Ratha smelled mossy stone and damp fur. She heard Thakur’s pads slap on mud as he paced the streambank. He hunched himself, a compact shadow against the moonlit stream, and leaped across. On the other side she saw him wave his tail.
“Cross, yearling,” he said. “You have jumped it before.”
She crouched on a flat stone at the water’s edge, trying to judge the distance to the other shore. The beating in her throat made her thirsty and she lowered her muzzle to drink. In the faint light she saw her own face. Her eyes, green in daylight, were now swallowed up in black. She had seen her own reflection many times before and, when young, had drenched herself trying to swat it. Ratha looked at her night face, the broad nose, small fangs and strange expanded eyes. She turned away from it and jumped over the stream.
Thakur’s tail was flicking back and forth and he smelled uneasy. There was another smell in his scent, one Ratha didn’t know. She trotted toward him, shaking the mud from her paws.
“Hurry, yearling. The others have gone ahead and I don’t want them to wait for us.” His eyes reflected moonlight as he turned once more to the trail.
He set a faster pace than before. Ratha had to gallop to keep up and she felt the weight of her dinner drag at her belly as she ran. She lifted her head, gulping the coolness of the night air to soothe the pulsing in her throat. Smells of the meadow were mixed with the smells of the forest, telling her they would soon be there. The forest began to open. A few stars and then the half-disk of the moon appeared through the canopy.
A branch cracked. The sound was close and sharp, making Ratha start. Thakur, ahead, glanced back but didn’t slow down. The trail ran up a small rise and veered around at the crest. Here the canopy opened and the moon lit the trail. The light silvered Thakur’s coat as he galloped around the curve toward the hollow beyond. Ratha panted up the grade after him, wishing her legs were longer and she had eaten less. As she approached the top, there was a dry scratchy sound. Bark fell from a tree trunk. She looked toward a gnarled oak near the top of the rise. One of its large lower branches paralleled the trail for some distance, making it a short alternate route. As Thakur disappeared over the crest of the little hill, a form dropped from the oak’s branches and ran along the lower limb. For an instant the stranger paused, crouched, one forepaw lifted, staring back at Ratha. Then he was gone.
She leaped off the trail, cutting through the brush. Tucking her tail between her legs, she fled down into the hollow.
Thakur was nowhere to be seen and Ratha stopped, when she regained the trail, her heart pounding. “Ssss, yearling,” came a voice close by. “Here.” Thakur lifted his head from a clump of ferns. “Has Narir taught you no better trail-running than that? I thought a shambleclaw was coming through the bushes.”
“I saw him, Thakur,” Ratha interrupted, her whiskers quivering with excitement.
“What did you see?”
“The Un-Named One. He was there on the branch after you passed. He looked back at me.”
“Yarrr. The Un-Named never allow themselves to be seen. You saw some clan litterling who imagines himself to be a night hunter.” Thakur snorted.
Ratha’s jaw dropped in dismay, then her ears flattened. “No. I saw him. He was there on the branch as if he wanted me to see him. And I have seen him before.”
“When?” Thakur asked.
“Many clan kills ago. I had a fight with Cherfan and he chased me into a thicket at the end of the meadow. He was in there asleep and I ran right over him. He snarled at me.”
Thakur left the ferns and came to her. His steps were quick, his eyes sudden and intense. Ratha smelled the same odor about him she had noticed before.
“Did you tell anyone else?”
“Only Cherfan,” Ratha said hesitantly, “and he never listens to me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice had a harshness to it Ratha seldom heard, even when he was scolding her during training.
“I didn’t know enough then. Why, Thakur? Are you afraid of the Un-Named One?”
“No.”
Ratha turned toward the trail again, but he nudged her and she stopped.
“Wait, Ratha. The Un-Named One … did he say anything to you?”
She blinked. “You mean, did he … speak?”
The strange smell about Thakur was stronger and suddenly frightening. She sensed he wanted something that he also feared and that he wanted it very much. Ratha felt her tail creeping between her legs and her hackles rise.
“Yes, cub. Did he use words?”
She felt her eyes grow wide as she crouched and he stood over her. Was it the night’s touch that made him seem almost menacing?
“Ratha.”
She backed away from him. A hanging frond touched her back and she jumped. She whined miserably. “Thakur, I don’t understand. Everyone knows that the Un-Named Ones don’t speak. They can’t. They aren’t clever enough.”
Thakur drew back his whiskers and Ratha heard him snarl to himself, “Yes, Meoran. You believe the clanless ones are witless as well. Teach it to the cubs and see how the clan fares.”
“Thakur, the Un-Named can’t speak any more than a herdbeast can,” Ratha said hunching her shoulders stubbornly.
He sighed. His voice grew calm, changing him back into her teacher again. He paced beside her, licking her behind the ears. “I’m sorry, small one. I did not mean to frighten you. Perhaps I should take you back to Narir’s den.” He lifted his head. “This night is strange. I smell things that make me uneasy. This night is not for a cub.”
Ratha sat up and groomed some of the dried leaves out of her fur. Then they went on.
At first, Ratha could think only of the stranger whose eyes had glowed at her from the old oak. Was he one of the Un-Named? And why had Thakur asked her such strange things? There were no answers to her questions. Not yet.
Things moved abruptly at night, making Ratha turn her head and flatten her ears. She was much more aware of motion at night than during the day. Movement she seldom noticed in daylight, such as a grass blade swaying or a leaf falling, brought her head around and made her whiskers bristle. It was not fear, although night was fearsome. The pulse in her throat was excitement. She felt alive this night. All her senses were extended and her skin tingled as if the sensitive whiskers on her face were growing all over her body.
There was a rustle in the bushes ahead on the trail. Thakur skidded to a stop and Ratha nearly ran into him. Over his back, she could see a dark form fleet away.
“There he is again,” she whispered. “I did see him!”
“Arr! Fool, to show yourself!” Thakur hissed into the darkness.
“He is a bad hunter, Thakur,” Ratha said. “He is noisy, like me. He is stupid,” she added, wagging her tail arrogantly. “All of the Un-Named are stupid and I am not afraid of any of them. Ptahh.” She spat.
“Hurry then, yearling,” Thakur said dryly. “We will need your courage in the meadow tonight.”
He took up the trail again and she followed.
* * *
Teeth ground together, a drawn-out groaning sound. The herdbeast belched and made wet mushy noises as it began chewing its cud. Ratha crept near, shaking her paws every few steps. The air was moist and the grass dewy. A light mist made the moonlight hazy and muffled the crickets’ song. The animal shifted on its belly. It snuffled and grunted as it watched her with small suspicious eyes set forward in a long block-shaped skull. It flicked large ears, like those of a three-horn, and swallowed the food it was chewing.