The fur on the young male’s brow wrinkled. Somebody else had come. Not True-of-voice, though True-of-voice had helped later. The first helper was an outsider, not a clan mate. A female. Gentle, kind. With words that helped to chase away emptiness and coax the song back. Yet the song did not know her. How could this be? The song did not know her, yet allowed her to stay. The song never accepted those not known to True-of-voice.
The female had made everything better. Now he could eat, groom, and even stretch a bit without harming the wound. The gash was scabbing over. The belly could feel full after eating, and Quiet Hunter could lie in the midnight dark and let the song bring comfort.
There was gladness that the song allowed the female to stay. She made the feelings better. Yet she was… disturbing. Her ears didn’t work; she barely heard True-of-voice. Or so her words said. How could she be so deaf to the song, yet still live?
Perhaps that was why she did strange things. Hopping around on three legs. Saying words that meant nothing. Running away.
She needed to hear the song. There was something inside her that hurt. Even more than a tusk wound.
And the young male that the song knew as Quiet Hunter lay thinking about how strange the world was.
Chapter Ten
Thakur stirred in his sleep. The warm spot that Thistle made against his back had grown cold. Blinking, he lifted his head, thinking that she had just shifted to one side. No. She was gone.
Sleep fled as he jumped to his feet. Ratha, curled up against Bira with her nose buried in her tail, was startled awake.
“What … ? Arrr! Where’s Thistle?”
“What we talked about last night upset her,” Thakur said. “No, you stay here,” he added as Ratha started to get up. “I know where she went.”
“Oh, no! She’s trying to talk to the face-tail hunters again.” Ratha groaned. “Thakur, she’ll get herself shredded by that bunch.”
“They’ll shred you if you start running out into their midst. I have some experience with them. You wait. I’ll find out what happened to Thistle.”
Before Ratha had a chance to object, he galloped away into the scrub forest. Soon he reached the open land where the face-tail hunters stalked their quarry. From a distance he saw the exposed bones of their kill at the foot of a small bluff. When he climbed the trail to the top of the bluff and hid in the brush nearby, his gaze turned toward the group of cat figures there. Among them he spotted a familiar mottled red-brown and orange coat.
Thistle’s head was down. She was eating. They were sharing food with her! How … ?
Thakur stayed hidden downwind from the group, not wanting to interfere. He stared at the scene, filled with amazement. Somehow Thistle had done what he could not. The other clan had accepted her. An injured young male lay near her. From the look of his wound, he had been gored by a face-tail. Had she been tending him?
Yet something odd was happening in the group. Everyone was sitting, staring at nothing. Even Thistle.
Thakur crept closer, intensely curious. Things were changing. Thistle looked frightened. Arrr! She was starting to jump around in circles on three legs, the way she did when she went into one of her fits.
Not now, Thistle! he wanted to yowl. He knew it would be useless. She couldn’t control what was happening.
Fearing that the others would attack, he tensed, ready to rush in and defend her. They didn’t, although some backed away from her, looking puzzled. As Thistle broke into a panicked run, they moved aside for her.
Silently Thakur stole through the brush and the high grass, trying to guess where her crazy zigzag path would take her. At last he was far enough away from the hunters so that he didn’t worry about being scented or seen. He bounded toward Thistle and intercepted her.
She staggered, fell on her side, and began to thrash. Eyes wide open, but blank, she struggled, trying to speak. “Wanted to help… but couldn’t… ran inside … to hear … song for healing…. Why… does he hear it when I can’t….”
“Thistle, don’t try,” Thakur said.
“He … knows how much… it hurts…. Didn’t want to run from them…. Afraid, couldn’t help… Will hate me… Dreambiter …” She shook violently.
Thakur lay down alongside Thistle, draping his paws and tail over her. The warmth and the weight seemed to help, for she closed her eyes and her limbs became still. He thought that she would fall into a deep sleep, but instead she spoke again.
“I could have reached them,” she hissed, her voice raw. “If I hadn’t let … the badness… have me….”
“You can go back,” Thakur said, trying to soothe her. “You can try again, Thistle.”
“No…. They saw the badness…. Afraid of me now…. Jumped around, clawed somebody… hurt them…. No trust… anymore….”
“You didn’t hurt anyone. There is nothing to be ashamed of,” Thakur soothed.
“Should fight the badness, not run … away….” Thistle’s voice slowed and slid as exhaustion took her. Thakur could feel the wiry little body go limp beneath him.
Gently he pulled his paws out from around her. She would feel nothing for a while.
Why is it so hard for her? he asked silently, and found himself hackling, as if there were a flesh-and-blood enemy that he could fight for her sake.
He sighed, made his fur lie flat, and licked Thistle’s check. He had to think what to do next. She had managed to reach the hunters and get accepted. But she had ruined that tentative bond, or so she thought. What would happen if and when she tried again? The answer lies with that wounded young male. She was caring for him. Perhaps they will allow her back.
He grimaced. There were too many questions, uncertainties, fears. Besides, Ratha and Bira were coming, and he had no idea how to explain what had happened. He decided that he wasn’t even going to try.
* * *
“Come with me. Please,” Thistle said to Thakur above the soft crackle of the fire. It was afternoon, but Ratha had Bira light one just in case the hunters had followed.
Thakur tried to quiet Thistle. He was attempting to listen to Ratha, who was talking to Bira and Khushi about how they might capture a young face-tail. It was hard, because he was sitting away from them in order to tend Thistle. Ratha had been helping him while Thistle was still groggy, but when her eyes and mind cleared, Ratha had retreated to the other side of the fire.
He turned back to Thistle when she tried to get up and wobbled.
“Face-tail hunters. Need to …”
“You’ve done all you can,” Thakur said, trying to soothe her.
“No. Need to show you something. Important.”
All his cajoling could not make her lie down again. With a sigh, he told the others that he and Thistle were going for a short walk and would soon be back.
Her eyes seemed to light from inside, as if they were seawater with the sun pouring through. Despite her shakiness, she bounded ahead. Thakur had to trot to catch up.
“What do you need to show me?” he asked, drawing abreast of her.
“Can’t say. Can only see.”
She led him to a place where they could observe the face-tail hunters without being sighted or smelled. “Watch,” she said, once they were settled.
“What am I looking for?” he asked mildly.
“Remember what Bira said—about hunters not caring for each other?” Thistle turned her head, her eyes large with excitement. “The wounded one. I helped him. There he is. Watch others near him.”
Puzzled, he did as she asked. The wounded male still lay alone, although he seemed to be better. The others went about their business, evidently ignoring him.
“Help him,” said Thistle under her breath, as if she were speaking to them.
“Thistle, I don’t think they will….”
“Did before. Was there.”