by Clare Bell
Thakur also discovered an interesting property of this new food. Many of the fruits still hanging had begun to ferment; eating those made his tongue tingle. Afterwards he felt warm and happy, often chasing his tail and bouncing around like a cub. Eating too many made him clumsy, and he couldn’t keep his paws from sliding out from under him. His head also ached a little. The treeling chirped happily and wobbled on his back.
The treeling once became so drunk that he fell out of a tree. A clump of ferns cushioned his landing, but he couldn’t ride without toppling off. Thakur had to carry Aree back to the den in his mouth. Thakur suffered also from the treeling’s overindulgence, for he had been eating Aree’s leavings. He was stricken with a severe digestive upset that made him forget the mild pain in his head. The two spent the rest of the day in the makeshift den, sleeping much of the time and ill-tempered when they were awake. As he lay groaning, Thakur swore he would never touch his tongue to the cursed stuff again.
Aree recovered first, but the illness laid Thakur low for several days. During that time Aree stayed with him, gently grooming his fur or snuggling against him, making soft reassuring sounds. At last his stomach started to behave itself again and he was able to stagger out of the den, shaky and thin.
He knew he needed meat and he would have to return to the clan for it. He guessed the mating season was almost over, judging by how long he’d been away. Of course now he must worry about what to do with his treeling, but at least he’d have some time to think about it on the trail.
Chapter Seven
Thakur felt the treeling dig his paws deeper into his fur and crouch low on his back. He peered through the gray drizzle that sifted between the trees and looked toward the meadow where the herd grazed. Smoke billowed above the grass and he saw the amber flicker of fire. The treeling shook himself and fluffed his fur. Thakur could feel how uneasy Aree was by the way he shivered and clung. A gust of wind blew the smoke toward them. The herding teacher had almost forgotten how smoke stung his nose. He sneezed and glanced at Aree as the treeling drew back his whiskers and rubbed his muzzle with the back of his paw.
Thakur circled along the edge of the meadow and approached upwind of the guard-fire, allowing his scent to drift ahead of him to announce his presence to the young Firekeeper. The yearling might be nervous, and a mistaken attack could frighten Aree away. Soon Thakur could see the ring of guard flames that surrounded the clan’s animals.
He jogged toward a point midway between the closest outlying guard-fires. A Firekeeper came out to meet him. At the sight of Thakur, the youngster’s tail went up and a look of relief came over his face. Thakur guessed that he was anxious for the clan adults to return from mating and take over their duties once again.
“Welcome back, herding teacher!” the Firekeeper called. He stopped, stared and cocked his head. Thakur knew the yearling had seen something odd about him, but he wasn’t about to stop to answer questions. He quickened his pace.
As he crossed the meadow, he glanced toward the oak where several clan members had taken shelter from the misty rain. Among them he saw the gleam of a silver pelt. He hadn’t thought of Shongshar in a while. Having Aree as a companion had distracted him from his old doubts, but now they came back in a rush. Shongshar’s head lifted and he trotted out to meet Thakur.
Thakur felt ashamed of his worries. Shongshar had already proven himself a worthy and valued member of the group, the herding teacher reminded himself. It seemed that only he, Thakur, continued to doubt him. And that doubt was not based on Shongshar’s character but on the things he couldn’t control, such as the length of his fangs, the manner of his bite and the uncertainty of his parentage. Was it really fair to hold such things against him?
As Shongshar approached, Thakur could see that he had grown heavier; the powerful muscling in his shoulders and neck was even more evident. Now he was almost full-grown, and there was an air of maturity and a new sense of assurance about him. When the silvercoat drew closer, Thakur could see why. Shongshar’s muzzle was marked with claw scratches. The herding teacher had seen those marks on other young males after the mating season. The older males had enough experience to jump away before the female could claw them, but younger ones often caught their partner’s sudden change of mood too late to prevent a strike across the face.
For many of the young males, this was a badge of maturity and they wore their wounds proudly, as Shongshar did now. He slowed from a jog into an easy walk, his tail swinging. Again Thakur felt Aree tense as Shongshar’s scent reached them. The silvercoat, however, seemed to know the need to keep his distance.
