Such a day! How the others back at the Wall would laugh and call out at the story of one of the Folk learning Rikchikchik language in the tree of a squirrel-lord.
But he might never return to Meeting Wall to sing his song. He was of the Folk, and his oath would bind him. And now he was a hunter—sung and blooded.
Still, the hunter felt very sad and small.
Past the midpoint of night he began to feel a continuous weakness in his tired muscles. He had walked far by the Folk’s standards; even farther for one his age. Now he had to sleep.
Nosing about for a sleeping place, he selected a grassy indentation at the base of a large tree. He sampled the breeze carefully, and found nothing to prevent him from bedding down. He turned three times around in the small hollow—honoring Allmother, Goldeneye and Skydancer, the life-givers—then curled up, covering his nose with his tail-tip to save warmth. He was asleep very quickly.
Dreaming, he was under the ground, in darkness. Fritti was struggling, scrabbling at dirt that gave way under his paws, but always there was more dirt.
He knew something was hunting him, just as he hunted Squeakers. His heart was racing.
His scraping paws at last broke through, and he fell through a wall of earth into the open air.
There, in a forest clearing, were his mother and siblings. Hushpad stood there, too, and Stretchslow and Thinbone. He tried to warn them about the thing that was chasing him, but his mouth was full of dirt; as he tried to speak, dust fell out onto the ground.
Looking at Tailchaser, his friends and family began to laugh, and the more he tried to indicate the danger they were in from the following-thing, the thing that hunted him, the more they laughed—until the sneezing, high-pitched sounds swarmed in his ears....
Suddenly, he was awake. The laughter had become a high-pitched barking. As he listened, stock-still, he could hear it clearly. It was quite close by, and in a moment he identified it: a fox, yipping in the darkness beyond the trees.
Foxes were no danger to grown cats. Fritti had relaxed back into his sleeping position when he heard another sound—the unhappy mewing of a kitten.
He leaped up instantly to investigate, springing out of the copse and down a tree-crowded slope. The barking and snarling became louder. He leaped onto a crest of rock that jutted from a welter of underbrush.
Many jumps downslope from him an adult red fox had backed a small catling against a hummock. The young cat’s back was arched, all the fur puffed out from its small body.
Still not a very daunting sight, thought Fritti, not even to one of the Visl.
As he jumped down from the rock, Fritti noticed something unusual in the young cat’s posture: it was injured, somehow, and despite all its loud hissing and spitting, was obviously not in much shape to fight. Fritti felt sure that the Visl knew this, too.
Then, shockingly, Tailchaser realized that the fox-cornered catling was Pouncequick.
6
CHAPTER
... cats in their huddled sleep
(Two heaps of fur made one)
Twitch their ears and whimper—
Do they dream the same dream?
—Eric Barker
“Pouncequick! Little Pouncequick!” Fritti loped down the shrub-spotted slope. “It’s me! Tailchaser!”
The youngling, from his sagging defensive posture, turned a drooping eye in Fritti’s direction, but showed no sign of recognition. The fox turned sharply to look at the oncoming Tailchaser, but gave no ground. When Fritti drew to a halt a jump or two away, the Visl barked a warning.
“Come no closer, bark-scrabbler! I will do for you, also!”
Tailchaser could now see that the Visl was a female, and despite her ruffled hackles, not much bigger than he. She was thin, too, and her legs were trembling—whether from anger or fear, Fritti could not tell.
“Why do you menace this cat, hunt-sister?” sang Fritti, slowly and soothingly. “Has he done wrong to you? He is my cousin-son, and I must stand for him.”
The ritualistic question seemed to calm the fox a little, but she did not back off. “He menaced my pups,” she said, panting. “I will fight you both if I must.”
Her pups! Tailchaser understood the situation better. Fox mothers, just as the matriarchs of the Folk, would do anything to protect their litters. He looked at her protruding ribs. It must have been a difficult autumn for mother and young.
“How was your family menaced?” Tailchaser inquired. Pouncequick, a jump away, was staring fixedly at the Visl, seemingly unaware of Fritti’s presence.
