After she finished, she crawled into the lair, turned around in the friendly darkness several times and lay with her forepaws hanging out the entrance.
“It is small, but well dug,” she said critically. She could see he was waiting for more of a reaction. When she said nothing else, his whiskers drooped slightly in disappointment.
She wiggled on her belly and lolled her tongue out at him. “I like it. I couldn’t have dug a better one.”
“Good!” His whiskers sprang back to their usual exuberant bristle. “I dug it far enough away from the others so no one will try to take it. And if they are so stupid as to try, they will answer to me.”
“Did you mean what you said about the cubs being born on your ground?” Ratha asked, growing serious again.
“Yes. As soon as the weather lets us travel, we’ll go. I have had enough of the Un-Named and seen enough of their foolishness. They no longer need me, nor I them. I will run with them no more. You and I, Ratha, will run together.”
He went with her back to her sentry post. There, they saw the old gray asleep in the snow, her chin on her paws.
“She’ll wake soon. I should go, Ratha,” he said, looking into her eyes. “This has been hard for you, strong as you are. I am sorry for the part I played. Things won’t get easier; not very soon. But I promise you that when this season ends, we will leave this place and never return.” Ratha looked around at the white-covered landscape.
“Snowfall has just started.” She sighed. “It will seem like a long time. At least I don’t have to sleep in a tree.”
“I know. The days may seem endless. When things get difficult, think of spring. And me,” he added, with a glint of mischief in his eyes.
She watched him trot away over the snow. The gray-coat was starting to wake up, but despite that, Ratha was happy.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Spring was slower in coming to the heights than to the lowlands. As Ratha and Bonechewer wound their way out of the hills, the sparse grass and scrub bush gave way to new growth, green and springy underfoot. They did not take the old trail, still rutted and worn by the passage of the Un-Named. As if in unspoken agreement, neither one ventured toward it, preferring to find their own way across the endless meadow that covered the hills.
Bonechewer walked ahead of Ratha, keeping his pace slow. The long scar on his flank was only starting to fade. Clan fangs had driven deep, and he would limp for the rest of his life. Ratha followed his waving tail through the grass, feeling the new life moving inside her. She was so big now that even the low grass tips brushed her underneath and her graceful walk had become awkward, her swollen belly swinging from side to side at each step.
As she and Bonechewer left the hills and came onto the plain, tiny flowers appeared among the grasses, sending their scents up into the warm spring wind.
Ratha lifted her head and watched a bird drift in lazy circles overhead. The grief was still there in the back of her throat and the memories in the back of her mind. The clan was no more, broken and scattered by the attack of the Un-Named. She, and perhaps some other ragged band of survivors, were all that was left of those who had once followed the herder’s way. Many others had left their blood where the three-horns and dapplebacks had once grazed. The Un-Named, too, had paid. Ratha remembered how the vultures circled and the picked bones grew gray and moldy.
The sun warmed her back, reminding her that those times were past. The unborn cubs moved again, and she felt little kicks inside, as if the young ones were impatient to be born.
Bonechewer stopped and came back, “Are you tired?” he asked.
“No, hungry.”
Bonechewer grunted. “Those cubs eat more than you do. They’ll be strong and healthy.”
“I can hunt for a few more days,” Ratha said, as Bonechewer took the weight off his injured leg.
“Hunt? You can’t even crouch,” he said, but his tone was gentle rather than mocking. “No, even with my bad leg the marsh-shrews will know me. You may get sick of marsh-shrews, but I swear there will be plenty of them.”
“I will eat marsh-shrews,” Ratha said as he nuzzled her bulging flank.
“Yarrr!” Bonechewer shook his head and winced. “He kicked me! Hard enough to make my nose sting. Is that any way to treat your lair-father?” He glared at Ratha’s belly in mock anger.
“She kicked you.” Ratha grinned. “That one’s going to be a female.”
“I’m glad they’re not inside me,” Bonechewer said vehemently.
“They’ll be out soon.” Ratha began walking.
“How soon?” Bonechewer looked alarmed.
“I don’t know. They’ll tell me. Come on, Three-Legs,” she said, strutting ahead. “We still have a long way to go.”
They saw several more sunsets before they reached the marsh where Bonechewer’s territory lay. He was glad to be home, and he trotted all over it, from the lakeshore to the hillside meadow where the spring ran. Ratha tagged after him, eager for the tang of the marshland and the glitter of the morning sun on the lake. She even followed him into the water when he plunged in to wash dust from his coat. She bobbed and rolled like a sap-heavy log while Bonechewer chased fish. By sheer exuberance rather than skill, he managed to catch one. He swam back to her, holding his shiny prize aloft in his jaws. They paddled their way back to shore and feasted on the catch.
The next task was to dig a new den for the cubs. Ratha chose a site on the hillside near the spring where dirt was soft and the digging went fast. They took turns at hunting and digging and soon the excavation was finished. Ratha inspected it, cleared out the remaining loose dirt, stamped down the rest and began to line the den with dry grass, pine needles and tufts of her own fur pulled from her belly. Bonechewer helped her, trying to find the softest leaves and the most fragrant grasses with which to make the nest.
They were making their last trip with grass in their mouths when Ratha felt a sharp cramp begin high in her belly and ripple down both sides of her flank. She had felt such pangs before, but they were mild and soon ceased. This time it grew until it became painful. She moaned and dropped her mouthful of grass.
Bonechewer waited with her until the spasm had passed. Ratha leaned against him, feeling his strength and his warmth. The pain frightened her and she was grateful for his presence. Once the cramp ceased, she was able to walk on. Before they reached the den, it happened again and the contraction was stronger. Ratha felt something break deep inside and a gush of fluid which wet the fur beneath her tail.
“They’re telling me,” she gasped, her head low.
She felt Bonechewer seize her nape and pull her up. She staggered with him to the den. He pushed her inside, settled her on her bed and stood back, looking anxiously at her.
Ratha ground her teeth together as the next spasm seized her. She thrust back with her hind legs and pushed against the wall of the den. Again the pain went away, leaving her panting and shivering. She looked for Bonechewer, but he had gone.
Panic washed through Ratha as she shifted restlessly from side to side. The nest, so carefully dug and lined, seemed terribly uncomfortable, and the dark, rather than being cozy, made her feel as though she were suffocating.
I didn’t know it would be like this, she thought, laying her head on the earthen floor and feeling the frantic pulse in her throat. I thought mothers just went to sleep for a while, and when they woke, the cubs were there.