Thakur and Ratha agreed.
“But couldn’t pull him up,” Thistle said. “Vines would rub on edge of cliff and break. He too heavy, even for all of us together.”
“We might not be able to pull him up,” Thakur said. “Once we got him off the ledge, however, we could lower him.”
The hopeful expression on his face began to spread to the others. Thistle felt it bubble up inside her. She looked to her mother and saw that the same hope was lighting Ratha’s eyes.
And not only hope. Pride as well. “I think it will be tricky, but it will work,” she heard Ratha say.
“Three yowls for Thistle,” Khushi crowed, and followed it up with earsplitting praise.
The meeting dissolved in a hubbub as the Named made their plans and assigned tasks. Thakur and Khushi set out to scout the forest for the heaviest vines they could find. Bira found a length of jungle creeper and began the task of teaching Biaree to attach it around his middle. Using Ratha and Thistle as models, she also had the treeling tie short lengths of vine around their paws.
“There is only one problem,” Bira said to Thistle, as she nudged the treeling into looping a length of vine about one of Thistle’s forepaws.
“What?” asked Ratha, who was watching.
“I can send Biaree down with food or melon bits for True-of-voice. That’s not such a complicated thing. But tying vines onto someone’s paws, especially if Biaree doesn’t know that someone—that may be the hard part.”
“He won’t do it?” Ratha asked as Thistle felt her hopes sag.
“He will, but I’ll have to go down with him at least partway to coax him. I’m willing to try,” Bira added. “Thistle said there was a slanting shelf on the face.”
Thistle watched the way her mother looked at Bira. “That shelf is pretty narrow. I saw it. Even the treeling is going to have a hard time.”
Bira looked steadily back at Ratha. In the Firekeeper’s gaze, Thistle saw the words that Bira did not need to say. Even if I risk falling, I’ll try it.
The clan’s deep loyalty to Ratha, despite her mistakes, made Thistle feel envious for a moment. It also brought a new respect for her mother.
“Could Biaree work with someone other than you?” Ratha asked Bira.
Bira looked startled. “Why yes, clan leader. But why?”
“Because I can’t let you risk your life as well as your treeling,” Ratha said. “And I won’t.”
“Don’t worry about me, clan leader. The important thing is doing what needs to be done, which is saving True-of-voice.” Bira’s voice sounded calm, but Thistle picked up a slight tremor underneath.
“I am the one who made the decision to attempt the rescue,” Ratha said. “I won’t ask any of you to take the risk. Unless I fail.”
“But clan leader,” Bira faltered, and then fell silent.
Thistle felt a bolt of fear go through her. Fear for her mother. That Ratha might die in a fall from the cliff, leaving the Named leaderless. And herself without Ratha, just as she was really starting to know her mother.
“None of you can go,” Thistle heard herself say sharply. “All too . . . big!”
There was a silence. Ratha glowered, while Bira looked thoughtful. “She has a point,” the Firekeeper said.
Ratha’s answer was a low growl. “I know. I wish she didn’t.”
Thistle interrupted. “Better chance for me. Smaller. Lighter. Not part of clan. Not needed. Or not as much as you and Bira.”
“Face-tail dung!” Ratha exploded. “Of all the idiot things to say! Thakur needed you enough to bring you here. And if you think I’m going to let you hang your scrawny tail over the cliff—what if you get one of those fits?”
Thistle shivered inside at the thought of being attacked by her illness, but she refused to back down. “My problem,” she said, thrusting her nose forward until her muzzle nearly met Ratha’s. “Not yours. Not clan member . . . don’t have to obey you. Can do as I want . . . hang tail where you can’t get to … can do what you can’t!”
“Thistle …”
“No, listen, my mother and clan leader. You chose to help hunters. But who pushed you . . . nagged you … made you think? Not any Named!”
With a thrill, Thistle realized that she was actually pushing against Ratha’s nose. She, the little half-Named scruffball, was making the clan leader give ground.
“Am going to take my scrawny tail down the cliff to True-of-voice. Only way to stop me is to say I can’t use Bira’s treeling.”
Ratha was going back on her haunches, but Thistle didn’t stop her advance. Not while she had her newly beloved foe on the run. “You going to do that? Tell Bira to not let me use treeling? Throw away one real chance to save True-of-voice?”
Abruptly, Thistle jerked her head away from Ratha’s nose. “Am going. With or without treeling.” She started to pace away.
There was utter silence behind her.
All right, they were going to make things hard. She was used to dealing with things when they were hard. Including her mother.
And then came a roar that made her ears flatten.
“Thistle-chaser, come back here or I’ll—”
She turned around, lifted her tail and her chin.
“—have to bring you the treeling!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The following morning, everyone in Ratha’s group assembled at the foot of the trail up to the cliff top. To Thistle’s surprise, Quiet Hunter was there, too, even though he looked weak and shaky.
“Must tell people that you are trying to help,” he said, leaning against Thakur, who stood beside him. Thistle felt a strong surge of affection and gratitude to the herding teacher for his dedication to Quiet Hunter. Thakur had stayed beside him, trying to calm him, to heal the pain caused by the loss of the song. Even though the gentle healer and teacher knew that his caring would not save Quiet Hunter, he gave all that he could.
And now Quiet Hunter, in his own way, was trying to give something back.
Thistle was startled by something touching the nape of her neck. It was the treeling, a still-strange sensation. She wasn’t used to carrying Biaree, although he had been with her since the end of the teaching sessions of the previous day. Bira had insisted on this, though Thistle knew that the Firekeeper missed the companionship of her treeling.
One day and one night—it wasn’t nearly enough time to form the kind of partnership that the task demanded. If not ready, my fault, not Biaree’s, Thistle thought. For it was as if the treeling understood the importance of what he was being trained to do. He had accepted both an abrupt change in companions as well as an intense series of training sessions. And all without any treeling fussiness or outbursts of temper.
He had tied innumerable knots around Named paws with various different sizes of vines. Thakur, in addition to caring for Quiet Hunter, had doubled as paw donor, for his feet were probably the closest in size to True-of-voice’s. He had to put up not only with having loops tied around his feet but with having the vines yanked on, since Biaree had been taught to test knots as well as make them.
Now the Named were about to see if all their preparation was enough.
Thistle watched as Ratha arranged everyone for the climb up the trail and the first confrontation with the hunters who were still keeping vigil for True-of-voice. She felt herself fidgeting with impatience as Ratha trotted from one to the other, assigning them their roles in the rescue attempt. She had sought True-of-voice’s song and could not find it. The leader might already be dead, or close to it. Any more delay and . . .
Even so, Thistle could see that what her mother was doing made sense. Ratha had put herself, Khushi, and Bira in the lead. Bira carried fire embers, nestled in a sand-filled basket that had a carrying loop. She and her treeling had made it together. Khushi had a mouthful of dry pine branches that would light quickly, if needed. It was a compromise—Ratha had originally wanted Bira to carry a lighted torch to repel any attack. It was not Thistle’s objection that had changed the clan leader’s mind, but Quiet Hunter’s soft plea that the Red Tongue not be used against his people unless there was no other way.