The she-fox looked at Fritti appraisingly. “In the morning-dark, I had taken the pups out prowling,” she began, “when I smelled predators—large ones. The scent was unfamiliar, but it had something of badgers, and something of cats. I hurried the pups down to the den and lay on them to keep them quiet, but the danger smell did not go away. So I decided to lead whatever lurked out there away from the nest. I told the pups to stay where they were, then broke from a second burrow entrance.
“The smell was very strong—the predators were near. I showed myself briefly and ran. After a moment, I heard something following. I took them down-ravine, and up the basin’s edge. I even exposed myself to sight on the long meadow, in hopes of getting a moon-glimpse of what pursued me—”
“What were they?” Tailchaser interrupted. The Visl glared at him, and her hackles bristled.
Patience!
Tailchaser chided himself.
“I don’t know,
cat,”
she said harshly. “They were too smart to follow out onto the grassland.
“When they didn’t appear, I had to double back, for fear they had given me up and gone back to seek the den. As I said, though, they were cruelly clever ... they were waiting for me when I reentered the scrub wood, and I had to run like Renred to get away. They kept to shadows and underbrush, though. I don’t even know to a certainty how many there were. More than three, I think.”
Fritti admired the fox mother for her bravery. He wondered if he would be as selfless in a similar situation. The Visl spoke again.
“Anyway, I ran and ran—far enough that I felt safe for my young—and finally left them in a gorse thicket with a few false scents to chase.... I hope you’re listening very carefully. I seldom speak to cats, and I
never
repeat myself for them!”
“I am listening with great interest, hunt-sister.”
“Very well.” The fox looked somewhat mollified. Fritti hoped that they could settle whatever kittenish mistake Pouncequick had made without resorting to claw and tooth.
“Well, after taking a confusing route back, I arrived at my nest to hear my pups making a terrible noise: barking and yelping and calling for me. I found this little monster in the nest with them. Obviously, the others had led me off, and he had then snuck in to do harm to my young!” Again she bristled. Tailchaser was about to say something calming when Pouncequick cried out shrilly. Fritti and the fox turned to see the kitten starting forward, panting.
“No! No! I was hiding! Hiding!” cried Pouncequick piteously. “Hiding from
them!”
The kitten began to shiver uncontrollably. Fritti, worried for his little friend, began to move slowly toward him.
“Hunt-sister, in your understandable concern for your litter, I think you have mistaken another victim for one of the wrongdoers.” He was at Pouncequick’s side now. The little cat buried his nose miserably in Tailchaser’s flank and whimpered. The fox pinned Fritti with a shrewd gaze.
“What is your name, cat?”
“Tailchaser, of the Meeting Wall Clan,” he replied respectfully. His soft singing seemed to have prevented conflict.
“I am called Karthwine,” said the fox simply. “I will allow you to take your cousin-son without malice. You, however, must take the responsibility for keeping him out of the dens of my Folk. If I find him again near my pups, there will be no compromise.”
“That is more than fair, Karthwine,” said Tailchaser, giving a little head-dip of acceptance. The she-Visl looked him up and down, then turned a final glance to Pouncequick, whose face was hidden against Tailchaser’s belly.
“You sing well, Tailchaser,” the fox said slowly, taking care with her words. “But do not think to rely on that alone in this world. We foxes sing, too, and we know many things. But we
also
teach our pups how to bite.” She turned and stalked away in great solemnity.
The dawn was breaking above them as Tailchaser lay with a shuddering Pouncequick, singing quiet songs of reassurance. After a while, when the kitten’s terror had subsided, Fritti led him back to the sleeping tree and curled up around him. As the morning sun rose, covering the woodland floor with crisscrossed shadows,‘they fell asleep.
The heat of Smaller Shadows woke Tailchaser. Pouncequick was no longer nestled against him.
Fritti raised his head and saw the young catling up and frolicking, soft fur aclutter with pine needles and dead leaves. When Fritti rose and stretched he discovered a great soreness in his muscles. Watching the gamboling kitten with envy, he decided that he would have to set an easier pace until he became more accustomed to this steady traveling.
Pouncequick, still cavorting happily while Fritti sunned his aching legs and paws, seemed to have recovered completely from the terrors of the night before. When Fritti asked him about what had happened, however, a shade of disquiet came into the youngling’s eyes.
