Biaree was now Thistle’s. Ratha had not intended it to happen, but somehow the bond that had formed between her daughter and the treeling during the rescue of True-of-voice was deeper and stronger than the one that Bira, Biaree’s original companion, had built.
Ratha glanced over at Bira. The little ruddy-coated Firekeeper looked proud, yet there was a sadness in her eyes. She had been with Biaree since the treeling’s birth, carefully training him in the skills that she and he both needed to carry out the duties demanded by the Red Tongue. And then, in only a few days, she had lost him to Thistle.
It was a measure of Bira’s clear-sightedness that she had been the one to suggest that the temporary arrangement be made permanent. Biaree could have come back to her, for he had kept his affection for his first companion. But what had been created between Thistle and the treeling had a seriousness and a depth that went beyond the usual treeling-Named bond. Perhaps having a life at stake had increased the two partners’ devotion to each other.
I will make sure that Bira gets the first choice of the next treeling litter. As Thistle said, everyone is showing bravery, and Bira is not the least.
As Ratha gazed at her daughter, she realized that the change inside Thistle was starting to change her outside.
She’s not so scruffy anymore. She’s filling out a bit. And when she grooms her coat, she’s really quite pretty.
The meeting was starting to wind down. True-of-voice was making one last suggestion, one he was sure that the Named would agree to.
Thistle and Quiet Hunter would be allowed to move freely from one tribe to the other, staying together and using their combined skills to aid the members of both tribes to understand one another. There would be disagreements, perhaps even open conflicts. That was inevitable between peoples as different as theirs. But with two who could walk both sets of trails, there would be a better chance that matters could be settled without fighting.
We are setting out on another journey—one I never thought we’d ever take. But it feels right.
It happened because of you, Thistle. I never knew that daughters could help their mothers grow up. You yourself may be a mother some day. You already are, in a sense. A mother to two tribes of quarreling cubs that are also learning.
You have more than I ever hoped. A place. A purpose. A treeling companion to comfort you. And another companion, if I am any judge of what Quiet Hunter wants. He will be a gentle, devoted mate, I think. He is what you need.
And there is also . . .
One who is still struggling to find the best ways. Not only for myself and the Named, but for others as well.
A clan leader, a Dreambiter, a Dreamhealer. Impatient, reckless, carrier of fire, bearer of cubs. Jumping into unknown abysses, scrambling up dangerous cliffs. Facing challenges—and the greatest one is you.
You have a new name for me now.
Ratha-mother.
Ratha’s Courage
The Named Series: Book Five
Chapter One
A shiver of excitement went through Ratha. She began her stalk, belly fur brushing the ground. Grass whispered past her legs as she felt the slow, controlled power of each muscle. Her tailtip tingled with the urge to twitch, but she held it still.
The horse the Named called a striper tossed its head and flapped its tail, eyes widening. Ratha slowed her downwind stalk so that she seemed nearly frozen, yet was still moving. The striper swung its neck around, jerking its head and ears back.
Ratha stilled until the herdbeast settled, then quickened her stalk, easing her weight from one foot to the next, placing each directly ahead of the one behind and moving so smoothly she felt as though she were flowing across and through the grass, a green-eyed river of tawny gold.
Nearing the striper’s dancing rear hooves, inhaling its sweat-sharpened scent, Ratha trembled with the impulse to dash, spring, and wrestle her prey to the ground. She took a long slow breath—as the herding teacher, Thakur, had taught her—mastered her urge, and crept around the striper, circling in front of it.
Stripers were new to the Named herds. This horse was dun, with dark brown mane and tail. Ratha turned her head to bring her gaze down along its banded forelegs to the three-toed feet. These feet differed from those of the smaller dappleback horses that the clan had long tended. The striper’s center toe, sheathed in a single hoof, was larger, the side toes farther off the ground. That hoof had far more power than the dappleback’s feet. Ratha had dodged it many times, and other herders had been sent sprawling.
The striper grunted and whinnied, its nostrils flaring with her smell. From her crouch, Ratha lifted her chin and stared up at the horse, trying to catch and hold its gaze. As if sensing her purpose, the striper reared, its forefeet cutting the air, its tail whisking its flanks. She froze again, waited.
When the striper dropped down, she pounced on its stare with her own. Again it evaded her, closing its eyes and ducking its head, showing her only its bristling mane.
She knew the stripers were smarter than the dapplebacks; by now her stare would have a dappleback helplessly imprisoned.
Thakur had warned her that the stripers were clever, that the larger head held a more alert and cunning mind. Suppressing her frustrated growl, Ratha made several rasping snarls that were almost barks.
The sounds had the effect she wanted. The striper’s ears swiveled, the head came up, the eyes opened. Again her eyes sought the striper’s gaze, and this time she captured it. The animal stiffened, as if about to fight, but snort and stamp as it would, the striper couldn’t break Ratha’s stare. It stilled to near immobility, only its hide shivering.
Ratha felt triumph strengthen her heartbeat and deepen her breathing. She was so close; she could reach out and tap one of the horse’s forelegs with a front paw.
Again came the rush of desire that threatened to propel her up onto the horse’s shoulders, driving her teeth into its neck. In her imagination, she was already atop the striper, feeling the stiff upright mane bristle into the corners of her mouth. Part of her already felt the velvet-furred skin resist, stretch, and then tear through beneath the points of her fangs, her neck muscles pulling and twisting in just the right way so that her fangs would slip between the neck bones and skillfully separate them while the prey’s blood flowed in pulses over her tongue … .
Outwardly Ratha shuddered, yet kept her eyes fixed on those of the horse while inwardly she swiped the feelings aside. No, such a fevered attack was not the way of the Named. She had fought this internal battle many times before, when she trained as a cub under Thakur, and later when she began her duties as a herder. Even when she culled herdbeasts, she would not let instinct run wild.
Ratha used her frustration and desire, pouring them out savagely through her eyes. The horse was now as still as if it were already in her killing embrace. The muscles and tendons atop her forelegs quivered with the need to drive her claws out and deep into flesh.
She lifted out of her crouch, rearing up on her hind paws to lay one foreleg almost gently over the horse’s shoulders and up along the back of its neck. In spite of her care, the beast started, but before it could begin its escape flurry, Ratha slapped the other forepaw around the underside of its neck.
Now Ratha used her claws, but only enough to maintain her hold as she pushed backward with her hind feet to unbalance the striper and pull it over. She was so close to the horse now that she couldn’t hold its gaze, but she no longer needed to. It was falling into the daze that doomed prey often assumed.