“Ratha!” Thakur bellowed, trying to guard Aree from inquisitive muzzles and paws.
She waded in among the group, butting, shoving and dealing out cuffs to those who didn’t get out of her way. “All right, leave Thakur alone, you greedy bunch. I smell a kill over by the oak; the yearlings are welcoming us back.”
Cherfan lifted his head and tail. His eyes brightened and he galloped away, followed by Shoman, Fessran and Bira.
“Leave enough for me!” Ratha roared after them before she turned back to Thakur.
Aree had stopped shaking, but he still clung tightly to Thakur’s underside. Ratha paced around the herding teacher, trying to peek under his belly at the treeling. He could hear her stomach growl, and he wasn’t sure whether her interest was just curiosity.
“Are you really going to keep this creature?” she asked at last.
“Shouldn’t I?”
“Well, I don’t know. No one in the clan has ever kept one. I’m not sure why anyone would want to. Are you waiting for it to grow fatter so it will make more of a mouthful?”
“The meat is over there,” Thakur said icily, flicking his whiskers in the direction of the old oak. “If you can’t think of anything except your belly, go and eat.”
Ratha reassured him that she wouldn’t eat his treeling but there was still a spark of mischief in her eyes. She admitted one could keep a creature for reasons other than eating it. After all, she had tamed and kept the Red Tongue.
“I don’t think this treeling is quite the same as the creature I brought to the clan,” she said critically as Aree grew bold enough to leave his refuge under Thakur’s belly and clamber up onto his back. With a suspicious look at her, the treeling began grooming himself again; once he had finished, he started to part Thakur’s fur, sifting through his pelt.
Ratha grimaced. “Yarr! He’s putting his paws into your coat. Doesn’t that feel terrible?”
“At first it did, but now I don’t mind,” Thakur answered. Ratha sat down and scratched herself briefly.
“What’s he doing?” She stared harder at the treeling.
“Aree is eating my ticks. He’s cleaned me off pretty well and I don’t have many fleas either. You probably have more than I do now.”
“I probably do. When the fleabane plant dies in the winter, we scratch until spring.” Ratha added the action to the word. When she stood up again, Thakur bumped up against her and tried to nudge the treeling onto her back.
“Oh no.” She sidled away. “I don’t want that thing pawing through my fur.”
“Are you afraid of a treeling after you’ve tamed the Red Tongue?” Thakur lolled his tongue at her.
“Of course not!” Ratha’s whiskers bristled.
“You want to get rid of all those itchy fleas, don’t you?”
“I don’t think he will climb on me,” Ratha said, but Thakur could see her resistance was weakening.
“He will if you don’t try to eat him.”
Still looking doubtful, Ratha edged against Thakur. He nosed the reluctant treeling off his back. Aree hissed at him and gave his whiskers a pull before he scrambled onto her and began to groom her ruff. Aree buried his muzzle in her pelt and bit at something. Alarmed, Thakur tried to take the treeling off, unsure whether he was trying to bite Ratha or something in her fur.
“No, leave him,” she said suddenly. She winced, then looked relieved. “Ooh, that hurt. Your treeling just pulled out the wretched tick I’ve been carrying around for days. I couldn’t reach it with my teeth. What a relief!”
She let the treeling clean the rest of her back. When Aree was done, he jumped back onto Thakur and nestled between his shoulders, murmuring softly.
“Well?” Thakur looked at Ratha.
“Your creature felt like all the fleas in the forest were on my back, but I am glad to be rid of that tick.” Ratha shook herself. “Keep your treeling, then. I will tell the others not to eat the creature. He isn’t like the Red Tongue, but he seems to be useful. Will he groom others in the clan besides you and me?”
“If they are gentle and don’t frighten him.”
“What are you going to do with him now?” she asked.
“Take him to my den. I think he wants to sleep.” Ratha gave the treeling one more look. “I’m going to ask the yearlings if anything happened while I was gone,” she said and jogged away, swinging her tail. Thakur gazed after her, then turned up the path that led to his den. With his full stomach, he agreed with the treeling that a nap would be a good idea.
Chapter Eight
Most of the mated females became pregnant, carrying their cubs through the winter and giving birth in early spring. When the rainy season ended, the clan mothers brought their litterlings from the birth-dens to a secluded place amid an outcropping of stone. In this sheltered nursery, guarded by one or two females, the small cubs could sleep in the sun or crawl about on unsteady legs.
The nursery would have been too hot at midday if it hadn’t been for the shade of a sapling that leaned over the rocks. A gap in the lichen-dotted scones allowed a light breeze to cool the litterlings, but the nursery’s shelter kept out the chill of the early spring wind.
Ratha lay, half-asleep, with a heap of dozing cubs warming her belly. As in previous years, she had had no cubs of her own; she took nursery duty to allow the mothers a rest. She opened one eye and watched the sapling’s new leaves flutter in the breeze.
A fuzzy, chubby body blocked her view and little paws stepped on her face. The cub was too tiny to hurt her and she let him clamber across her muzzle, only objecting when he stopped halfway to chew on her whiskers. With a grunt, she shook him off, caught him by the scruff and swung him into the pile of his fellows who were still asleep.
“Hmph. Your mother had better teach you that my whiskers aren’t blades of grass, even though they may look that way when I’m lying down,” she grumbled, giving him a nudge with her nose.
She lay back to enjoy the quiet, but soon other litterlings woke and began climbing all over her, butting her with their heads and digging in the fur of her belly to find her nipples. They would have to stay hungry until one of the mothers came to feed them, she thought, regretting she had no milk.
“Sleep until Fessran comes and she will feed you,” she said.
Ratha flicked her tail away from a cub that had started gnawing on it, surprised that such tiny teeth could be so sharp. She tried to nap again, but the litterlings wouldn’t leave her alone. She was starting to lose some of her patience when Fessran slithered through the opening in the rocks and flopped down to feed the hungry young. There were tiny squeals and growls as the small cubs fought for places at her teats. Ratha sat and watched, smelling the rich scent of flowing milk as the cubs nursed.
“Well, has our clan leader had enough of tending nurslings?” Fessran teased.
“They don’t squabble as much as the grown cubs I have to look after,” Ratha said.
Fessran grunted. “Give them time. They will. Especially mine.” She leaned over to nudge her little male and left a sooty smudge on him. “The black stuff won’t hurt,” said Fessran. “It’s just another spot. I’ll clean him up when I’m through nursing the rest.”
“Being a Firekeeper’s cub may have its problems,” Ratha teased. “If he keeps gaining spots, how will he ever lose them as he should when he grows up?”
Fessran yawned. “Speaking of Firekeepers’ cubs, has Bira brought hers out yet?”
“No. She had a late litter. They’re still too young.”