Anders felt the thrill of discovery. He knew his dad would give anything to be where he was at that moment.
Valiant bleeked and motioned for them to follow him. Jessica stepped forth without hesitation, Anders a pace behind. He caught up with her quickly, and—shoulders almost touching—they walked to where the treecats waited.
* * *
When he sensed the People ahead of them in the netwood trees, Valiant made no effort to dim his mind-glow or slow his advance.
<I am Dirt Grubber of the Damp Ground Clan,> he said, sharing images of his home clan. <Although these days I live with the two-leg called Windswept, who is my bond mate. That is her, along with the two-leg called Bleached Fur. Perhaps you have heard the songs?>
But these People did not seem to know about him and Windswept—evidence that they were of Keen Eyes’ clan.
<I am Firm Biter, hunter of the Landless Clan,> said the larger of the two males who confronted him.
<I am Long Voice, scout for that same clan. Once we called ourselves Swaying Fronds, for our range high in the mountains was filled with them. We lined our nests with them and used them to pad shelters against the snow. They smelled sweet even when dry.>
This came to Dirt Grubber as a rush of shared images from Long Voice. Scent, color, shape, the beauty of the forests high in the mountains. Memories of climbing high into the trees to feel the caress of the wind fingers and admire the sharp whiteness of distant mountain peaks. Truly, Long Voice had a scout’s heart, for he delighted in the smallest detail and yet had room for beauty, as well.
Firm Biter was made of sterner stuff. He was the one who explained how these mountain People had come to live in the relative lowlands.
<Fire season was our doom. The burning began to moss-growing, but the winds drove the flames to rush across valleys and rises alike. We thought we would be safe, for there are many deep gorges cradling rivers. We had reckoned without the dryness of the land. Tall golden-leaf trees that should have shrugged off the flames instead fell prey to licking fires that ran like bark-chewers up their sides. Gray-bark and green-needles burst into torches. Even the netwood betrayed us, providing bridges although we had faithfully kept the proper gaps.>
Dirt Grubber knew shared pain made bridges as firm as any netwood branch, and so he opened his own memories in return. <Even in the lower lands where my clan has its nesting place, we were not safe. A green-needle bursting into flame went from tree to death trap in a single breath. Had it not been for Windswept, I would have been burned alive. When we crawled back into life, we found ourselves as tightly bonded as ever two hearts have been.>
He shared the incredible wash of emotion that was still as fresh to him now as on that day. Then he waited patiently, for though memories could be shared in a moment, the thoughtful tasting that led to deeper understanding took time. It was Firm Biter who shook himself from nose tip to tail tip and made a gusty sound that combined astonishment and distinct pleasure.
<And is the light-furred creature next to Windswept her mate?>
Dirt Grubber sighed. <He should be, if either of them had the sense of rocks, but two-legs are mind-blind and must learn such things in their own way and time. Still, mate or not of my Windswept, Bleached Fur is brave and very determined.>
He shared images of when the Damp Ground Clan had joined in rescuing the stranded two-legs from a whistling sucker. Bleached Fur stood defiantly between the monster and the weaker members of his group—this though he was a youngling still only on the threshold of being adult and many of those he protected were adults themselves.
<You choose your friends well,> Long Voice said. <What brings you in search of us? I can see that this is no accidental meeting.>
<I bring you news of Keen Eyes, scout of your clan,> Dirt Grubber said. <I see you believed him dead, victim in the recent fighting, but he lives.>
He shared with them the finding of Keen Eyes and how he had been tended by Darkness Foe and his mate. In doing this, he also showed images of Swift Striker.
<Our memory singers had shared with us Swift Striker’s song before the fires,> Long Voice said. <So where is Keen Eyes now?>
<He remains with Swift Striker and Darkness Foe,> Dirt Grubber replied. <Darkness Foe is a marvelous healer, but even with the medicines of the two-legs, such wounds will not heal in a day.>
Firm Biter’s mind-voice was gruff with relief, flickering memories of his association with Keen Eyes—whom he had obviously liked—shading all he said. <It is a wonder beyond belief that such wounds would heal in even six hands of days. We owe you welcome. Will you come to us so that our clan may hear your tale from your own mind, not through our memories?>
<Gladly,> Dirt Grubber said. <My two-legs as well?>
Firm Biter’s mind-glow flickered with hesitation, as if he might protest, but Long Voice rebuked him.
<Remember, Firm Biter. These two saved Keen Eyes as much as Darkness Foe did. They have shown they are worthy of trust.>
The hesitation vanished from Firm Biter’s mind-glow, replaced with shame. <I apologize. These days, trust is hard to remember. There has been so much death and unkindness. That should not make me forget how People should believe. My mother, had the flames not eaten her, would rebuke me for my behavior. Follow us. We will call ahead your coming.>
* * *
Although both Firm Biter and Long Voice had been friendly enough, they had not chosen to share histories with Dirt Grubber when they met. For this reason, many surprises awaited him when they came to where the Landless Clan had set up a central nesting place of sorts.
One was the size and composition of the clan. While it still had members enough to manage, this was a tree with many limbs lopped off. Worse, many of the remaining limbs were very old, very young, or suffering from injuries—old and new. Dirt Grubber sensed that the most severely injured had already died. These were the ones hanging on because of their clan mates’ careful nursing.
Based on his contact with Keen Eyes, Dirt Grubber had been prepared to find a clan both underfed and emotionally overwhelmed, but the sheer poverty of their situation touched him at once. They lacked all but the most basic necessities…and he saw no evidence of stored food.
Do they realize that if something does not change they cannot survive the winter? he thought, hoping this horrible revelation would blend into the other shocks swirling through his mind-glow. No wonder the Landless Clan had reached the point of fighting another clan! They must find a better place than this.
Horrible as that discovery was, the second shock was worse. Keen Eyes had told him that his clan had no memory singers. Still, when the elders came forth to meet him, he found himself looking for the clear brilliance of the memory singers among them. Not finding it was like not finding his own teeth within his mouth. In a very real sense, a clan was its memory singers, for they held all its shared history. The loss of Wide Ears and her assistants had robbed the Landless Clan not only of an important part of its leadership, but of its sense of self.
In the second rank, Dirt Grubber tasted a bright spark of a mind that watched him very carefully. This youngling had potential, great potential, but who would teach her what she needed to know? Some of her clan’s history would have been shared with neighboring clans, but still….