Ratha slowed, jogged to a stop.
“Go back, Fessran. He needs all of you,” she said.
“He’s wrong!” Fessran cried, her face wild with agony. “We need you. For what he has done, I swear I’ll seek his blood!”
“No!” Ratha hissed. “He’s right, Fessran. Didn’t you listen? Your people can only survive if they stay together, under one leader. The Red Tongue has tainted me, made me want something I was never meant for and should never have. You are still free of the taint, Fessran. Go back to Meoran, obey him and your people will live.”
“Ratha!”
“Go back, Fessran,” she said softly, touching the other with a paw. “And tell Thakur he is forgiven.”
Then, before Fessran could speak again, Ratha bounded down the trail, leaving her friend behind. Darkness closed about her, seeming even to block out the stars overhead, and as she ran she felt as though she were plunging down the maw of some hideous thing that had risen up to swallow her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ratha fled to the edge of clan ground. There, by the stream bank amid the trees, she dug a den and lived by herself. Often, as she hunted shrews and bare-tails, she heard the sound of fighting in the meadow and the shrill cries of herders and raiders. She would turn her back on the noise and hunt elsewhere, for she hated both sides equally.
She thought that all the clan would shun her, for her friends would face Meoran’s wrath if they came to search for her. That Thakur or Fessran might find their way to her den was too dangerous a hope to allow herself. She thought often of leaving again and becoming a wanderer, without people or territory. There was much to see beyond clan ground and even beyond the land held by the Un-Named. Once she had climbed up a peak and seen a sparkling line of blue where the hazy sky met the land. Wild new smells in the wind blowing into her face made her long to journey that way.
Soon, she knew, she would be gone. There was nothing holding her to this place and its pain. She would run free across new plains and valleys; see beasts that even Bonechewer had never showed her, and if she ran far and fast enough, she might even escape her memories.
One morning Ratha returned from a night’s prowl to find someone waiting at her den. Thakur.
Ratha’s throat tightened. She had been longing to see him, but now that he was here and looking into her eyes, there was nothing for her to say.
Thakur lowered his head and nudged something on the ground near his foot. His nose had a smudge of red as he lifted his muzzle. Ratha sniffed and almost drowned in her own saliva, for her hunt had been unsuccessful. He had brought half a liver, fresh enough so that it was still dripping. Ratha dared not ask how much it cost him to take it.
“Meoran will know,” he said in response to her look. “I may pay for it later, but that is my choice, yearling.”
Ratha ate rapidly, shearing the juicy flesh between her teeth.
“I cannot stay long. Cherfan has taken my place; he does that much for me,” Thakur’s voice said beside her. “I will come and see you when I can, for as long as you stay near clan ground.”
Ratha eyed what was left of the liver, wondering whether to eat it all or save some for later. Something made her glance at Thakur. His eyes and his smell told her he was hungry. There was not much food for the clan these days, yet he shared what there was with her.
“My belly is full,” she said, nosing him toward the meat. “Eat.”
He snapped at the liver. She listened to him chew and tear the food. When he was finished, she said, “I won’t stay past this season.”
Thakur’s whiskers drooped. “I know, yearling. There is nothing for you here. I was wondering when your paws would seek a new trail now that this one is done.”
“This one is done,” said Ratha softly. She lifted her eyes to his. “And you, Thakur. Do your paws seek a new trail?”
She could see him retreat before her hopefulness.
“No, yearling. I am where I must be. If you and I were the only ones left, I would run beside you. If there were more of us to herd dapplebacks and fight off raiders, then too I would come. For our people, for Cherfan’s cubs, I must stay.”
Ratha licked him gently, above the scars on his neck where Meoran had torn him. “I will be here a little longer. Go to the ones who need you. Will you bring Fessran the next time?”
She felt him stiffen and he looked at the ground. Ratha clamped her teeth together, angry at herself for being so stupid.
“She is bitter enough toward Meoran,” Thakur said. “I am afraid for her. If she sees you again it may feed her anger.”
“And you do not want her to take the same path as I did,” Ratha finished for him.
“Yearling, it is bad enough that you must be apart from us.”
“Then hide the way to my den and scuff out my tracks in the mud so she may not find them,” Ratha said wryly. “And tell her when I go.”
“I will.”
Thakur lifted his tail and trotted away along the stream bank.
As summer passed into fall, Ratha stayed by herself, alone except for Thakur’s visits. Each time he would bring something, and she was grateful even for small rancid scraps, for her catches would not always fill her belly. He would bring news of the clan and how they were faring against the Un-Named. At first Ratha grunted and turned away when he spoke of the others, but she began to listen. She was lonely, and her hatred could not keep her as isolated as she wished.
She knew that Thakur was worried. The Un-Named pressed the herdfolk hard. Many days and nights the clan spent fighting. She also knew that winter would make the raiders hungrier and fiercer. Ratha could see in Thakur’s eyes a gnawing fear that his little group, the last of the Named, might not survive.
With fall came winds that lashed the pines and swirled dust and leaves into the air. It ruffled Ratha’s coat as if it wanted to seize her and fling her into the sky with the dust and dried leaves. Its moan in her ear made her wild, and the tug at her fur made her want to run until her paws blistered and her breath tore her throat.
She stayed still, watching the clouds build over the mountains. Everything told her it was time to go, yet she stayed, held by an old memory and a forbidden hope.
Thakur continued his visits, glad that she was staying, although puzzled as to why. The news he brought was sometimes joyful and often sad. Another female in the clan had given birth late in the year and the cubs were healthy. But one of Cherfan’s youngsters had died trying to help his father defend the herd.
Ratha listened and mourned with Thakur over the loss. But his voice turned into a drone in her ear and her gaze strayed up between the swaying branches to the sky. Why did she even dare to hope that the Red Tongue might return?
Ratha’s last hunt had worn her out. She didn’t hear the first few droplets pattering down or the thunder’s faraway rumble. She slept, nestled deep in her den.
She woke to a flash of light so brilliant she saw it through closed eyes. The noise was more a shock than a sound. The earth seemed to shiver beneath her feet and she flung herself to the rear of the den. Another flash from outside turned the brown soil white and left spots dancing in front of her eyes. There came another sound, a loud cracking and splintering, the sound of a great tree falling.
Ratha crept to the den mouth and peered out. She saw orange flame dive to earth, riding the crown of the toppling giant. The burning tree crashed among its neighbors, setting their branches afire. Smoke boiled up, meeting the rain.