Ratha looked at the downcast young male, wanting to put her paws around him, as if he were a cub. “Quiet Hunter, we do have a word for the feeling, but you should not have to use it. Nothing you have done has harmed or angered us. It doesn’t matter that you came from the other tribe. You are as truly Named as if you had been born among us. And you have given my Thistle-chaser great happiness.”
Some of the strain left Quiet Hunter’s face as he looked at Ratha, then at Thistle, who rubbed her forehead against his.
“The feeling eases,” he said, “but a little still remains.”
“The word you seek is ‘shame,’” Ratha answered. “You are ashamed at what True-of-voice and the black one did.”
Quiet Hunter seemed to taste the word, trying it on his tongue and in his mind. “Yes,” he said at last. “The word has the right sound. Of rain falling, heavy on fur, pulling down so that the head falls and the feet slow. Yes, I am ashamed … of them.”
Ratha did not know what to say next. She could point out that he had left the hunter tribe and its old ways, that he had no need to be ashamed on their behalf. That, however, was not strictly true. Quiet Hunter still needed to return, to bathe in the mysterious power of True-of-voice’s song. Thistle went with him, not so much out of need, but out of longing.
“They are still part of you.” Ratha found her voice. “Quiet Hunter, we have all known shame. We have all been ashamed of a part of us, whether it lies inside or with others. When we don’t understand that part, we are afraid and ashamed of it. Many times when we know it better, when we understand why, the bad feeling starts to go away. It may never all go away, but it gets better.”
“Is that a part of being Named?” asked Quiet Hunter. “Living alone behind the eyes … with such feelings?”
“Not alone,” interrupted Thistle fiercely. “Never alone!”
Quiet Hunter seemed to brighten as Thistle slid alongside him, dropping her tail over his back and drawing it over him in a long caress.
“Know these things are new to you,” she purred. “If you struggle, I will help.”
From the way that Quiet Hunter laid his tail across Thistle’s, Ratha knew that he would welcome her offer.
“Your mother has a lot of you in her,” Quiet Hunter said to Thistle. “Both of you give words that comfort. I feel …”
“Better,” mother and daughter finished for him.
Ratha relaxed, thinking about grooming that one place on her flank that she hadn’t gotten to her satisfaction. Quiet Hunter, however, had one more question.
“So it is the same with anger,” he said. “Instead of being angry at my people, you will try to know them better. So that you understand. You will not feel anger. I will not feel ashamed.”
Ratha found herself with her mouth open. “Well, those are the ideals. We can’t always reach them. It is like jumping up to a branch in the wind. Sometimes the wind helps you, other times it doesn’t. I promise, though, Quiet Hunter, we will do our best.”
She paused. “Do you have any other questions?”
“No, but can Quiet Hunter say one thing more?”
Ratha lifted her tail in a yes.
“This one … no … I … I lost my mother when young. I was too old for any female to take in. Many nights was I alone and huddled shivering while the wind blew. Now this one’s fur is heavier. I no longer shiver in the wind off the plain. Other little ones do, even those who have mothers. Some die. The clan’s creature, Red Tongue, makes great warmth. Please let the little ones share it.”
“So you are asking me to do as I originally intended,” Ratha said. “Let my Firekeepers bring the Red Tongue to your people’s litterlings.”
“Yes, if it can be done so that the wrong that happened yesterday can be kept from happening again.”
“You mean so that True-of-voice can be prevented from misusing our gift, if I decide to give it.”
“Yes. This one knows that finding such a way will be hard. This one also knows that you and your clan have done hard things.”
“We are your clan as well,” Ratha couldn’t help saying. Quiet Hunter had his own simple eloquence, even in his mistakes with Named language. Those mistakes were similar to, but not the same as, Thistle’s, giving each a unique voice.
“If it could be,” said Quiet Hunter, looking deeply into Ratha’s eyes, “both would be my clan.”
Ratha felt her own eyes widen. Somehow this young male was asking even more of her than any of the Named, even Thistle. I wonder if he knows what he asks? She felt at once awed and shaken by the trust he was placing in her.
“I am grateful for your honesty, Quiet Hunter,” she answered finally.
“This one … I … will go to the meeting place so that you and Thistle can speak alone,”
Thistle came to her side and sat while both watched Quiet Hunter leaving.
Something in me whispers that he could grow into a leader of great wisdom, Ratha thought.
Thistle glanced up at her, sea-green eyes glowing. “Can’t say it the same way you can, Mother, but he is … just … good.”
“If you are happy with him, that is good.” Ratha took a deep breath. “Now, you wanted to speak to me before the gathering.”
“Also would like to see Quiet Hunter have both clans,” Thistle began. “Know it will be difficult. Dangerous, too. Afraid of what could happen if we share Red Tongue. More afraid, maybe, than Quiet Hunter.” She stopped, looked down at her paws, then up, a stubborn glint coming into her eyes. “Feel that Red Tongue is way too dangerous to share at start. When True-of-voice and others see Firekeepers, they will do same, only better, like Thakur and three-horn fawn. Like killing—they won’t just grab and pull down, they won’t be able to stop. Something bad will happen, like killing fawn when not needed. Understand?”
“I think so,” Ratha said.
“Love Quiet Hunter, but can’t agree with him on this. Must use something else to draw two tribes together. Song is too powerful and … blind … for using Red Tongue.”
“Thistle, to be honest, I feel the same. I hate the way that True-of-voice claws into his people’s minds and twists them, like breaking a herdbeast’s neck.”
“Then you won’t—”
“I can’t say that yet, Thistle. If my choice just affected me, or just me and you, I could, but it affects so many. There are other things as well.”
“What other things?” Thistle asked, her whiskers starting to bristle.
“Well, you said that True-of-voice’s song is very good at doing the things it knows about. The Red Tongue isn’t one of those.”
“Didn’t know about herdbeast takedowns either,” Thistle retorted.
“Yes, but True knows hunting very well. Even though that black belly-biter repeated nearly everything Thakur did, he was still hunting, not herding.”
Thistle cocked her head. “Are words fighting feelings inside you? Hear scratching and yowling.”
For a moment Ratha did not know what to say. She also wished Thistle wasn’t so perceptive. “Yes,” she finally answered. “But they have to fight.”
“Because of you being clan leader.”
Because of me being what I am, Thistle.
She noticed that the sun was growing warmer and the shadows shorter. “The gathering will start soon.”
“I can speak at it?” Thistle asked as Ratha started to turn. She felt Thistle’s tail brush tentatively across her back.
“Yes, both you and Quiet Hunter. Everybody will have a turn, but since I have talked to both of you before the gathering, let others go first.”
Thistle’s tail lifted in agreement, and then flopped across Ratha’s. They slid alongside one another, exchanging affection and scents.
“You are like Quiet Hunter,” Thistle whispered in her ear.
In that you can disagree with both of us but still love us, Ratha thought, feeling the fur of her daughter’s forehead against her own. The hairs met and mingled, finding their way through and past one another to sensitive skin.