "They won't live out the day," he said. "They have to have milk--and there isn't any." She reached down to touch them and they seemed to sense that she was someone different. They stirred, making tiny whimpering sounds and trying to move their heads to nuzzle at her fingers. Compassion came to her face, like a soft light. "They're so young," she said. "So terribly young to have to die...." She looked at Johnny and at the little bottle that held his too-small morning ration of milk.