“Herding teacher, if you’re hungry, there is a fresh kill,” said Shongshar at last, after eyeing the treeling. “You are among the first to return, and the yearlings have left plenty.”
His words reminded Thakur that his stomach hadn’t been filled with fresh meat in many days. He was seized by a strong hunger that cramped his belly and made him weak.
“Over here, herding teacher.” Shongshar led the way under the oak. At the sight of the kill, Thakur forgot everything else and ate until the pangs in his stomach had eased. When he felt sated, he scrubbed his muzzle and washed behind his ears, bumping the treeling with his forepaw.
He yawned, feeling the satisfying weight of a full belly. “Ah, that is so much better!” he said, stretching out and not minding the damp grass.
Shongshar ate a few bites and then washed himself as Thakur had done, stopping now and then to study the tree-ling. “What does it eat?” he asked.
“Bugs. And those soft things that hang on trees.”
Shongshar wrinkled his nose. “Oh.” He sat up, his nose in the air and then listened attentively. “I think some of the others are coming.”
Unwillingly, Thakur got up. All he wanted was to lie down and digest his dinner, but he had to do something with Aree before the other clanfolk arrived.
They got there much sooner than he expected. He had only reached the path that led to the dens when a whole group of long-absent clan members spilled out of the underbrush and greeted him with enthusiastic rubs and nuzzles. With a terrified squeal, Aree dived underneath him and clung to the long fur on his belly. Everyone retreated in surprise and Thakur was able to sort them all out. He saw Shoman, Cherfan and Fessran on one side of him, Ratha and Bira on the other. They looked tired and thin, but happy. They also looked and smelled hungry.
Their voices tumbled together in his ears.
“Is that a tree-creature, Thakur?”
“Where did you get it?”
“Are you going to eat it?”
“I’ve never had one of those before. Can I have a taste?”
“It smells good. Come on, aren’t you going to share?”
Thakur looked frantically for a way out of the ring of hungry friends. He could feel Aree trembling and pulling his belly fur so hard that it hurt. They all crowded around him again, except for the clan leader, who stood back watching, with an annoying look of amusement on her face.
“Ratha!” Thakur bellowed, trying to guard Aree from inquisitive muzzles and paws.
She waded in among the group, butting, shoving and dealing out cuffs to those who didn’t get out of her way. “All right, leave Thakur alone, you greedy bunch. I smell a kill over by the oak; the yearlings are welcoming us back.”
Cherfan lifted his head and tail. His eyes brightened and he galloped away, followed by Shoman, Fessran and Bira.
“Leave enough for me!” Ratha roared after them before she turned back to Thakur.
Aree had stopped shaking, but he still clung tightly to Thakur’s underside. Ratha paced around the herding teacher, trying to peek under his belly at the treeling. He could hear her stomach growl, and he wasn’t sure whether her interest was just curiosity.
“Are you really going to keep this creature?” she asked at last.
“Shouldn’t I?”
“Well, I don’t know. No one in the clan has ever kept one. I’m not sure why anyone would wan
t to. Are you waiting for it to grow fatter so it will make more of a mouthful?”
“The meat is over there,” Thakur said icily, flicking his whiskers in the direction of the old oak. “If you can’t think of anything except your belly, go and eat.”
Ratha reassured him that she wouldn’t eat his treeling but there was still a spark of mischief in her eyes. She admitted one could keep a creature for reasons other than eating it. After all, she had tamed and kept the Red Tongue.
“I don’t think this treeling is quite the same as the creature I brought to the clan,” she said critically as Aree grew bold enough to leave his refuge under Thakur’s belly and clamber up onto his back. With a suspicious look at her, the treeling began grooming himself again; once he had finished, he started to part Thakur’s fur, sifting through his pelt.
Ratha grimaced. “Yarr! He’s putting his paws into your coat. Doesn’t that feel terrible?”
“At first it did, but now I don’t mind,” Thakur answered. Ratha sat down and scratched herself briefly.
