She decided that he had to be a son of True-of-voice, perhaps the gray one’s heir. But if Night was, he showed no understanding of fire, as True-of-voice did. Nor did he ever speak, not even the stunted half language the hunter tribe used.
Opening her mouth and extending her tongue slightly, Ratha tried to catch his aroma. Dominated as it was by the hunter group-scent and masked by the burning fire, she could only smell and taste enough to tantalize her. Again she attempted, inhaling deeply through nose and mouth. She had learned how to enhance her scent-detection by trapping the air high in the most delicate and sensitive part of her nose and holding it still while she continued to breathe through her mouth. Closing her eyes, she focused attention on her smell-sense, sampling every part of the trapped air for the slightest odor trace that might reveal more about Night-who-eats-stars.
He must have heard her breathing change as she struggled to place him by smell, for he turned his head, letting his gaze fix briefly on her before it returned to the fire. His stare was at once icier than the most freezing wind and at the same time hotter than the fiercest of the Red Tongue’s flames.
Heat-sweat started from Ratha’s nose leather and paw pads, then cooled and dried.
Who was he? What was he? And why did he have such an effect on her?
She abandoned her questioning by bidding Bira and the others farewell, coaxing a sleepy Ratharee onto her back, and continuing on to the fire-site on clan ground. There she spoke to Fessran and then lay down. With the treeling nesting in her fur, she slept in the Red Tongue’s glow.
She woke to the sound of rustling and snapping followed by a soft but growing roar. It created a strong light that Ratha could see even through closed eyelids. Blinking, she saw Bira and her treeling Cherfaree coming to feed the fire. The sky was still black, shading to violet in the direction of sunrise.
Ratha rolled from her side to her front, taking care not to squash Ratharee. She nibbled a front toe pad that itched. She tasted salt, remembering her feelings from the previous evening. Furtively looking for Night, she remembered that she had left the other fire-site and felt abashed.
There were none of True-of-voice’s people here, only clan herders and Firekeepers sleeping near her. Thistle-chaser and Fessran were among them.
“It is still early, clan leader,” said Bira as her treeling added a trilling chirr. “I came to take Fessran’s watch so she can sleep.”
Ratha stretched her jowls and arched her tongue in an enormous yawn. Ratharee settled on Ratha’s nape as she asked Bira where the hunters had gone.
“Thistle told me last night that True-of-voice was leading the most able hunters after face-tails. His people will be gone for several evenings, so we don’t have to make as many fires. Just enough for the mothers and the old. I made the other fire-creature die, since we won’t need it. Then I brought everyone who was there over here.”
Bira nudged her treeling, purring a request. Cherfaree responded, feeding several sticks into the Red Tongue while Bira crouched alongside, coaching him. As the pair worked, Bira waved her plumed tail in enjoyment but carefully swept it away from the leaping flames.
Sleepily, Ratha licked her nose, grimacing slightly at the taste of salt there as well. She was glad Night-who-eats-stars was gone and would be for several days. She disliked the feelings he provoked in her.
The air had the cold taste of predawn, making Ratha move closer to the fire and settle near Bira. Close by, Fessran snored, whistling every time she inhaled.
“Go back to sleep, clan leader,” Bira said. “I’ll tend the fire-creature.”
Ratha had curled up on her side, her tail between her forepaws, and the tip beneath her chin. She was already starting to drift back into slumber.
With True-of-voice and most of his tribe away, Ratha could devote more attention to her own people. She did her regular patrolling and marking, joined Thakur in helping the herders, and made sure that Bundi and Mishanti were keeping the rumblers from trampling any more dens. A three-horn doe had a difficult birth, and Ratha was present as Drani and Thakur attended. The doe had twins, and while the fawns staggered around on their stiltlike legs, their fur still wet and spiky, Ratha nosed them, grateful to the doe for providing not only a replacement for the slain fawn, but for increasing the three-horn herd by one. The event cheered her, and she enjoyed the days that passed while True-of-voice’s people were gone.
The wind announced the hunters’ return late one afternoon. It brought a rich meaty smell that told of a successful kill. It also carried the leathery, dried-dung smell of live face-tails along with the trace of milky-scent that identified the animals as calves.
The Named needed little urging to follow Ratha to the fire-site on the hunters’ ground. She was glad to see Thistle-chaser by her side. “They’re bringing us face-tail meat,” said Cherfan, licking his chops as he sat down to wait for True-of-voice and his returning band.
“They are also bringing us more young tuskers,” Thakur said, pacing at Ratha’s other flank. “Those beasts will keep my cub-students running.”
“Not only your students,” Ratha teased, knowing that Thakur himself would be scampering frantically around, keeping his students from getting speared by tusks, trampled, or clubbed by trunks.
Fessran and Bira brought torches to relight the campfire. Other Firekeepers brought wood. Thistle and others helped Ratha scuff away grass and weeds, making a clear area around the Red-Tongue-nest. Ratharee also helped, then scrambled back up on Ratha. The long grass on this open plain felt and smelled drier than the growth in the clan’s meadow. She knew that the Red Tongue liked this dryness and would devour it eagerly, spreading out of control.
They were half done when a pounding grumble started. Ratha saw Thakur raise himself up on his hind legs, looking intently into the distance.
“Arrr, they are bringing young face-tails, but the beasts are getting away!”
Ratha jumped to his side and reared up to see over the long grass. Ratha recognized True-of-voice and Night-who-eats-stars. She also saw a group of young face-tails breaking away from their captors. The hunters were burdened by the raw meat they carried in their jaws and couldn’t act quickly enough to stop the beasts.
As the sounds of turmoil reached her ears, Ratha realized that the young face-tails were stampeding directly toward the Named and the Red Tongue.
“Dung-worms!” she heard Thakur curse as he plunged ahead. “They’re acting like stupid dapplebacks; they’re attracted to the Red Tongue!”
Even as she launched herself after him, calling for the rest of the Named to follow, she had a flash of memory, the shape of a little horse rearing in terror before the Red Tongue, but paradoxically turning to plunge into the fire. Why some creatures ran toward the Red Tongue rather than away, Ratha didn’t know.
The rumble of feet erupted into thunder. Looming from the late haze of afternoon, gray shapes filled her vision. Snarling, “Thistle, run!” she shoved her daughter away from a descending foot. The skin on Ratha’s tail tingled as the hairs bottle-brushed. With Ratharee clinging to her back, Ratha ducked under a leathery belly, was banged by a knee, butted by a head, and finally twisted herself free of the animals. Looking frantically around for Thistle, she found her daughter safe with Bira.
Around her the Named leaped up with paws spread, claws extended, and fangs bared, trying to break the stampede. Fessran caught one of the beasts by the tail. It swung her around, her fur bristling wildly. Thistle’s treeling Biaree hung from her neck, scooping up rocks from the ground and hurling them. They didn’t have much effect until a sharp stone hit one face-tail in the eye.