“What I suggest is this,” she continued, beginning to pace back and forth on the edge of the sunning rock. “If we allow him to take a mate from among us, he must present the cubs he sires to the rest of us so we can see whether they have the light of the Named in their eyes.”
“I will be glad if they do,” Thakur said. “What will happen if they don’t?”
Ratha took a breath and halted her pacing. “If we judge them fit to raise in the clan, he and his mate will keep them. If not, the young ones must be taken far from clan ground and abandoned.”
She crouched on the edge of the rock and stared down at the silvercoat. “You, who would be Named, do you understand?”
“Orange-eyes must show his cubs to the clan and do what the leader says.”
“Yes. If you agree to that and bare your throat to the Red Tongue, I will accept you.”
The meeting erupted again as those who favored and opposed the silvercoat both made their opinions known. Triumphant roars and angry hisses filled the air. The emotions battered at Ratha, throwing her back. She leaped up, adding her voice to the tumult. “Be silent, all of you! The decision is mine and I have made it.”
The meeting quieted, but an undercurrent of muttering continued. She leaped down and stood before the gathering. “Are you ready?” Ratha asked the Un-Named One. “Then come to the sunning rock.”
She ordered two torchbearers to stand on either side while Fessran lighted another brand and brought it to her. Before she took it between her jaws she lifted her muzzle. “Crouch and bare your throat.” A sudden fear jumped in his eyes and she knew he remembered the dance-hunt. The clan watched, waiting. If his will failed him now, both he and she would lose.
She lifted the torch high. He took his place as she bid and lifted his chin, turning his head so that she could see the pulse beat in his throat beneath the fur.
“Now to them,” she said, around the branch in her teeth. Obediently he turned and bared his throat to the clan. The sight of his submission seemed to calm the group. He prolonged his awkward crouch with his head strained up until Ratha told him to rise. She flung her torch back into the fire.
“Stand before the clan ... Shongshar!” she cried. “Let the Named greet their new lair-brother.”
At first the newly named Shongshar stood alone, but gradually the clanfolk began to surround him, touching noses and exchanging cheek rubs. When Fessran and the Firekeepers joined in, things became more enthusiastic. Their friendly assault nearly knocked Shongshar over, but Ratha saw that he bore it in good humor, especially since they all left their torches behind.
The herders were less excited, but even Shoman grudgingly brushed whiskers. Thakur gave his pupil a formal nose-touch and came to sit by Ratha. Neither one of them spoke as they watched the crowd of well-wishers wash over and around Shongshar.
She couldn’t help feeling a small glow of pride. “You’re making a mistake,” said Thakur softly, his whiskers in her ear.
“Arr, don’t spoil it, Thakur.”
“All right. I am happy for him, but I hope you know the trail you’re running.”
“I have to. There is no other.”
He fell silent again. She felt deflated and couldn’t help but remember her uncertainty about the newcomer and the subtle defiance she had once sensed in him. Surely she was wrong about that ... or was she?
Suddenly, she was disgusted by her own ambivalence and told herself to stop fretting. I’ve done what is best for us. I can’t ask myself for more. Only the passing days will tell me whether I was right. I won’t think about it any more. I don’t need to hunt trouble.
Chapter Six
Thakur sat in the dry leaves underneath the oak and watched the yearlings manage the dapplebacks and three-horns by themselves. He hoped his training had prepared the young herders well enough for the work ahead of them. It was fall now, and the clan’s mating season had begun. During this time, the yearlings took charge of the animals, for the cubs had not reached the age to heed the meaning of new scents carried across the meadow on the autumn wind.
Thakur smelled the odors of females in heat. He prickled and quivered as each smell tantalized his nose. He jerked his tail restlessly, wishing the mating season hadn’t come so soon.
He would leave clan ground, he promised himself. His work preparing the youthful herders was done. Now he and the other clan adults would have to trust the skill and courage of the youngsters. Judging from the smells and the yowling courtship songs that filled the air, he doubted that any of the other clan members were thinking about the herd. Perhaps the cries of the courting males would have irritated him less if he hadn’t recognized Shongshar’s voice among them.
Thakur had hoped that the silvercoat’s youth would delay his mating for a year, postponing difficulties that might arise over the cubs he would sire. But Shongshar was older than he looked, and his rapid development into a fully mature male surprised many in the clan. A few days earlier, he had begun courting the young Firekeeper Bira, edging out Cherfan, who was also seeking her attention. The herder retreated with good grace, but admitted to Thakur that he had underestimated Shongshar as a rival. “That young rake has a louder voice than I do, if you can believe it,” Cherfan had said, lolling his tongue in a rueful grimace.
Thakur tried to tell himself that his reaction to Shongshar’s success was only jealousy, but there was a part of his mind that refused to accept such an easy answer. He had spoken to Shongshar about the possible consequences of his mating and the silvercoat’s answers had disturbed him.
“Shongshar, have you thought about Ratha’s words to you when you joined the clan?” Thakur had asked him one rainy evening not long after the ceremony that made him one of the Named. He remembered how the silvercoat turned his head, blinking as rain dripped from his eyebrow whiskers onto his nose. “She make me say when I mate and cubs are born I must bring them before her. Only if they have light in their eyes can my mate and me raise them.”
“And if your cubs don’t have the light of the Named in their eyes, they must be left to die. Have you thought about that?” Thakur persisted.
“I think it will be harder for female I mate with than for me,” Shongshar answered. “I won’t bear the cubs and nurse them. If eyes are empty, cubs will mean little to me.”
“You wouldn’t regret having to give them up?”
“No, herding teacher. Why you ask this?” Shongshar stopped, then cocked his head at Thakur.
“You seem to like being with the litterlings. I’ve seen you working with them. You almost got into a fight with Shoman when he bullied Bundi.”
“Is that bad?”
“No,” Thakur answered, “but it isn’t something I expected from you. Are you sure your fondness for the litterlings might not make you want to keep the cubs you sire?”
Shongshar looked thoughtful. “Herding teacher, not to worry. There is big difference between litterlings that are stupid as herdbeasts and those whose eyes shine bright. Even if they are mine.”
I wonder, thought Thakur.
“It won’t be hard for me. Don’t worry,” said Shongshar lightly, and he had walked away, leaving the herding teacher full of doubt.
More yowls from the forest interrupted Thakur’s thoughts. He got up and shook the leaf litter from his fur. The yearlings were busy with the herd and no one was watching him. He should go.