“What’s he doing?” She stared harder at the treeling.
“Aree is eating my ticks. He’s cleaned me off pretty well and I don’t have many fleas either. You probably have more than I do now.”
“I probably do. When the fleabane plant dies in the winter, we scratch until spring.” Ratha added the action to the word. When she stood up again, Thakur bumped up against her and tried to nudge the treeling onto her back.
“Oh no.” She sidled away. “I don’t want that thing pawing through my fur.”
“Are you afraid of a treeling after you’ve tamed the Red Tongue?” Thakur lolled his tongue at her.
“Of course not!” Ratha’s whiskers bristled.
“You want to get rid of all those itchy fleas, don’t you?”
“I don’t think he will climb on me,” Ratha said, but Thakur could see her resistance was weakening.
“He will if you don’t try to eat him.”
Still looking doubtful, Ratha edged against Thakur. He nosed the reluctant treeling off his back. Aree hissed at him and gave his whiskers a pull before he scrambled onto her and began to groom her ruff. Aree buried his muzzle in her pelt and bit at something. Alarmed, Thakur tried to take the treeling off, unsure whether he was trying to bite Ratha or something in her fur.
“No, leave him,” she said suddenly. She winced, then looked relieved. “Ooh, that hurt. Your treeling just pulled out the wretched tick I’ve been carrying around for days. I couldn’t reach it with my teeth. What a relief!”
She let the treeling clean the rest of her back. When Aree was done, he jumped back onto Thakur and nestled between his shoulders, murmuring softly.
“Well?” Thakur looked at Ratha.
“Your creature felt like all the fleas in the forest were on my back, but I am glad to be rid of that tick.” Ratha shook herself. “Keep your treeling, then. I will tell the others not to eat the creature. He isn’t like the Red Tongue, but he seems to be useful. Will he groom others in the clan besides you and me?”
“If they are gentle and don’t frighten him.”
“What are you going to do with him now?” she asked.
“Take him to my den. I think he wants to sleep.” Ratha gave the treeling one more look. “I’m going to ask the yearlings if anything happened while I was gone,” she said and jogged away, swinging her tail. Thakur gazed after her, then turned up the path that led to his den. With his full stomach, he agreed with the treeling that a nap would be a good idea.
Chapter Eight
Most of the mated females became pregnant, carrying their cubs through the winter and giving birth in early spring. When the rainy season ended, the clan mothers brought their litterlings from the birth-dens to a secluded place amid an outcropping of stone. In this sheltered nursery, guarded by one or two females, the small cubs could sleep in the sun or crawl about on unsteady legs.
The nursery would have been too hot at midday if it hadn’t been for the shade of a sapling that leaned over the rocks. A gap in the lichen-dotted scones allowed a light breeze to cool the litterlings, but the nursery’s shelter kept out the chill of the early spring wind.
Ratha lay, half-asleep, with a heap of dozing cubs warming her belly. As in previous years, she had had no cubs of her own; she took nursery duty to allow the mothers a rest. She opened one eye and watched the sapling’s new leaves flutter in the breeze.
A fuzzy, chubby body blocked her view and little paws stepped on her face. The cub was too tiny to hurt her and she let him clamber across her muzzle, only objecting when he stopped halfway to chew on her whiskers. With a grunt, she shook him off, caught him by the scruff and swung him into the pile of his fellows who were still asleep.
“Hmph. Your mother had better teach you that my whiskers aren’t blades of grass, even though they may look that way when I’m lying down,” she grumbled, giving him a nudge with her nose.
She lay back to enjoy the quiet, but soon other litterlings woke and began climbing all over her, butting her with their heads and digging in the fur of her belly to find her nipples. They would have to stay hungry until one of the mothers came to feed them, she thought, regretting she had no milk.
“Sleep until Fessran comes and she will feed you,” she said.
