Ratha drew her whiskers back. The idea of eating grass disgusted her and the idea of bringing it up again and re-chewing it was even worse. Meat was much better, she thought. It was chewed once and when it went down, it stayed down, unless it had been eaten too fast.
The animal clamped its jaws together and eyed the cub ill-temperedly. Although it lacked horns, the creature used its big head like a battering ram. The barrel body and short legs made it look vulnerable and clumsy. Several of the herders had earned broken ribs by assuming it was.
The animal belched again. Ratha wrinkled her nose and padded away.
She glanced up and down the meadow at other herders who stood in a ring around the flock, their faces to the forest. She yawned and stretched until her tail quivered and saw an answering gape from another shadow in the mist. Nothing was going to happen tonight, she thought. The fright on the trail was all the excitement she was going to get. And perhaps Thakur was right and her Un-Named apparition was just a clan-cub.
She ambled past a fern thicket and heard a pair of dapplebacks snorting and pushing at each other in the dark. Dapplebacks usually climbed on top of each other in the spring season, but these two were starting early. Ratha smelled the rich lure-scent of the mare, the sweat and rut of the little stallion. The odor repelled her and fascinated her, making her think of the scents on trees that clan males had sprayed.
The odor also made her think of Thakur and the way he had licked her behind the ears on the trail. She listened to the dapplebacks bumping together and the little stallion’s rhythmic grunts, her tail twitching. These thoughts were new, not cub-thoughts at all, and she approached them as warily in her mind as she had approached the belching herdbeast.
Her feet were getting damp from standing in one place. She shook them. The mist was growing thicker. She decided to find Thakur.
His scent was mixed in with herdbeast smells, forest smells and the smells of other herders. Ratha separated it from all the others and followed it to him. He was crouched on top of the sunning stone, his tail curled across his feet, speaking to Fessran who stood nearby.
Ratha trotted quickly toward them and skidded to a stop, feeling the wet grass pull between her pads. Thakur cocked his head at her. She walked to Fessran and touched noses.
“Clan herder, two of your dapplebacks are hiding in the fern thicket,” she said. “I can chase them back to the herd for you.”
“No, Ratha. Leave them be. I’ll look after them,” Fessran answered in her soft voice.
“That little stallion doesn’t stop, does he? You’ll have enough dappleback colts to feed the clan well.”
“Yarrr. Thakur, you think only of your belly.” Fessran launched a disgusted swipe in his direction and Thakur ducked.
“I am pleased that she has done so well,” Fessran said seriously, looking at Ratha.
“Yes, I am also pleased. There are not many of the female cubs who have the ability, but she does and she has worked hard.”
Ratha was startled to see Fessran bristle.
“Have you grown as short-whiskered as Meoran?” she snarled. “The female cubs have no lack of ability. Our fleabag of a clan leader won’t let me train them! Drani’s daughter, Singra, has the same talent as Ratha. But her father forbade it and Meoran said he would chew my ears if I taught my art to any cubs except the ones he selected.” Fessran lowered her head and lashed her tail. “And Singra was not among the ones chosen last season or this season. Now it is too late and she grows soft and fat. Yarrr!”
“Gently, Fessran,” Thakur soothed. “You know how hard I fought for Ratha.”
“You only succeeded because Baire still lived. Now Meoran stands as clan leader and no she-cubs train as herders. Ptahh! He would mate me to a gray-coat and put one of his whelps in my place. How I hate him, Thakur!”
“Ssss, there are other ears in the meadow tonight. Be wary of your words, Fessran.”
“Wise Thakur. You always were more cautious than I.” Fessran smoothed her fur. “Those two dapplebacks should be finished. I’ll run them back to the herd.”
“Fessran.” She stopped and looked back at Thakur. “I’ll do my best for Ratha. You are the one I can’t protect. Choose your words with care and you may be safe.”
“My temper often chooses my words for me.” Fessran’s whiskers twitched ruefully and she trotted away.
Thakur sighed and settled himself on the damp stone, fluffing his fur. Ratha lifted a hind foot and scratched herself.
Across the meadow a herdbeast bawled. Thakur sat up. Another animal bellowed. Hooves beat, rushing through the grass. A harsh yowl began. It rose to a shriek and another answered. Ratha jumped up, her fur on end. Thakur leaped off his perch.
“That wasn’t a clan voice,” he said grimly as Ratha bounded to join him. She saw other herders running; heard wailing calls and snapping branches.
“Yearling, stay here,” Thakur said sharply.
A form appeared in the mist and galloped toward them. It was Fessran again.
“Thakur, the raiders have broken in at the end of the meadow. They’ve already pulled down two deer. Hurry!”
Thakur turned to Ratha. “Watch the dapplebacks, yearling. Keep them together.”
“What if the raiders come?”
“They won’t.” Fessran showed her teeth. “Not this far.”
“If anyone attacks my herd, I’ll fight.” Ratha lashed her tail eagerly.
“You will not.” Thakur glared at her. “You will climb the nearest tree and stay there until I call you. The clan can lose a few dapplebacks. Not you.”
“Arrr. I want to go with you, Thakur.”
“This is not cub-tussling, Ratha. I told you that before we left. You are not to fight. Is that understood?”
“Yes-s-s.” Ratha sighed.
A herdbeast cried out and then choked as it fell. Muffled yowling came through the ground mist.
“Hurry, Thakur,” Fessran hissed and the two sprang up and galloped away, leaving Ratha alone.
She shivered and looked up at the sky. The moon was a hazy smear of white, the stars were gone. She jogged toward the scattered herd of dapplebacks and began circling it, driving the little horses into a tighter bunch. They sensed the danger and were restive, squealing and milling. The little stallion shepherded his flock of mares together and tried to separate them from the other dapplebacks. Ratha drove them all back, nipping at their flanks. Once she had the herd packed together, she kept circling it, staying far enough away not to panic the animals, but close enough to catch any strays.
She stopped, panting, flicking dewdrops off her whiskers. She listened to drumming hooves and shrill cries from the other end of the meadow. A body fell. Another herdbeast down, she thought. She flattened her ears. None of the Un-Named dung-eaters would touch Fessran’s dapplebacks, she promised herself. The little horses stood together, their heads raised, their stiff manes quivering. Ratha gained her breath and began circling the herd again. Running kept her from thinking; kept her from being frightened.
On the opposite side of the herd, she caught a glimpse of something moving in the fog. A low, slender form; not a herdbeast. Ratha bared her teeth and dashed around the outside of the flock. She stopped and sniffed. She knew that smell. She nosed the ground. The smell was fading in the dampness, but footprints were there. Her tail began to flick as she peered through the mist in all directions. Where had he gone?
A sudden shrill scream told her. Ratha plunged into the middle of the herd, sending animals scattering in every direction. The killer was there, dragging his thrashing prey through the grass. Ratha opened her jaws in a full-throated roar as she charged at him. The raider jerked his head up, pulling his teeth from the dappleback’s neck before Ratha barreled into him, knocking him sprawling.