She leaped off the trail, cutting through the brush. Tucking her tail between her legs, she fled down into the hollow.
Thakur was nowhere to be seen and Ratha stopped, when she regained the trail, her heart pounding. “Ssss, yearling,” came a voice close by. “Here.” Thakur lifted his head from a clump of ferns. “Has Narir taught you no better trail-running than that? I thought a shambleclaw was coming through the bushes.”
“I saw him, Thakur,” Ratha interrupted, her whiskers quivering with excitement.
“What did you see?”
“The Un-Named One. He was there on the branch after you passed. He looked back at me.”
“Yarrr. The Un-Named never allow themselves to be seen. You saw some clan litterling who imagines himself to be a night hunter.” Thakur snorted.
Ratha’s jaw dropped in dismay, then her ears flattened. “No. I saw him. He was there on the branch as if he wanted me to see him. And I have seen him before.”
“When?” Thakur asked.
“Many clan kills ago. I had a fight with Cherfan and he chased me into a thicket at the end of the meadow. He was in there asleep and I ran right over him. He snarled at me.”
Thakur left the ferns and came to her. His steps were quick, his eyes sudden and intense. Ratha smelled the same odor about him she had noticed before.
“Did you tell anyone else?”
“Only Cherfan,” Ratha said hesitantly, “and he never listens to me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice had a harshness to it Ratha seldom heard, even when he was scolding her during training.
“I didn’t know enough then. Why, Thakur? Are you afraid of the Un-Named One?”
“No.”
Ratha turned toward the trail again, but he nudged her and she stopped.
“Wait, Ratha. The Un-Named One ... did he say anything to you?”
She blinked. “You mean, did he ... speak?”
The strange smell about Thakur was stronger and suddenly frightening. She sensed he wanted something that he also feared and that he wanted it very much. Ratha felt her tail creeping between her legs and her hackles rise.
“Yes, cub. Did he use words?”
She felt her eyes grow wide as she crouched and he stood over her. Was it the night’s touch that made him seem almost menacing?
“Ratha.”
She backed away from him. A hanging frond touched her back and she jumped. She whined miserably. “Thakur, I don’t understand. Everyone knows that the Un-Named Ones don’t speak. They can’t. They aren’t clever enough.”
Thakur drew back his whiskers and Ratha heard him snarl to himself, “Yes, Meoran. You believe the clanless ones are witless as well. Teach it to the cubs and see how the clan fares.”
“Thakur, the Un-Named can’t speak any more than a herdbeast can,” Ratha said hunching her shoulders stubbornly.
He sighed. His voice grew calm, changing him back into her teacher again. He paced beside her, licking her behind the ears. “I’m sorry, small one. I did not mean to frighten you. Perhaps I should take you back to Narir’s den.” He lifted his head. “This night is strange. I smell things that make me uneasy. This night is not for a cub.”
Ratha sat up and groomed some of the dried leaves out of her fur. Then they went on.
At first, Ratha could think only of the stranger whose eyes had glowed at her from the old oak. Was he one of the Un-Named? And why had Thakur asked her such strange things? There were no answers to her questions. Not yet.
Things moved abruptly at night, making Ratha turn her head and flatten her ears. She was much more aware of motion at night than during the day. Movement she seldom noticed in daylight, such as a grass blade swaying or a leaf falling, brought her head around and made her whiskers bristle. It was not fear, although night was fearsome. The pulse in her throat was excitement. She felt alive this night. All her senses were extended and her skin tingled as if the sensitive whiskers on her face were growing all over her body.
There was a rustle in the bushes ahead on the trail. Thakur skidded to a stop and Ratha nearly ran into him. Over his back, she could see a dark form fleet away.
“There he is again,” she whispered. “I did see him!”
“Arr! Fool, to show yourself!” Thakur hissed into the darkness.
“He is a bad hunter, Thakur,” Ratha said. “He is noisy, like me. He is stupid,” she added, wagging her tail arrogantly. “All of the Un-Named are stupid and I am not afraid of any of them. Ptahh.” She spat.
“Hurry then, yearling,” Thakur said dryly. “We will need your courage in the meadow tonight.”
He took up the trail again and she followed.
* * *
Teeth ground together, a drawn-out groaning sound. The herdbeast belched and made wet mushy noises as it began chewing its cud. Ratha crept near, shaking her paws every few steps. The air was moist and the grass dewy. A light mist made the moonlight hazy and muffled the crickets’ song. The animal shifted on its belly. It snuffled and grunted as it watched her with small suspicious eyes set forward in a long block-shaped skull. It flicked large ears, like those of a three-horn, and swallowed the food it was chewing.
Ratha drew her whiskers back. The idea of eating grass disgusted her and the idea of bringing it up again and re-chewing it was even worse. Meat was much better, she thought. It was chewed once and when it went down, it stayed down, unless it had been eaten too fast.
The animal clamped its jaws together and eyed the cub ill-temperedly. Although it lacked horns, the creature used its big head like a battering ram. The barrel body and short legs made it look vulnerable and clumsy. Several of the herders had earned broken ribs by assuming it was.
The animal belched again. Ratha wrinkled her nose and padded away.
She glanced up and down the meadow at other herders who stood in a ring around the flock, their faces to the forest. She yawned and stretched until her tail quivered and saw an answering gape from another shadow in the mist. Nothing was going to happen tonight, she thought. The fright on the trail was all the excitement she was going to get. And perhaps Thakur was right and her Un-Named apparition was just a clan-cub.
She ambled past a fern thicket and heard a pair of dapplebacks snorting and pushing at each other in the dark. Dapplebacks usually climbed on top of each other in the spring season, but these two were starting early. Ratha smelled the rich lure-scent of the mare, the sweat and rut of the little stallion. The odor repelled her and fascinated her, making her think of the scents on trees that clan males had sprayed.
The odor also made her think of Thakur and the way he had licked her behind the ears on the trail. She listened to the dapplebacks bumping together and the little stallion’s rhythmic grunts, her tail twitching. These thoughts were new, not cub-thoughts at all, and she approached them as warily in her mind as she had approached the belching herdbeast.
Her feet were getting damp from standing in one place. She shook them. The mist was growing thicker. She decided to find Thakur.
His scent was mixed in with herdbeast smells, forest smells and the smells of other herders. Ratha separated it from all the others and followed it to him. He was crouched on top of the sunning stone, his tail curled across his feet, speaking to Fessran who stood nearby.
Ratha trotted quickly toward them and skidded to a stop, feeling the wet grass pull between her pads. Thakur cocked his head at her. She walked to Fessran and touched noses.
“Clan herder, two of your dapplebacks are hiding in the fern thicket,” she said. “I can chase them back to the herd for you.”