Something bright and hot singed the hair on the crest of his mane. He accelerated, running as hard and fast as he could. Though the Qulun people had longer legs, they were accus tomed to riding and selling. If there was one thing the Gwurran knew how to do and did well, it was running. Faces peered out at him from the outlandish fold-up flat-sided dwellings. Alerted by all the commotion, a few of their occupants tried to catch him. He dodged them all, as if he were playing a game of blo-bi with his family-friendlies. No game this, though. The bright-hotness spat by him again. This time it missed him completely, momentarily illuminating the night sky above his head.
Then he was clear of the camp, his legs pumping as he raced out onto the open prairie. The high grass slowed him down somewhat, but it would also help hide him. He thought he was safe-until he heard the clumping of sadain feet coming up fast behind him.
"This way!" a Qulun shouted. "I saw the dyzat over this way!"
I am not a dyzat! he wanted to turn and yell. However, he was also smart enough to know that the moment of foolish defiance might very well cost him his life. Frantically, he hunted for someplace to go to ground. But there were no familiar hills here, no friendly clefts or crevices down which to duck. The voices of the pursuing Qulun drew closer. Any moment now and they would be right on top of him. Lights lit the night in his wake. More mechanical magic, acquired from traders in the cities. He wondered if he would live long enough to set eyes on one of those people-filled, magical, mysterious places only a very few Gwurran had ever visited.
That was when he saw the kholot burrow. The entrance was just big enough for him to squeeze into. Panting hard, he wriggled himself through the opening and started down the incline on his belly. Would the Qulun think to look for him under the ground, or just on top of it? The burrow widened slightly, allowing him to crawl faster. When it opened into an oval chamber three times his size, he knew he had reached the end. Muted by the intervening earth, the shouts and cries of the patrolling Qulun sounded more distant than they were. It would have been a perfect hiding place, except for one complication.
It was already occupied by a family of kholot.
He froze. The kholot ate grasses and grains and leaves, not Gwurran. At least, he hoped so. Flat of face and covered in prickly olive-green fur, the two adults regarded him warily. Thankfully, there were no cubs in the burrow. If there had been, he probably wouldn't have made it this far. Each adult was almost as big as he was. Their teeth, unfortunately, were much bigger: wide, heavy-duty incisors designed for slicing through large clumps of grass. If their blunt- snouted owners were so inclined, they could also slice right through his face.
He held his breath as they approached, snuffling and grunt ing, and tried not to tremble too much as they sniffed him over and up and all around. Eyes shut tight, he tried to imagine himself a piece of dorgum dung that had accidentally rolled down into their burrow. The sounds of tromping sadains and their Qu-lun riders still reached him from above. He did not know how much longer he could remain motionless.
With a last disdainful sniff that at another time the terrified Tooqui might have taken as an insult, the pair of kholot pushed past him and headed up the tunnel. Their reaction was more than passing strange. Surely he couldn't smell bad enough to force them to vacate their burrow? Then he remembered the time spent in the Qulun visitors' house, swathed in foreign smells and peculiar aromas. Evidently enough of that had adhered to his fur not only to drive the kholot out, but to keep them from biting him. Smell bad, taste bad, the two burrowing grazers had apparently decided.
There was an excited yell from above, followed by a sharp crackling sound and a pained yowl from one of the kholot. Emerging from the burrow, it had been mistaken for his quarry by one of the patrolling Qulun. As soon as the unfortunate grazer had been identified, the other Qulun had a good laugh at their trigger-happy comrade's expense. Turning himself around in the cramped chamber, Tooqui put his head partway up the tunnel and listened intently.
"Enough of this. It's late, and I'm tired. I don't care what Baiuntu says."
"Same here," declared another Qulun firmly, reining in his sadain. "Let's tell him we caught and killed the runaway, and be done with it."
"It's alone out here, without food or water or supplies. The prairie will finish it off."
This confident exchange was followed by the sound of many sadain feet moving swiftly away. Even so, Tooqui remained hidden in the burrow until he was certain it was safe to emerge.
When he finally did so, tired and dirty but alive, there was no sign of his pursuers. Finding a rock, he climbed just high enough to see over the tops of the windswept grass. The Qulun were breaking camp, and in the middle of the night at that. They must be very anxious about something to do that, he knew. As far as Tooqui knew, no nomads had ever been observed breaking camp in the middle of the night.
Were Master Barriss and her friends still alive? And if they weren't, what did it matter to him? He was alone, without food or weapons or water, several days' run from the nearest hill country of the Gwurran. Hugging himself against the chill night wind, he took stock of his surroundings. The open plains were no place for a nervous little Gwurran! Every sound made him twitch, every hint of movement caused him to jump. What if there were shanhs out here, shadowing the traders' caravan? If they picked up his scent, he wouldn't last as long as a lace-winged birru in a windstorm.
Even if he wanted to help, there was nothing he could do. The best thing for him would be to start back home right now. If he was lucky, if he found some water and some things to eat along the way, and if nothing ate him along the way, he might make it back to the country of the Gwurran in a few days. He would have an exciting, dramatic tale to tell. The young ones would gaze up at him with awe, while their sometimes condescending elders would be forced to acknowledge, however grudgingly, his considerable accomplishments. For the rest of his life, he would be a big big among his people.
And yet-and yet, there was the matter of Master Barriss, who instead of shooting him as a thief had befriended him, and had interceded on his behalf when he had expressed his longing to travel beyond the traditional Gwurran homeland. Wasn't that what he was doing now? Of course, when he had made that request, he hadn't envisioned anything like this happening. No one, not even the human Barriss, would blame him for heading home as fast as his long-toed feet could carry him.
I have to know, he finally decided. He at least had to know. If Master Barriss and the others had been killed, then he could start for home with a clear conscience. On the other hand, if they were still alive. .
If they were still alive, he suspected that his life was going to get even more complicated than it already was. He should be looking forward to that, he tried to tell himself. Hadn't he said as much to the humans? That Tooqui was the bravest, the fiercest, the smartest, the most most of all the Gwurran? At the time, he'd wondered if any of them had believed him. Certainly those two miserable dim dim stucky- up clanless Alwari, Kyakhta and Bul-gan, had not. Imagine to see their faces-if they were still alive, he reminded himself-when Tooqui, the very same Tooqui they had mocked and derided, showed up to rescue-save their sorry short- tailed ugly behinds! The image filled him, if not with courage, then at least with nerve.