“You don’t want to fight me,” Ratha said as Fessran sidestepped around her. The other female glared at her one more time and lowered her head. “The Named do not bare fangs against the Named,” she said harshly, “and I do not bare fangs against one I trained. Very well. The creature is yours. Keep it or kill it as you wish.”
There was the sound of feet padding away. Fessran turned her head. “Thakur has gone,” she said and took a step after him.
“Are you going with him?” Ratha asked. Her anger was gone. A hollow, empty feeling crept into her belly as she watched Fessran turn, her eyes following Thakur’s pawprints in the ash.
“I should. He is my herd-brother. You don’t need either one of us. You have your creature.”
Ratha felt herself start to tremble. “Fessran ...”
The other female stood, her tail twitching, something shifting around in the depths of her eyes. Ratha’s tongue felt numb and heavy in her mouth.
“Find Thakur, then,” she said. “Tell him I didn’t mean to frighten him. After you have found him, come back to me.”
“I doubt he will come back here, Ratha.”
“Then send him on ahead and come back by yourself.” Ratha tried to keep her voice steady, but she knew her eyes were pleading. Fessran stared beyond her to the fire. Ratha followed her gaze and said, “The creature is dying. It does not matter whether I kill it or not; when you return it will be dead.”
Fessran snorted. “You were ready to fight me to protect a creature already dying? You make no sense, Ratha.”
Ratha opened her mouth to speak, found no words and hung her head. She didn’t know why she had tried to protect the Red Tongue; why her sudden anger had made her threaten Fessran and scorn Thakur.
Ratha saw Fessran’s eyes soften. “Wait here while I track Thakur. I will return for you then.” She padded away, leaving her footprints on top of Thakur’s. Ratha watched her for a while before turning back to the fire. The flame had shrunk to a pale orange fringe that huddled on the branch.
Ratha crouched beside it, curled her tail around her feet and watched it.
What are you? she asked it silently.
The flame crackled back.
Do you speak like me, or do you only growl like the Un-Named Ones? Ratha crept closer, laying her chin on the ground. You are so tiny now that you couldn’t hurt me. Whose cub are you, little Red Tongue? Her breath teased up small clouds of ashes and made the fire flutter. Don’t die, little Red Tongue, she thought.
The flame jumped, doubled its size for a moment, then shrank again.
Ratha lifted her chin, stared at the creature, extended her neck and breathed gently on it. Again the fire gained strength as it fed on her breath. Ratha jerked her whiskers back, opened her mouth and exhaled.
After a while, however, the flame began to flicker and die down into glowing coals. Ratha had to blow hard to coax the creature up again and it wouldn’t stay. Her breath wasn’t enough. It was dying. It needed something else. Ratha watched it, feeling helpless.
The charred branch broke; crumbled. Embers glowed orange and the warmth beat on Ratha’s face as she leaned over the fire. Again, she blew, raising a fountain of sparks. One landed on some dry needles and flashed into flame. For several moments, the second fire outdid the first one; then as it consumed the needles, it fell and died.
Ratha trotted to the scorched spot, sniffed it; turned back to her creature. She felt she was on the edge of an answer.
It needs ... it needs ... I know what it needs!
Ratha almost stumbled over her own paws as she ran to seize a twig covered with brown needles. She dropped it on the embers and jumped back as the fire spurted up again.
My creature needs to eat, she thought, whisking her tail about in her excitement. It won’t die if I feed it.
She scurried about, collecting food. She found that the fire wouldn’t eat rocks or dirt and balked when fed green stems, but would leap and crackle happily over dry needles and twigs. It also displayed a disconcerting relish for fur and whiskers. Ratha was careful to keep hers well out of its reach.
The fire burned fast and grew large. The waves of heat made Ratha’s eyes water. She stopped feeding it and soon it grew small again.
The song of a bird far across the burn made Ratha lift her head. She saw that it was evening. The sun’s edge was slipping below the horizon and the red-streaked sky was fading to violet. A single cricket began chirping; then the chorus joined in. Ratha listened to the noises, muted by the night and the soft hiss of the dying Red Tongue.
The burn lay open beneath the star-filled sky. With no trees to hold the day’s heat and break the wind, the air grew cold. Ratha, prowling in the shadows beyond the firelight, fluffed her fur and shivered, despite the summer stars overhead.
When she came back and lay down by the flame, it spread its warmth over her; her shivering stopped. She yawned and stretched her pads toward the flame. She hadn’t felt so warm and comfortable since she was a nursling curled up in the den with her mother. She rolled onto her front, tucked her forepaws under her breast and fell into a light doze, waking now and then to feed her fire.
The night grew colder. A harsh wind hissed in the trees. Ratha crept closer to the fire. She gathered a bundle of twigs and moved it nearby so that she need not leave her creature’s warmth to search for the food it needed. The fire’s sound became friendlier to her ears and she thought, sleepily, that her creature was purring. The sound lulled her and she dozed.
* * *
Ratha woke, not knowing what had disturbed her. She lay still, peering through half-closed eyes, her chin on the ground, trying not to sneeze despite the flaky ash that stung and teased her nose. A slight tremor in the ground beneath her chin told her someone was coming.
Thakur? Fessran? The intruder moved downwind of her and she could catch no scent.
She heard two sets of footsteps; one in counterpoint to the other. Two pairs of eyes glinted, green stars in the dark. She saw two forms; one hung back; the other approached. Firelight painted the newcomer’s coat with dancing shadows as it crept out of the night into the Red Tongue’s circle. The intruder raised a wary head, squinting into the flame, and Ratha saw that it was Fessran.
She crouched, limbs tensed, muscles bunched, her belly fur brushing the ground. She took a few quick steps and stopped, her flanks quivering. Ratha watched her pupils dwindle to points as she looked past the flame.
“You are still strong, wretched creature,” Ratha heard her hiss. “Did you kill the one who tamed you and eat her to gain your strength?”
Ratha sat up. Fessran’s head turned sharply, her neck fur bristling in spikes. “Ratha?”
“Here, Fessran. Behind the Red Tongue.”
“So the thing hasn’t eaten you even though it is stronger than before. You told me it was dying.”
“It was.” Ratha skirted the fire, came to Fessran, extended her neck to touch noses, but there was no answering nudge. Ratha drew her head back, wary of the other’s raised hackles and narrowed eyes. “It needed to eat,” she said, feeling awkward, yet slightly proud. “I found what it wanted. I fed it and kept it alive.”
“Ptah! Thakur and I have journeyed here for nothing. Keep your creature. Feed it and play with it all night if you want. My summer coat isn’t thick enough for this wind. I go.”
“Fessran.” Ratha pawed her flank.
Fessran said, her ears back, “I have run far in the cold this night. You begged me to return. You told me the Red Tongue would be dead by then. Ptah!”
Ratha retreated as Fessran spat. The two eyed each other. Fessran lowered her head and turned away. “Are you cold now?” Ratha asked.