Ratha made an angry turn, lost her balance and toppled.
Bonechewer nosed her as she clambered to her feet. “You’re hot.”
“I’ve been running,” she snapped, but inwardly she was alarmed. Had she caught a fever? She felt so hot and wild that she wanted to run up the hill and howl or plunge herself in the lake.
Bonechewer was still nosing her, digging his muzzle into her flank. Her irritation flared. “Stop sniffing at me as if I was a putrid kill!”
He ducked her swipe and backed off. She saw a hungry glow rise in his eyes. Yet he had eaten. What else did he want?
She sat down and scratched herself. Besides being hot, she was itchy. Had she caught some illness? If so, it was a strange one. She had never felt anything quite like this before.
Bonechewer began to tug at the carcass. Grudgingly Ratha joined him and helped him haul the remains through the rushes to the lakeside. Try as she would, she could not help bumping against him and each touch sent another heat shock through her, starting at her middle and rippling out in both directions to her head and tail.
Ratha and Bonechewer reached the shore and threw the carcass in. She watched it sink beneath the gray water until only the faintest glimmer of white bone showed on the bottom.
Her belly was full and she wanted to curl up in the den and sleep. She wanted time to think, to try and make sense of what she had learned. Perhaps, as Bonechewer had said, she would always be wrong. Perhaps there was no sense to be made of it.
Bonechewer brushed against her as he passed. His scent and his closeness drove the questions from her mind. She shook her head, trying to throw off the fuzziness that was creeping over her thoughts. She only made herself dizzy.
Bonechewer, far down the path, lifted his tail and waved the white spot at the end. Ratha lowered her head and trotted after him, leaving only the rain pattering on the lakeshore.
The next morning, Ratha woke, nestled in brittle leaves inside the ancient pine, once hollowed by fire. Age and weather had softened the sharp smell of charred timber. Resin seeped through the cracked wood and mixed its smell with the fragrance of the dry leaves.
Ratha blinked sleepily, rolled over and rested her chin on the bark sill at the entrance. She was still lightheaded, although the sensation wasn’t as unpleasant as it had been. She snuggled into the leaves and watched the winter sun rise. Last night’s fever had fallen, leaving her comfortably warm and lazy.
Something worried at her mind, trying to catch her attention. She sensed that it was important or had been important. Odd that she couldn’t remember what it was. She sighed, feeling the cold wind on her nose in contrast to the snug heat of her body.
Bonechewer lay curled up near her, feeling warm and smelling musky. The sunlight fell on his coat, turning it from shadowed brown to burnished copper. Ratha rolled over next to him and leaned over him, fascinated by the pattern of hair on his chest and foreleg. Each hair was gleaming and haloed; so perfectly placed in the pattern that flowed down his leg until it ended in a whorl on the back of his foot.
His smell hypnotized her; drew her closer. A wild dark scent, tinged with bitterness. A scent powerful enough to send shivers down her spine to the tip of her tail.
Bonechewer stirred as the sun warmed him. Ratha retreated, frightened by the motion and astonished at her feelings. He settled and his scent drew her back. One paw flexed, showing ivory claws, and he yawned, rubbing his cheek in the leaves. One eye opened. The one-eyed golden stare made Ratha feel confused and abashed. She ducked her head.
“Hmm,” he said and yawned until the back of his tongue showed. “You’re feeling better, aren’t you.”
Ratha gave him a puzzled stare.
“You spent half the night trying to push me out of the den. I suppose you don’t remember.”
He rolled over on his back, the motion sending waves of his scent toward Ratha. They rocked her, sweeping over her and through her until she could barely stand. Bonechewer had never smelled quite like this before. Had his odor changed? No. It was her. Her nose, her eyes. Everything was so much stronger, so much more intense that she could scarcely bear it. What was wrong with her?
Bonechewer wiggled on his back, his paws open, his eyes inviting. It was too much. Ratha jumped out of the den and trotted away a short distance. The day was clear and the wind nippy. Overhead, the sky was cloudless and blue. Ratha fluffed her fur and began licking herself, letting the task calm her mind. She began to enjoy it much more than she ever had. The feeling of fur gliding beneath her tongue, the warmth and roughness of her tongue pressing the fur against her skin; all of these sensations kept her licking even though she had groomed herself thoroughly. It felt nice, especially on that itchy place at the base of her tail.
She was suddenly aware that another tongue had joined hers, licking the nape of her neck while she was grooming her belly. She snapped her head up, catching Bonechewer beneath the chin. He shook his head ruefully and backed away, leaving her swimming in his scent. She tucked her tail between her legs and scuttled away. She crouched, watching him from a distance. He cocked his head and grinned at her, then took several steps toward her.
Ratha felt her lips slide back from her teeth.
“Stay away,” she growled.
“All right,” he said good-naturedly. “You’re not ready yet. Are you hungry?”
“Go stalk your own kill,” she snapped. “I can feed myself.” The comfortable lazy feeling was gone. She felt prickly and hot. Bonechewer turned tail and sauntered off.
Wrathfully yet regretfully, she watched him go.
Ratha didn’t feel hungry, but she knew she should eat. She trotted back and forth until she found a likely looking hole and settled down beside it, waiting for the occupant to emerge. But she could not keep still. She itched and prickled and burned until she could no longer stand it. She gave up after several tries and scratched herself furiously. She began licking, dragging her tongue over her chest and belly. That was good, but it still wasn’t enough. She flopped on her back and began rolling back and forth in the grass. That still wasn’t enough. She lay and pedaled her rear paws in sheer frustration. I want something and I don’t know what it is. How can I want it if I don’t know what it is?
She stopped wriggling. Bonechewer was back, two lizards dangling from his jaws. He dropped one, went away and began eating the other. Ratha scrambled to her feet and shook off the dirt and pine needles clinging to her coat. She didn’t want to be caught acting like a cub. Soon the urge to roll and rub overwhelmed her embarrassment. She flung herself on her back and writhed and wriggled until she thought her coat would be worn off.
A shadow blocked the sky and something hit her face. The something was limp, scaly and smelled delicious. Ratha’s hunger came back in a rush and she seized the lizard Bonechewer had dropped on her face. She devoured the prey, savoring every bite and crunch of bone until the morsel was gone. She looked up, licking her whiskers.
Bonechewer’s eyes seemed to glow amber in his dark face. He nosed her and this time she did not leap away. He began licking her and, although she shivered, she stayed put, sensing that his tongue was the answer to all her itches and prickles. He was warm, and his scent so rich....
A strange cry bubbled up inside her throat, wild and plaintive. Ratha could scarcely believe that this was her own voice. She lay with her head and chest against the ground, her heart threatening to burst her ribs. Teeth seized her ruff. She cried out again and again, unable to stop calling, even though the sound of her own voice frightened her. She felt his belly fur against her back and she felt him shift, slowly, repositioning his feet. His scent washed over her, taking her, spinning her until the hunger, the fright and the astonishment all blended together. She rubbed her head against the ground, calling until her voice was raw.