“Can we talk about it after we eat, Tailchaser?” he asked. “I’m very hungry!”
Fritti assented, and the next part of the afternoon was spent in a none-too-effectual hunt—spoiled in a large part by Pouncequick’s tendency to squeak when excited. They did manage to capture a couple of beetles, which—strangely ticklish going down—were at least filling. After finding a still but drinkable puddle of water, they settled down in the shade to digest.
The long, sleepy silence was broken only by the lulling whir of unseen insects. Then, as Fritti felt himself drifting into sleep, Pouncequick began to talk.
“I know I shouldn’t have followed you, Tailchaser. I’m sure I’ll be a burden, but I want so much to help you. You have been kind to me many times, when Fleetpaw and the rest just cuffed me about, or teased me.
“I knew you wouldn’t let me come, though, so I hid until you set out, and then I tracked you. All by myself!” he added proudly.
“Ah. So that’s why you were asking about my leave-taking among the Folk.”
“That’s right. I wanted to know where you were leaving from. I’m not
that
good a tracker,” he added a little morosely, then brightened. “Anyway, I kept my nose to the ground and followed. Everything went fairly well until midday or so; then I became confused.
“For a while it seemed like your trail had turned into someone else‘s, and then it doubled back on itself, and up and down trees—at least it smelled that way. I got very confused and wandered around for a while; when I found the track again, your traces were pretty cold. I followed as best I could, but it was getting dark, and I was hungry. Actually, I still am. Could we go find a few more beetles or something?”
“Later, Pouncequick,” snorted Fritti. “Later. First I want to hear the rest of your song, little cu‘nre.”
“Oh, yes. Well, I was trying to make up ground on you—hoping you would stop to sleep, or something—when I heard the most awful noise. It was a huge group of birds, and they were all twittering and shrieking at the same time. I looked up, and there were hundreds of them—a whole cloud of fla-fa‘az—all flying like mad around this tree, and making a terrible fuss.
“I went to the base of the tree, naturally, to see what was going on.
“It must have been horrible up top. There were piles of dead fla-fa‘az, ripped and bitten, and feathers everywhere, floating down from the upper branches. And when I looked up, I could see
eyes!”
“What do you mean, ‘eyes’?” Fritti questioned.
“Eyes. Big, pale-yellow ones—like nothing I’ve ever seen. There were too many branches in the way for me to see anything else, but I know I wasn’t mistaken. Then whatever it was made a hissing noise at me, and I ran. I think it came down the tree after me, Tailchaser, because the birds stopped making that terrible ruckus—but I didn’t look back to find out. I just ran.” Pouncequick paused for a moment with his eyes closed, then continued.
“I think that there might have been more than one, from the sounds I heard. They were fast, and if I wasn’t small—able to get under bushes and such—they would have caught me. I have never been so frightened—not even when a Growler was after me.
“Finally, I could barely run anymore. I was slowing down. I couldn’t hear anything behind me, though, so I stopped to listen more carefully.
“I was standing there with my ears up, and something reached out from under a rock and
grabbed
me!”
“From under a rock?” said Tailchaser incredulously.
“I swear by the First! It grabbed my leg! Here, see these scratches!” Pouncequick displayed his wounds. “You won’t believe this either, Tailchaser, but the thing that grabbed me,
whatever
it was ... it had
red claws!”
“Well, you said that something was killing the birds you saw. It was probably blood.”
“After half an Hour of chasing me over dirt and brambles? It would have come clean. Besides, this wasn’t dried blood. This was bright-red.”
Puzzled, Fritti gestured for the young one to continue.
“I shrieked like a jay, of course, and managed somehow to pull away. I went into a tangle bush as deep as I could, hoping they were too big to come in after me. I couldn’t run any farther. They didn’t make any noise, then, but I could sense they were still there.
“Then I smelled fox, and suddenly they were off. After I’d waited awhile, I staggered out from the bush and found the den-burrow. I supposed I’d go down just inside, where I’d have some defense if they came back for me. Then the Visl returned. I guess you know the rest.”