Incapable of blushing, Bushwalker grinned from the praise.
'Did you mention this theory of yours to Caverunner?'
'When would I ever get the chance to speak to him?'
'Yes, quite. He's hardly approachable.'
'Other than Treeclimber, who's only interested in one thing, you're the only male who lets me talk freely, Rockshaper.'
The shadows fortunately hid the old-timer's embarrassment. Males, from their teens upward, had only mating on their minds and he was certainly no exception, particularly when keeping company with such a desirable maid. Age hardly dulled lusty desires. He coughed nervously and said, ‘Caverunner is smart to avoid an outright confrontation with Bighand. We'd almost certainly come off second best. We can just as easily forage elsewhere and moving about in groups will certainly lessen the risk of attack, if that indeed is the intent of the robusts.'
Frowning, Bushwalker cocked her head thoughtfully. ‘How did you know about Caverunner's orders? I've not disclosed that part of the meeting.'
Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial hoot, Rockshaper confided to her, ‘The core of Home-rock is honeycombed with hollows, some of which we live in, most of which remain uninhabited and empty either because they're too small to use or too awkward to reach. Sound accordingly travels extraordinarily well throughout the complex. From this hidden little den I can overhear what is said in the assembly cave quite plainly. That is why I don't bother showing up to such gatherings personally. There's no need for me to be present.'
Bushwalker was struck by a disturbing thought and whispered back, ‘If you can hear them, then they are probably listening to us right now.'
Rockshaper abruptly began to laugh.
'What's so hilarious?’ she demanded.
'Bushwalker, you left the meeting because it ended.'
'Yeah.'
'Which means the cave was emptying while you were leaving.'
The female felt very dumb. There was a very good chance nobody remained in the assembly grotto to hear this conversation other than a few ignorant bats. Her discountenance turned into ire. ‘Since you've obviously been eavesdropping, old boy, listening to all that was said by the males in the meeting, why did you let me repeat everything?'
'For a bright girl, you can be incredibly thick. You probably don't fully realise this, but you are a thinker. That's an appreciable rarity in our tight little band of conformists. You needed to reason your way through your supposal to get the answer clear in your head. I was being helpful. Congratulations, tonight you learnt to think for yourself at long last.'
Bushwalker was set to disclaim her friend's intuitiveness, only could not. ‘How did you get to be so brainy, Rockshaper? Age must bring wisdom.'
The geriatric Upright grinned ruefully. ‘The only thing old age brings is achy joints. Brains are something you are born with, not develop. You merely have to brush the cobwebs off to let in the light of reasoning. Now, back to the problem at hand. There's a potentially dangerous intruder sniffing about Scraggly Bush and we must make preparations.'
'You believe me then, about the probable clawfoot?'
'Damn straight. Bighand isn't bright enough to groom himself let alone stage an invasion.'
'What do you suggest then, oh wise one.'
'Less of your lip, for starters. Caverunner has got the right idea of having everybody stick together. But it's not going to be nearly enough. We're not dealing with a bunch of half-wit robusts, but like you suspect a cunning meat-eater. For that we require something special.'
Bushwalker took the bait. ‘Such as?'
'This.’ The elder held aloft in his quivering hand the tool he had been patiently working on.
'What will this one do?’ she asked, studying the crafted stone in great detail. The softening lunar radiance picked out the rock's shape clearly, from the oval side its maker's trembling fingers were wrapped around to the hook of angled quartz pointing skywards and glinting promisingly.
Rockshaper smiled grimly. ‘Save us, when I finish it.'
Chapter Eight
The night passed uneventfully.
Bushwalker vacated her grass bed at the extreme back of the cave. She had not slept a wink, flinching at the faraway sounds of the nocturnal hunters filtering up out of the plains. Throaty roars of prowling lions mingled with the hysterical cries of a contentious hyena pack. Imagining that every screech was uttered by the unknown scratcher kept the apprehensive female awake and on tenterhooks for the whole night. Half-expecting some devil-cat to materialise at the cave mouth anytime, she had overcome her discomfort of the dark and retreated to the rearmost section of the spacious grotto to await the dawn.
