Thakur found a soft spot under a young fir and, holding the treeling in his mouth, started scraping pine needles and litter away. Soon he had excavated a deep treeling refuge in the red clay beneath the tree. He lowered the animal gently into the hole, arranged branches and needles over it, then piled dirt on the covering before the creature could claw its way out. He stamped the soil down and waited to see if the creature would unbury itself. When he saw no sign that it was escaping, he turned to the task of digging himself a temporary den and forgot about the treeling.
In the morning, he slept late, enjoying his solitude. Here there were no tail-waving females or yowling males. No one of the clan was there to press him with their needs or fears. He heard only the quiet trickle of the brook and felt the pine-scented breeze teasing his whiskers. Until he remembered the treeling.
Thakur jumped up and ran to the little fir, only to find that he had packed the dirt down harder than he’d thought. It took determined digging to reopen the burrow. When at last he broke through, he almost dug the treeling up along with the dirt. The little creature made no attempt to escape, for it was nearly suffocated.
He pawed some clay from the brindled pelt. The treeling closed its eyes and made no protest. At first he felt relieved and then alarmed. Its passivity was probably due to hunger, he thought, and he decided he’d better feed it. But what would it eat? Well, if treelings lived in trees, they probably ate leaves, he concluded, and went off to find some.
He brought one type of leaf after another, without success. The treeling would eat none of them. At last, by accident he brought a branch that had several beetles on it. When he placed his offering outside the treeling’s hole, it poked its head out, spied a bug, snatched it up and crammed the morsel into its mouth. It continued to pick insects off the branch until all of them were gone. It looked up at Thakur with inquisitive eyes, cocked its head slightly and said “Aree?”
Later that morning found Thakur in a nearby stretch of grassland, hunting grasshoppers. He had been quite adept at this when he was a cub, although now he found lack of practice had robbed him of some skill. Finally he managed to catch one in his mouth and carry it back to the treeling, feeling the struggling insect kicking his tongue. He spat it out in front of the treeling’s burrow. A small arm emerged, caught the insect by the leg and dragged it inside. Thakur could hear more crunching sounds.
After the grasshopper hunt, Thakur stretched out for a nap in the autumn sun. He was almost asleep when he felt something climb up his back and nestle in the fur on his flank. Startled, he shook the treeling off and nosed it back into the burrow. He returned to his nap.
When he woke, he found that the treeling had climbed up on him again and was clinging to his pelt. He craned his head back, seized the creature by the scruff and pulled, but it had woven fingers and toes into his fur. Realizing that he would pull the treeling apart before he got it off, he sighed and let it stay.
After a while, he found he enjoyed having the treeling on his back. It murmured contentedly as he jogged along and made small wordless comments whenever anything happened. At first Thakur was afraid he might lose his new companion and he chose his way carefully, avoiding low branches, lest his passenger be swept off or scramble into the trees beyond his reach. He made wide detours and looked over his shoulder at every step to assure himself that the creature was still there. The treeling stared back at him, the expression on its short-muzzled face saying, “I’m still here. What are you so worried about?”
Soon Thakur ceased worrying about losing the animal. It seemed to like riding on him and sleeping in his fur at night. During the following days, he roamed far from the grove, carrying the treeling with him and feeding it on beetles and the big grasshoppers that lived in the nearby meadowlands.
He doubted that this was the food the creature had been accustomed to, but it seemed to be flourishing on its new diet. Thakur also ate a few of the insects himself, to ward off the hunger that threatened to drive him back to the clan. Eventually, he knew, he would have to go, and what was he going to do with the treeling then?
Well, it was the mating season. None of the adults in the clan would pay any attention to him. He would have to show himself to the yearlings who were guarding the herd and the fires; otherwise he might be attacked as an enemy by the over-eager youngsters. He would receive some curious stares from his pupils, but his previous authority over them would keep them from asking too many questions or trying to eat his new friend.
Friend? He was startled by the thought. Never had he supposed he could think about any other kind of animal as more than food, yet he had to admit that the treeling’s presence often brought him a quiet sort of contentment.
Thakur couldn’t help grinning as he ambled along with the creature on his back. “You funny little treeling-cub,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at it. “Sometimes I wonder if you know what I’m thinking. Perhaps I should give you a name if I’m going to talk to you as I talk to the ones in the clan.”
The treeling looked at him with wide solemn eyes. “Aree,” it said, as if it were agreeing with him.
“I probably shouldn’t. You don’t know what a name means. It means you know what you are. Treeling-cub, do you know what you are?”
It cocked its head at him.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter. I think you’re a ‘he’ and I have to call you something besides ‘treeling.’ What should I call you? Fur-Puller? Bug-Cruncher?”
“Aree!”
“Well, all right. Since that’s the only word you know, I’ll call you Aree.”
A little later the same day, Thakur was passing under a curtain of leaves when the treeling jumped from his back into the branches. By the time Thakur realized that Aree was gone, he had climbed beyond sight. The tree was too slight for Thakur to climb any farther than to the first crotch and there he perched, looking anxiously up into the branches and yowling helplessly, hoping Aree would come back.
Soon there was a rustle and Aree plopped down on him, making him lose his balance and topple out of the tree. A wild swing of his tail enabled him to land on his feet with the tree-ling still attached. When he peered back over his shoulder, he noticed that Aree was carrying something smooth and round. He had seen similar objects hanging on some trees, but since he never ate any part of a tree, he never paid attention to these things unless he stepped on one that was rotten.
Aree was fascinated. The treeling turned his prize over in his paws, looking at it and smelling it. The little creature had to stretch his jaws wide before he was able to bite into the skin, but once he did, he began munching away as if he had never tasted anything so delicious in his short life.
The fruit the treeling picked was overripe and the syrupy juice dribbled onto Thakur’s back. It ran down his side and matted his fur, making him itch. Irritated, he nudged Aree aside and cleaned his coat, but as fast as he licked himself, the treeling dribbled more juice on him.
The taste of the stuff was sweet and the only sweet flavor Thakur knew was the taste of spoiled meat. That was enough to make him stop licking. He tried to ignore the smears on his coat, but as the afternoon passed, the sun warmed his back, turning the dribbles into sticky patches and dry, crusty spots. Once Aree had discovered this new treat, he sought more and couldn’t be persuaded to dismount while eating. Thakur’s back and neck fur were soon stiff with dried dribbles and his skin itched unbearably.