The understanding of just how much the fires had taken from this Landless Clan struck Dirt Grubber like a blow.
He was still reeling when a wizened elder called Sour Belly offered his version of events since the fires had made Swaying Fronds into the Landless Clan. Whatever flaws Sour Belly had—and Dirt Grubber tasted both pettishness and ill-temper among them—his account caused none in his clan to protest as to its fullness of detail. It all came forth: flight, struggle, constant moves, death after death, eventual settlement, hope changing to despair as scout after scout (Keen Eyes prominent among them) reported that all ways from this place seemed blocked.
Then came the disappearance and murder of Red Cliff. In the image, Dirt Grubber knew the body he and his two-leg friends had buried. He sought for and found Beautiful Mind among the invalids, still holding to life because she would not make her mate’s sacrifices mean nothing.
Finally, the events that had led to battle…Keen Eyes’ plan. The plan working. Nimble Fingers. Hope rising, chased by despair and loss as a kitten chases its own tail. The horror of the battle. Bringing home the dead and wounded. Waiting…waiting….
For Sour Belly, that wait was one for death, for now all knew Trees Enfolding blocked the only way out and Trees Enfolding had no mercy in its heart.
<But what of this Nimble Fingers?> Dirt Grubber asked in desperation. <He did not seem like a bad fellow. Surely he would help you.>
Sour Belly’s reply hit as hard as the claws of a death wing in the night.
<Nimble Fingers wishes to help us, but he was badly injured when he tried to stop the fighting. His own clan mates were too caught up in battle rage to know when they rent the very one they had come to rescue. His life is safe, but he is too weak to go to his clan, and surely we cannot aid him.>
* * *
Anders contacted Scott MacDallan as soon as they were aloft.
“It’s a bad situation. Neither of us are treecat experts—”
“Who is?” Scott asked dryly. “Even Stephanie would be the first to say we’ve barely touched on their complexities. Go on.”
“Okay, then. It’s a small clan. They didn’t stand still for us to count or anything, but we’re guessing there were no more than seventy-five individuals—and that includes a lot of kittens and some adults who were obviously invalids. Not only from the fighting, either. There were what I guess you’d call chronic cases, too.”
“Probably smoke damage to lungs,” Jessica cut in. “We saw a lot of healing burns, too. Scars by now, but ugly.”
“And a lot of the healthier adults were seniors.”
“How could you tell that?”
“Valiant just gave me that impression,” Jessica replied for Anders. “Then there’s that theory that males get more rings on their tails the older they get. If that guess is right, well, we saw a lot of tails with a lot of rings.”
“Oh!” Anders added. “Again, we’re guessing because we didn’t trying get too close, but under all that fur they seemed pretty skinny.”
“So you think this is Survivor’s clan.”
“Well, I hope it is,” Jessica snapped, “because the thought of another group of treecats that miserable makes me want to cry!” She paused. “Sorry. It’s just that I think Valiant’s as upset as I am. We’re not doing each other any good at all right now.”
Scott’s tone was soothing. “I understand. What else?”
“They’re poor,” Anders said. “My dad’s been studying treecat garbage, remember? I know what they should have, and they don’t. I didn’t see any gourds, and they don’t have many baskets, either. And the handful of those I did see were clumsily woven, like just getting them done was enough. I saw some nets, but…I’ve visited Lionheart’s clan with Stephanie, and how they live is different. They have nice baskets. They have perches in the trees with pads on them—some are practically pillowed! They weave weatherproof nests thick and insulated enough to stand off even a Sphinxian weather. They keep furs. They store food. This clan had none of that.”
Jessica agreed. “I’ve gone home with Valiant. His clan’s on the small side, too, but the difference is obvious. It’s not just stuff this clan doesn’t have. It’s how they move around. These guys were sluggish, like they were tired right down to their bones.”
“Are you sure they weren’t just on guard because there was a strange treecat and two humans in their settlement?” Scott asked.
“Absolutely,” Jessica said. “Even the kittens looked beat. You can’t tell me that even the best-behaved kids in the universe would just sit and watch. They’re not only starving physically; I think they’re emotionally beaten. I think they know they’re not going to make it through the winter with what they have and they’re giving up.”
“That’s a lot to say based on one visit,” Scott said, “but I’m not saying I don’t believe you. You say Valiant is down?”
“Very. Utterly despondent. When we first got in with the clan, he was really pleased, especially when he and this other male treecat were nose to nose. I’m guessing they were talking up a storm, but somewhere in there he got sad. He’s in my lap now, and he’s never there when I’m flying.”
“I took a bunch of images on my uni-link,” Anders said. “None of them are going to be art pieces, but I’ll copy them over to you, if you want. Take a look. You’re not going to get the emotions, I know, but you’ll have more than our word for it.”
“Do it,” Scott said. “I’m going to have to go back to my patients for a few hours, but I’ll view the images as soon as I can. Are you two heading back to Twin Peaks?”
“Yeah. Jessica promised her mother she’d be back to make dinner. Ms. Pheriss is doing her best to get everything at the Harringtons’ spiffy before they get home next week.”
“Closer to four days now,” Scott reminded him. “Richard emailed me their ship schedule. We’re all going to meet at the Harrington steading for a conference as soon as they’re home.”
“Good!” Anders said. “I’m glad.”
But somewhere deep inside, he wondered why he didn’t feel gladder.
* * *
Dirt Grubber was haunted by memories of the Landless Clan. He was all too well aware that without the intervention of Death Fang’s Bane, Windswept, and their friends, his clan could be in much the same position—if not worse. Like the Landless Clan, they would have found it difficult to move to a new location without trespassing on territories already claimed by other clans or, worse, settled by the two-legs.
There but for the kindness of some impulsive younglings go we, he thought. Surely I can do something. But what?
He brooded during the flight to Windswept’s home. Even after the evening routine was over and she had fallen into troubled sleep, he tried idea after idea, much as he would have tested plants in various types of soil and light. Somewhere in the darkest hours, he came up with the plan.
The Landless Clan needed to be transplanted. That was certain. However, their route to new lands was blocked by the Trees Enfolding Clan. Nimble Fingers was willing to act as ambassador, sharing his experiences with the Landless Clan with his own, but he was too wounded to travel.
If Windswept could treat Nimble Fingers, perhaps even help bring him close to where Trees Enfolding nested…Surely the Landless Clan would have had enough time by now to realize that the outsiders could help them. He was sure he could convince them of what must be done.
The only problem was, how could he explain to Windswept what he wanted?
Chapter Eighteen
“What is bothering you, Stephanie?” Marjorie Harrington inquired. “You’re squirming inside your skin like a demented stutter bug!”