Joining the rest of the Uprights filing from the dim caves into the new day as the heavens underwent the usual morning transition from grey-black to pinkish-gold, Bushwalker noted Rockshaper's absence. ‘Where's the old-timer?’ she asked a passerby.
'I haven't seen him since yesterday,’ the approached female replied somewhat indifferently.
Assuming the elder remained busy shaping his pebble-tools, Bushwalker was about to turn around and head back up the slope to find him when Treeclimber bumped into her. ‘Hey, watch we're your going!’ she hooted irritably.
'Get out of my way then,’ he grouched back, stepping around her.
'What's gotten under your skin this morning? Don't tell me you're still upset about last night?'
Treeclimber refused to acknowledge the fact, but his sour face as he turned on his heels made it plain that he firmly resented Caverunner's policy of non-confrontation. ‘What are you doing going back to the caves anyhow?’ he snapped at Bushwalker, making her the focus of his bitterness.
'Rockshaper hasn't come down. I'm off to get him.'
'Leave him. The old coot's plumb crazy and you hanging out with him is not doing your reputation any good.'
'That's uncalled for. Just because you're in a bad mood there's no need to take it out on me.'
'Just some friendly advice, that's all. I'm fond of you, Bushwalker, but the girls are beginning to talk.'
She gave him a venomous look and acidly said, ‘Which of your harem, Raincatcher or Cloudlooker?'
Treeclimber ignored the barb. ‘They're saying that he's old enough to be your father and that your association is unnatural.'
'He's my friend.'
'Who is obsessed with stones!'
'Rockshaper is a visionary. He keeps coming up with new ideas that I'm sure will benefit the troop no end ... once we figure out how to apply them.'
'Listen to yourself. That's crazy talk,’ derided Treeclimber. ‘Be careful what you preach,’ he warned her. ‘Caverunner does not tolerate outspoken females, as well you know, and Rockshaper is already walking on a thin branch with him. His one saving grace is that he's too old to be considered subversive.'
'For someone who's so unhappy with our leader, you're awfully quick to support him.'
Treeclimber shut his trap. He was having difficulty reconciling his loyalty to Caverunner with his opposing personal feelings regarding the direction taken by the Home-rock leadership. ‘What did you want to say to me yesterday evening?’ the confused male tersely grunted, changing the subject.
Bushwalker was put off-guard by the query. ‘What?'
'You said you had something to tell me that'd make me grow up, just before I showed you the scratched tree trunk.'
'Oh that. It was nothing,’ she curtly said.
'Suit yourself.’ He stomped away in a huff. Bushwalker was glad. Never seeing this side of Treeclimber before, his seriousness troubled her.
Not bothering to chase up her elderly companion, Bushwalker fell into step with the rest of the troop as they trudged their way down through the sloping bushland and across the windblown savannah to Murky Watering. She mulled over Treeclimber's condemnation as she walked. Bushwalker genuinely liked the affable young male, which was the closest thing to love she could feel in a polygamous society, and sorely hated to jeopardise their int
imate friendship. But he was wrong about Rockshaper. The oldest living Upright was innovative and blessed with foresight. Of that she was certain. The troop would profit greatly from his ingenuity, if only the likes of Caverunner and Treeclimber would open their eyes! Even so, her beau had planted the seed of doubt in her heart responsible for her not seeking out Rockshaper. Absently smoothing out the matted hair around her belly, Bushwalker sadly decided to cool things with the old brain for a while, at least until after she—
Shouts interrupted Bushwalker's musing and the group she was meandering with slowed to a halt. ‘Who is making all that ruckus?’ she demanded to know from a fellow female ahead of her.
'I'm not sure,’ came the reply. ‘By the sounds of things the males are having a set to with somebody.'
'Boys will be boys,’ added another.