Ratha flicked her tail away from a cub that had started gnawing on it, surprised that such tiny teeth could be so sharp. She tried to nap again, but the litterlings wouldn’t leave her alone. She was starting to lose some of her patience when Fessran slithered through the opening in the rocks and flopped down to feed the hungry young. There were tiny squeals and growls as the small cubs fought for places at her teats. Ratha sat and watched, smelling the rich scent of flowing milk as the cubs nursed.
“Well, has our clan leader had enough of tending nurslings?” Fessran teased.
“They don’t squabble as much as the grown cubs I have to look after,” Ratha said.
Fessran grunted. “Give them time. They will. Especially mine.” She leaned over to nudge her little male and left a sooty smudge on him. “The black stuff won’t hurt,” said Fessran. “It’s just another spot. I’ll clean him up when I’m through nursing the rest.”
“Being a Firekeeper’s cub may have its problems,” Ratha teased. “If he keeps gaining spots, how will he ever lose them as he should when he grows up?”
Fessran yawned. “Speaking of Firekeepers’ cubs, has Bira brought hers out yet?”
“No. She had a late litter. They’re still too young.”
“Ptahh! She had them not long after I had mine. She’s just afraid that hers aren’t going to be the best. They’re not, of course, but I’m sure they’ll be acceptable. I think you should have a talk with her. She should be helping the rest of us mothers with the nursery.”
“She’s young; this is her first litter,” Ratha protested. “I don’t want to bother her yet. But I am curious about Shongshar. Does he take an interest in the litter?”
“Yes. He is more concerned with his cubs than any male I’ve known.”
“He seems to be good with youngsters,” Ratha said reflectively, getting up. The prospect of Shongshar having a strong attachment to his cubs made her uneasy, but she did not voice her concerns to the Firekeeper. Instead, she asked, “Is Shongshar as good a Firekeeper as you had hoped he’d be? I know the guard-fires have stayed strong and we haven’t recently lost any animals to raiders.”
Fessran’s eyes lit with pride as she answered, “Shongshar is as good as I’d hoped and even better. Not only is he brave and quick, but he sets a good example for the younger Firekeepers and encourages them to work harder.”
“Good.” Ratha let her uneasiness fade.
The cubs who hadn’t found a place to nurse crawled all over Fessran, their mewing shrill and insistent.
“Is someone coming to help you feed the litterlings?” Ratha asked.
“Drani is coming and her teats are full.” Fessran grimaced and shoved a cub away from her belly
. “Ouch, you little son of a mare! You’re supposed to suck, not chew.”
With that, Ratha took her leave.
During the next few days, she found herself watching both Shongshar and Bira. Shongshar was immensely proud of his new offspring and it showed in every step he took. Bira, however, seemed subdued. She was pleased at having her first cubs. But the happiness Ratha saw in the eyes of other mothers was marred in hers by uncertainty. Bira still did not bring her litterlings to the nursery and Ratha decided, reluctantly, that it was time to speak to her about it.
It was just after sunset and she was resting in her den trying to think of the best way to approach the young mother about her secrecy. She heard the tread of someone approaching and smelled Fessran. She raised her head, catching the sharp scent of anger in the Firekeeper’s odor.
“What is it?” she asked as Fessran came to the mouth of the den, her tail wagging and her fur bristling.
“That little idiot Bira!” Fessran hissed. “She’s abandoned her cubs. Shongshar came to me when he found them cold and hungry. She must have gone mad. I’ve never heard of anyone doing such a thing.”
A prickling apprehension began to creep over Ratha. “Is Shongshar with you?”
“No. He’s with the cubs, trying to keep them warm. I’ll go to Bira’s den and nurse them if you’ll try to find her.”
Ratha hesitated. Invading a new mother’s lair was not something that clan females usually did. Each of them knew how fiercely they guarded their own privacy and the right to decide whether they would show their cubs. Only the clan leader could violate that privacy and only when there was need. Fessran hadn’t said it directly, but Ratha knew she was asking for permission to enter Bira’s den.
“All right. Go feed them.” Ratha crawled out of the den and shook herself, trying to get rid of the cold chill that seemed to crawl through her fur. It was a worry she had long suppressed and had almost forgotten about. Now it came back in Thakur’s words and his voice.
