She slunk through the wet grass and peered between the stems. She caught a glimpse of a rain-slick copper coat. There he was. Checking the trail as he usually did. Should she follow? He never found anything except pawmarks. Why should she waste her time?
She lifted her head and saw birds wheeling and dipping beneath the gray mass of clouds. A breeze tickled her whiskers, bringing with it the smell of the marshlands and the hills. She sensed, as she stood still and let the wind ruffle her fur, that this might be the last day she spent here.
Bonechewer had come out into the opening and was pacing toward the trail. Ratha saw him stop and stare up the path. The curve of a hill cut off her view, but she knew from Bonechewer’s reaction that he had seen more than pawmarks. She scampered down the hill, keeping herself hidden. She made a wide circuit behind Bonechewer and followed him, creeping low on her belly, scuttling from one weed patch to the next until she was quite close to Bonechewer.
As she approached the trail, she saw that it wasn’t empty. There were three of the Un-Named there. She dropped down behind a rise and hid, stretching out in the long grass, her chin resting on the top of the knoll. Now she could see and hear everything.
She watched Bonechewer approach the three on the trail. Two were tawny, the other black. The tawny ones were heavy and each bore a ruff. Their scent, drifting to Ratha through the damp air, told her they were males. They had the same eyes as the witless gray female and Ratha knew they wouldn’t speak. The two males crouched and curled their tails across their feet. The black sat upright, green eyes luminous in a narrow ebony face. The eyes fixed on Bonechewer.
Ratha crawled further over the crest of the knoll, feeling her heart thump against the ground. Would the black one speak or be as dumb as the two others?
The black rose onto all four feet as the copper-coat approached.
“I wondered when you would come, nightling,” Ratha heard Bonechewer say.
“The gathering place calls, dweller-by-the-water,” the stranger replied. The black’s odor and voice were female. “I and my companions are the last.”
“They who gather will wait for you,” Bonechewer said.
The black came a few steps down the trail, keeping her eyes on him. “We need you, dweller-by-the-water. Few among us have your gifts.”
The green eyes were intense, half pleading, half-threatening. Ratha saw Bonechewer’s hackles rise.
“That I know, nightling. How I will use them is for me to decide.”
The black lowered her whiskers and walked down the trail past Bonechewer. The two tawny males followed her. She paused and looked over one silken shoulder at Bonechewer. “I could make use of their teeth, dweller-by-the-water.”
Ratha tensed, gathering herself for a possible charge up the hill to Bonechewer’s aid.
“You could, nightling,” Bonechewer answered pleasantly, but Ratha saw the muscles bunch beneath his fur.
“No, dweller-by-the-water,” the black said, showing the pointed tips of her fangs. “I am not so foolish as that. You are right, the decision is yours to make. If we are your people, then come. If not, then return to those of the clan from which you came and leave this territory to the Un-Named.”
Ratha crept closer. If the black was right, Bonechewer was not one of the Un-Named. Clan-born? Could he be? That might explain many things.
The black waved her tail and trotted down the path, followed by her two companions. Bonechewer stared at the ground until their footsteps faded. Only then did he raise his head. He swung his muzzle back and forth, flicking his tail. Then he turned and gazed downhill to where Ratha was hiding.
“Clever, clan cat,” he said loudly, “but the wind has shifted and I can smell you.”
Disgruntled, Ratha trotted uphill to the path. As she approached, he laid his ears back until he looked as if he didn’t have any.
“So, dweller-by-the-water,” she said mockingly, staying beyond reach of his claws, “do you take the trail with your people? And will you raid those who were also your people?”
“Yarr. So you know my little secret,” he said, slightly taken aback. “No matter. You would have found out fairly soon. One wouldn’t know it from your hunting ability, but you are quite clever. Too clever, I think.”
She eyed him. “You bear no love for the Un-Named. That I know from watching you rub out their tracks.”
“I have no love of growing thin, either. The weather is already harsh and growing worse. Were I to stay here alone, my land would barely feed me. It will not feed the two of us. You are eating more every day, clan cat.” He looked pointedly at her belly. Her pregnancy was becoming noticeable even as her appetite was growing more voracious.
“Then we go,” Ratha said, taking a step down the trail.
Bonechewer’s whiskers twitched and he looked uncomfortable. “The journey will not be easy and there will be things you won’t like.”
“Do I have a choice? If I am to bear your cubs, I must eat. As for the things I won’t like, I’ll deal with them as they come. When I think about what I’ve lived through, I know I can survive anything.”
At least, I hope I can, she thought as she jogged along the trail beside Bonechewer.
* * *
Despite Bonechewer’s warning, Ratha found the journey to be pleasant at first. The hills were open, clothed only in waving grasses, and the trail rose and dipped among them. Every once in a while the sun escaped the clouds and made the rain-washed earth seem bright and new.
When night came, or when the day grew cold and the rain turned to sleet, Ratha would crouch with Bonechewer in a burrow or beneath a bush until they could resume their journey.
At first, the two of them were the only ones on the trail, but soon they saw and passed others, including the black and her companions. Bonechewer traveled fast, and Ratha had to push herself to keep up with him. He caught most of what they ate, for he could flush prey from the weeds along the trail and bring the animal down before Ratha had gone very far ahead of him. Sometimes the two shared what they caught with the Un-Named Ones they passed. When their bellies and jaws were empty, their fellow travelers would share with them.
As the days passed like the ground underfoot, Ratha noticed more of the Un-Named emerging from the underbrush or from side trails to join. The path, once dotted with individuals moving far apart, became a river of furry pelts stretching away in both directions. Bonechewer could no longer hunt beside the trail, for the prey animals had either been killed or frightened away by the travelers who preceded him.
While he was gone on hunting excursions, Ratha sometimes sat by the side of the path and watched as the Un-Named went by. Grizzled patriarchs, scruffy half-growns, females shepherding cubs, fight-scarred males, all of the kinds she had seen in the clan and others besides. Some were strong while others were half-starved and barely able to totter along at the rear. Some were sleek and as well-groomed as Ratha had seen in the clan. Others were rough, tattered and mangy.