Pushing through the crowd of her stopped peers, Bushwalker came to stand behind the front rank of the posturing males. They were parading about, hooting and hollering loudly at some unseen threat. Hopping up on tiptoes, the smallish female strained to see around their bigger and hairier bodies. Her nosiness paid off. Poking her head through a gap between two jostling males, each trying to outdo the other with shouted threats and insults, Bushwalker gasped with fright. Not ten yards distant the antagonistic robusts blocked the shallow incline the universally used track leading to the regional waterhole dipped into. Judging by the stern looks on their snub-nosed faces and answering screams of disrespect, they were not planning to budge anytime soon.
'Don't do anything hasty, boys!’ exhorted Caverunner, hurriedly shouldering his way forward through the milling females from his customary walking position amongst them to stand staunchly at the head of his worried troop. The taunts and jeers, growing steadily bolder and coarser, abruptly dropped away to nothing on both sides when the loudest pant-hoot of them all blasted the name-callers into an awkward silence.
'Caverunner! I was wondering when you would come out of hiding from behind your females, you scrawny, flea-bitten son a Squaremuzzle.'
Bushwalker held her breath as the foremost robusts parted ranks to admit a true giant of an Upright to the van of their group. She had only glimpsed Bighand from afar on two separate occasions and now that the leader of her rival cousins was within sprinting distance he seemed larger than life. Twice the weight of Caverunner and a full head taller, the man-sized hominin glowered at the graciles with widely spaced unfriendly eyes. His broad-cheeked face, compared to theirs, was positively huge, the obvious differences being a squashed nose set above jutting jaws. Bighand grimaced threateningly, his cheerless smile showing off to good effect the massive teeth used to grind up the tough vegetation that entirely formed the robust diet.
Clearing his throat, Caverunner bravely said, ‘You're blocking the way, Bighand.'
The dirty-brown haired colossus unperturbedly scratched his grey-flecked chin with a meaty hand. ‘That's sort of my intent,’ he declared.
'Move aside, please. My band is thirsty.’ Caverunner's bark was admirably polite.
The refusal was not. ‘Rack off, skinny. I'm claiming territorial rights to Murky Watering.'
'You can't! The waterhole is communal property. That has been an unsaid understanding between all the animals since the beginning of Time.'
Bighand was immovable. ‘I'm changing it. Now clear off before I have my boys deal to you.'
'Steady on, Bighand, I don't want any trouble.'
'I'd say it's a little late for that.’ Bighand gave a signalling hoot and half a dozen hirsute bodies on either side of the gracile troop promptly stood up from where they had crouched hidden behind the screening grass. Bushwalker noted with no small measure of concern that a goodly number of those solidly built ambushers carried broken tree branches as clubs.
'I knew this was coming,’ one of the Home-rock males griped. Bushwalker, recognising Treeclimber's angry tone, could not tell where he was placed. ‘Surely Caverunner won't back down now,’ she heard him further carp.
Although he lacked the complex brainpower for doing sums, Caverunner understood well enough that his troop was woefully outnumbered. Even if the positions were reversed, a single male robust was easily the equal of two of his gracile opponents. He prudently hooted the order to withdraw. Not even thirst would compel him to tangle with the stockier hominins.
'We're running away again,’ Treeclimber grumbled to a compatriot. ‘I'm sick of us backing down every single time.'
'Better this than getting our skulls bashed in with those heavy sticks of theirs,’ his companion wryly observed.
Bushwalker silently concurred, turning with the mob as they edged away from the confrontational robusts. She did not want to get caught up in the middle of a tussle for dominance between testosterone driven males.
Nobody was sure who threw that first stone, but pandemonium erupted rather quickly after it bounced off the nut of one of the thickheaded robusts off to the side. Eyes glazing over, he stiffened and collapsed, prompting his short-tempered buddies to avenge his downfall. They fell upon the startled graciles, whooping and clubbing indiscriminately from both sides. Panic immediately set in as the backtracking troop from Home-rock retreated in a blind rush.
Bighand's bellow lifted above the commotion. ‘Caverunner, you and your rabble will pay dearly for starting this!'
Vainly trying to restore order, Caverunner hoarsely shrieked, ‘Lead males ... protect the females and young ‘uns!’ He gave up after being knocked to the ground by a glancing blow to the small of his back from a club-toting robust aggressor. Getting up clumsily, he brushed against Bushwalker and implored, ‘Get back to the caves any way you can, girl!’ before he himself fled at a stagger.
