Perhaps it will swim for me, he thought, and take me across the water.
But it only lay on the rocky beach-no matter where Fritti stood, or how hard he wished. He lay down on the bottom of the great shell-thing. He thought hard, trying to see a way to make it bear him over to the hill that shined. He thought… and thought… and all the pondering, and the warm afternoon sun, made him feel drowsy…
He awoke with a start. Disoriented, he looked wildly around, but could see nothing but the sides of the swimming walnut shell. Footsteps crunched across the gravel toward him. Groggy and confused, frightened of leaping up and revealing himself to the Big One, he dove beneath a pile of rough fabric. It scratched him as he squirmed beneath its comforting heaviness.
The footsteps of the M'an stopped, and then the whole shell was sliding and scraping along the beach. Surprised, Fritti gripped the wood beneath him with his claws. The scraping stopped abruptly, to be replaced by a sensation of smooth motion. Tailchaser heard the Big One climb weightily over the edge, and then a regular sequence of creaking and splashing.
After some time, Fritti worked up the courage to poke a pink nose out of the enveloping folds of cloth. The massive back of the M'an was turned to him; the Big One was working the tree limbs back and forth. The shell was entirely surrounded with water.
Mother Rebum did say "things that move on water," thought Tailchaser, so if I succeed-and am not drowned in this strange nut husk-I suppose I shall have her to thank.
He curled up in his hiding spot, tail over nose, and went back to sleep.
Time-he did not know how much-had passed. The shell thumped to a halt. Fritti heard the M'an rummaging about, but his haven was not discovered. Finally the M'an got out and went thumping away. Tailchaser lay silent for a while, then emerged to stretch and look about.
The island rose up before him. The shell had come to rest against a wooden walkway that stretched a short distance across the water, then ended at a dirt path which wound away up the grassy slope. At the summit of this path Fritti could see the M'an-dwelling, and-looming above it like a white, limbless Vaka'az'me-the towering M'an-hill. The sun was still in the sky, and the white hill was dark.
Fritti made his way up the uneven path. The grass was springy beneath his feet. He stepped lightly. The wind off the Bigwater that caressed his nose and whiskers made him feel as though he had reached the top of the world.
A dark shape detached itself from the bulk of the M'an-nest, and with plodding, unhurried steps, came partway down the hillside. It was a large dog, deep of chest and heavy-legged.
Feeling curiously light-headed and confident, Tailchaser continued his sedate walk up the grassy slope. Puzzled, the fik'az tilted his head to one shoulder and stared. After a moment's curious scrutiny, he spoke.
"You there!" the mastiff barked. "Who be you? What be you doing?" His voice was as deep and slow as distant thunder.
"I am Tailchaser, Master Fik'az. Good dancing to you. And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"
The dog squinted down at him. "Huff-so-Gruff am I. You didna answer question. What be you doing?"
"Oh, just looking about," said Fritti, waving his tail in a disarming manner. "I just flew over from the other side of the water, and I thought I'd look around. Quite a lovely place, isn't it?"
"Aye," growled Huff-so-Gruff, "but you shouldna be here. Be off, you." The dog glowered for a moment, muzzle lowered, then once more cocked his head to the side. "Said you… 'flew'?" he asked slowly. "Cats dunna fly."
As they talked, Tailchaser had been drawing steadily closer. Now, barely five jumps away from the fik'az, Fritti sat, and began to groom nonchalantly.
"Oh yes, some do," he said. "As a matter of fact, my whole tribe of flying cats is thinking of making this spot our new nesting grounds. We need a place to lay our eggs, you know."
Tailchaser got up and began to walk in a wide circle around the dog. "Yes, think of it," he said, looking from side to side. "Hundreds of flying cats… big ones, little ones… it's quite a marvelous idea, isn't it?"
He was almost safely past when a deep, rumbling snarl issued from Huff-so-Gruff. "Cats canna fly!! I willna have it!"
The mastiff leaped forward, baying, and Fritti turned and bolted up the hill. Within a few jumps he realized there were no trees to climb, no fences to dodge behind; it was open grass to the top of the rise.
Well, he thought suddenly, why should I bother to run? I have faced worse dangers before, and survived.
He whirled to face the great mastiff bearing down on him.
"Come on, dung-sniffer!" Tailchaser howled. "Come and meet a child of Firefoot!"
Huff-so-Gruff, in mid-bark, ran unsuspectingly into a faceful of yowling, scratching cat. His deep baying turned to a yelp of surprise as sharp claws raked his jowls.
Like a small orange whirlwind, Fritti was suddenh all over the Growler-claws and teeth and screechir
voice. Shocked, Huff-so-Gruff pulled back, shaking his large head. In that second, Tailchaser was off again, ears back and tail trailing.
As the dismayed Growler gingerly ran his tongue over his lacerated nose, Fritti reached the M'an-dwelling. With a leap and scrabble he was up the low stone wall and onto the thatched roof. Standing at the edge, he let out a cry of triumph.
"Don't take the Folk so lightly again, you great clumsy beast!"
Down on the ground below, Huff-so-Gruff grunted. "Come you down and you be eaten, cat," he said disgustedly.
"Hah!" sneezed Tailchaser. "I will bring you an army of my Folk to settle here, and we will tweak your tail and smack your hanging chops until you die from shame! Hah!"
Huff-so-Gruff turned and trudged away with heavy dignity.
Fritti walked softly back and forth across the thatch, his heart gradually slowing to its usual pace. He felt wonderful.
After some searching-leaning out over the edge, wrinkling his nose-he found an open window underneath the eaves of the roof. He looked carefully around for the Growler, but Huff-so-Gruff was many jumps down the slope, nursing his wounds. Fritti sprang down to the stone wall, then quickly back up to the windowsill. He paused for a moment to gauge the distance to the floor inside, wavered on the sill, then leaped down.
In the middle of the room, curled in a deep-furred ball, lay Hushpad.
CHAPTER 33
A certain recluse, 1 know not who, once said that no bonds attached him to this life, and the only thing he would regret leaving was the sky.
–Yoshida Kenko
She did not appear to recognize him. He stood before her, back arched and legs trembling, and could not speak.
Hushpad raised her head languidly and stared at him. "Yes? What do you want?"
"Hushpad!" he choked. "It's me! Tailchaser!"
The fela's eyes opened in surprise. For a long moment both cats were still.
Hushpad shook her head wonderingly. "Tailchaser? My little friend Tailchaser? Is it really you?" In a heartbeat she was on her paws, then they were together, sniffing, rubbing noses and muzzles. Fritti felt a great warmth in his breast. Soon the room was filled with the drowsy sound of purring.
Later they lay nose to nose while Fritti told Hushpad of his travels and adventures. At first she was full of praise and wonder, but as the story wore on she asked fewer questions. Eventually she fell entirely silent, grooming Fritti contentedly as he talked.