“We have time left for some practice, Ratha,” Thakur said, regaining her attention. “I noticed that your spring was too high and that midair twist needs improving.”
He started her practicing dodges, turns and springs. After watching and commenting on her technique, he assumed the part of a wayward herdbeast while Ratha used her training to capture him and force him to the herd.
As Thakur watched the lithe muscled form darting and turning in front of him, he remembered how hard he had argued with her lair-father about training her in the art of herding.
“She is quick, she is strong, she can outsmart most of the cubs born before her,” he’d told Yaran as the two stood together in almost the same place as he was now, watching Yaran’s small daughter chase a young dappleback. “Look how she runs that little animal and has no fear of it. Not to train her, Yaran, would be a waste and the clan can’t waste ability like hers.”
“True, three-year-old,” Yaran rumbled, swishing his gray tail. “She is strong and she is strong of mind. It is already difficult to make her obey, and I fear that training her as you suggest would make her less tractable than she is now. And less easy for me to find her a mate.”
Thakur remembered arguing until his tongue was tired and then going to old Baire, who was then leader, taking Ratha along. Baire saw the cub’s talent and overruled Yaran. Thakur was allowed to teach her his skill. He and Yaran exchanged few words these days, but that loss was small in comparison to Ratha’s gain.
The cub sprinted back and forth in the grass, the afternoon sun turning her fawn coat to gold. Soon her spots would be gone and she would no longer be a cub. Her spirit challenged him and sometimes frustrated him, but he never tried to break it as he knew Yaran had. And, although he would scarcely admit it to himself, in the back of his mind was the hope that when she grew old enough for a mate, she might take him, even though his family and age placed him low in comparison to the clan status of other males Yaran might choose for her.
Thakur raised his chin and scratched at a flea behind his ear. “Despite what I say sometimes, yearling, I have no regrets about choosing you to train. You are good, Ratha, in spite of your mistakes. When I have finished training you, you will be the best herder in the clan.” He paused. “I don’t often praise you, yearling. Perhaps I should.” He routed the flea and lay down again. “Here is something that will please you more than words. I want you to stand guard with me and the other herders tonight.”
Ratha sat up, her whiskers quivering. “Can I? Will Meoran let me? He needs the best herders of the clan.”
“I told him that you are good enough. Meoran may think little of me in other ways, but when I speak about herding, he listens. Do you want to come?”
Ratha swallowed. “Will there be fighting?”
“If there is, you will keep out of it. Do you want to come with me tonight?”
“Yes!”
“Good.” Thakur got up and stretched, spreading his pads against the ground. “Help me drag this kill to the dens and I will see that you get enough to eat this evening. The clan cannot let those who guard the herds against the Un-Named grow weak from hunger.”
“Will the raid come tonight?” Ratha asked, pacing alongside her teacher.
“Meoran thinks it will. He has scouts watching the Un-Named.”
“I’ve seen them a few times. They hide behind trees or crouch in the shadows. They watch us just as we watch them.” Ratha trotted to match Thakur’s longer stride. “I’ve often wondered who they are and why they are without names.”
“Perhaps you will learn tonight, yearling,” he answered.
They reached the stag’s carcass. Thakur pushed one stiff foreleg aside and seized the neck while Ratha grabbed the rear leg by the hock. Together they lifted the kill and carried it away through the trees.
CHAPTER TWO
Ratha followed the white spot bobbing in the darkness ahead of her. She smelled resin, heard needles rustle and ducked beneath a branch that overhung the trail. She had seen the moon through the trees as she left her den, but here the dense forest hid its light. The white spot grew smaller and Thakur’s footsteps fainter. She hurried to catch up. She didn’t need to follow Thakur’s tail tip; she could guide herself well enough at night even though she was used to living by day. But the white spot drew her on and she followed without thinking, as she had followed the white of her mother’s tail through the tall grass of the meadow. Ratha remembered the one time she had dared to disobey. Panic had tightened her belly and sent her scampering back to Narir. She was beyond her cubhood now, but the night to her was a very large and awesome creature and the flickering spot ahead promised protection.
She followed, looking about as she ran, and wondered at how her vision changed at night. She had run night trails before, but they were short paths from one den to another, short enough that the thoughts filling her head as her feet trod the path never let her notice what she was seeing. Now the trail was longer and she was beginning to shed her cub-thoughts with her spotted fur. Now, as if it knew she was using her mind with her eyes, night crept out of its murky den and showed itself to her. The crystal light of the moon cut through the trees and gave every knobbled root, scaled patch of bark or curled fern a harsh presence, a clarity that was too sharp. She looked at night-lit trees and stones and felt she could cut her paw pads on their edges.
Ratha smelled mossy stone and damp fur. She heard Thakur’s pads slap on mud as he paced the streambank. He hunched himself, a compact shadow against the moonlit stream, and leaped across. On the other side she saw him wave his tail.
“Cross, yearling,” he said. “You have jumped it before.”
She crouched on a flat stone at the water’s edge, trying to judge the distance to the other shore. The beating in her throat made her thirsty and she lowered her muzzle to drink. In the faint light she saw her own face. Her eyes, green in daylight, were now swallowed up in black. She had seen her own reflection many times before and, when young, had drenched herself trying to swat it. Ratha looked at her night face, the broad nose, small fangs and strange expanded eyes. She turned away from it and jumped over the stream.
Thakur’s tail was flicking back and forth and he smelled uneasy. There was another smell in his scent, one Ratha didn’t know. She trotted toward him, shaking the mud from her paws.
“Hurry, yearling. The others have gone ahead and I don’t want them to wait for us.” His eyes reflected moonlight as he turned once more to the trail.
He set a faster pace than before. Ratha had to gallop to keep up and she felt the weight of her dinner drag at her belly as she ran. She lifted her head, gulping the coolness of the night air to soothe the pulsing in her throat. Smells of the meadow were mixed with the smells of the forest, telling her they would soon be there. The forest began to open. A few stars and then the half-disk of the moon appeared through the canopy.
A branch cracked. The sound was close and sharp, making Ratha start. Thakur, ahead, glanced back but didn’t slow down. The trail ran up a small rise and veered around at the crest. Here the canopy opened and the moon lit the trail. The light silvered Thakur’s coat as he galloped around the curve toward the hollow beyond. Ratha panted up the grade after him, wishing her legs were longer and she had eaten less. As she approached the top, there was a dry scratchy sound. Bark fell from a tree trunk. She looked toward a gnarled oak near the top of the rise. One of its large lower branches paralleled the trail for some distance, making it a short alternate route. As Thakur disappeared over the crest of the little hill, a form dropped from the oak’s branches and ran along the lower limb. For an instant the stranger paused, crouched, one forepaw lifted, staring back at Ratha. Then he was gone.