She did not need to be told twice. Bushwalker had a fleeting glimpse of Treeclimber recklessly hurling himself at the attackers, supported by a couple of equally foolhardy mates, before she was swept along with the escaping band. A bemused male stumbled past her, clutching at a dangling broken arm. She watched him totter a few paces only to be brought down by an oncoming enemy who beat at him with a crooked stick about the legs and body. The ragged butt of a wooden club swung whistling out of the air behind Bushwalker to catch her on the full at the base of her head with a resounding thwack. Stars exploded before her eyes and she lurched forwards, falling onto her hands and knees on the trampled vegetation. The stunned female started to crawl unthinkingly into the cover of the long grass siding the battlefield before she passed out.
* * * *
'Feisty lot, aren't they?'
Studying the one-sided battle between the warring Uprights from his vantage point up a lone acacia tree growing defiantly out on the limitless savannah, Yowlar flicked his tail interestedly. There was faint note of amusement in his observation.
Jinku grunted. He was perched on the gnarled branch directly below the watchful panther. His injured leg, plus an inbred wariness coupled with the tree's hooked and spiky thorns, prevented him from climbing further to sit beside his intrigued feline master. This was Yowlar's introductory glimpse, albeit a distant one, of the man-apes and he was understandably curious. The baboon shared the cat's inquisitiveness, not out of any desire for learning mind you. The Uprights were already as familiar to Jinku as the sun and the wind, though no less of a mystery. What had him fascinated was the aberrant behaviour of the hominins. He had on occasion seen them squabble, but never resort to open brawling.
The oddball pair looked on as a couple of the graciles bravely fronted up to their burlier adversaries in an effort to cover the withdrawal of their brethren, only to be beaten senseless by the stick-carrying gang of robusts.
'Maybe they'll save me the trouble of the hunt by killing themselves all in one go,’ the ebony cat mused. The absurdity of his statement dawned on Yowlar almost immediately. Gurgon-Rha conditioned him to feed exclusively on the man-apes. Ergo, if they were all dead he would starve. Besides, he would miss the enjoyment of the stalking and ensuing kill. The panther blinked languidly. ‘Jinku, you
did not disclose that there were two forms of Uprights.'
'Sir, you never—'
'Wait, my fault for not asking.'
The baboon felt cheated at being robbed of finishing what was becoming his trademark saying.
'I'm asking now,’ established Yowlar.
'Well, there are big ones and small ones.'
'Thanks for the eye-opener. Give me specifics.'
'What do you wish to know, sir?'
'Which group hangs out at those caves you mentioned yesterday?'
'The little guys do. That's probably where they're running to now. Can't say I blame them.'
'The others?'
Jinku thought hard for a moment. ‘They don't have any fixed territory that I'm aware of and just roam Firewind Veldt at will, sleeping at night in whatever trees are handy to roost in.'
'Then what are the Upright prides contesting, if not land?'
'Perhaps hair-care tips.'
The growl the Sabretooth gave the comedic baboon was unrepeatable. He returned his attention to the drama being enacted out on the dry and dusty savannah. The graciles were beating a hasty retreat from their violent cousins who, oddly enough, did not appear to be giving chase but were milling about indecisively, seemingly baffled by the ease of their victory. Lapsing automatically into the calculating mindset of the hunter, Yowlar zeroed in on his unfamiliar prey items and sifted through what physical attributes and behaviourisms he could readily discern at this range. He then made his choice.
'Sir, where are you going?’ Jinku enquired as the panther effortlessly dismounted from the bough he had been reclining on.
'We're going on the prowl,’ Yowlar informed the baboon, ‘so hurry up and get your bare butt down on the ground. We've got Uprights to maul.'
'We?'
'I'll need a scout where we are going.'
'Hold on there, sir,’ objected Jinku. ‘I'm a lover, not a fighter. At least I will be once I get my own harem together.'
'It's not a request,’ the black cat stated, sitting on his haunches at the base of the thorn tree, staring up at the unwilling monkey with those pitiless yellow eyes of his.
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