“Ratha, I can’t ...” Thakur began. A muffled swish of grass interrupted him and Fessran limped out of the fog. She sniffed once and glared at Ratha.
“Ptah! I fight raiders and she can’t even keep a mangy herd of dapplebacks together without losing half of them. Has it been so long since I trained you, cub?”
Ratha opened her mouth to retort, but a glance from Thakur stopped her.
“I’ll help you find the rest of them, Fessran, when I’ve taken Ratha back to Narir,” he said soothingly.
“If the Un-Named will let you through,” Fessran snarled. “They are thicker in the forest tonight than the fleas on Meoran’s belly.”
“Can you take care of the horses by yourself until I get back?”
“Yes. Take the cub and go, Thakur. She’ll be safer in Narir’s den.” Fessran limped away, leaving Thakur and Ratha alone.
“I fought raiders too!” Ratha hissed angrily. “Why didn’t you let me tell her?”
“There wasn’t time. Yearling, we’ve got to hurry. I don’t want you here if the raiders break through.”
“Do I have to go back to the den?” Ratha asked, padding shakily alongside him.
“Yearling, haven’t you had enough for tonight? You’re barely able to stand up and you think you’re ready for another scrap with the Un-Named? No, I think I’d better take you back.”
She yawned. “All right, Thakur. I am tired.”
They had not gone far when several forms emerged out of the mist and jogged toward them. Ratha’s heart jumped, then she recognized them as clan herdfolk.
“Thakur Torn-Claw,” said the first one.
“Srass of Salarfang Den,” Thakur answered. “How is the trail tonight?”
Srass lowered his head and Ratha saw his whiskers twitch. “The Un-Named grow bolder. They attacked another party of herders who were trying to join us. Our people made it through, but two were badly bitten.” The herder turned his eyes on Ratha. “I would not run this trail tonight, young one.”
“She would be safer in a den,” Thakur argued.
“Then dig one here in the meadow.” Srass shrugged as Thakur glared at him. “Do as you wish, Torn-Claw, but if you take the trail before dawn, neither of you will reach clan ground.”
“I thought the Un-Named only killed herdbeasts.” Ratha’s voice was thin.
“They kill anyone who is of the clan. They hate us.”
“Yarr, Srass,” snarled one of the herder’s companions, an older male with scars and broken teeth. “You speak as if the Un-Named had wit enough to hate us. Has Meoran not said that those who are Un-Named and clanless are beasts no less so than the ones we herd?”
“Beasts can also hate,” Srass muttered, but his tail was low and Ratha smelt the sudden change in his scent. He was afraid. “All right, Tevran,” he said hastily, not looking at the other. “I am not questioning our leader’s words, so you need not listen so closely.”
“You had better stay in the meadow, Torn-Claw,” said Gare. “I hear the cub is a promising herder and the clan should not lose her.”
Thakur turned away, his whiskers quivering. Ratha cocked her head at him. “May you eat of the haunch and sleep in the driest den, clan herders,” she said politely to Srass and Tevran.
As Thakur passed her, she heard him growl under his breath, “May your tail be chewed off and all your fur fall our, Tevran.”
With one last glance at the two herders, Ratha lowered her head and padded after him.
“Are we going back?” she asked, catching up.
“No, Srass is right. The trail is too dangerous.”
“Now I want to go home. My underfur is wet.” Her voice was petulant.
“We can‘t, yearling. Not until dawn.”
“What if the raiders break through?”
“Then both of us go up the nearest tree.”
Ratha shivered and shook herself, sending dewdrops flying. She sneezed.
“Come back with me to the sunning rock,” Thakur suggested. “You can curl up beside me and Fessran. We’ll warm you up.”
“Fessran is angry with me,” Ratha grumbled.
“I’ll tell her to sharpen her claws on someone else. Come on, yearling,” he said as Ratha yawned, a gape that stretched her mouth and made her jaw muscles ache again. Thakur waved his tail imperiously, but Ratha was in no mood to follow. She flattened her ears and turned away from him.
“Ratha!”
She ignored Thakur’s call as she trotted away into the fog.
There was a drumming of feet behind her and the sound of wet grass swishing. She stopped and glared back at Thakur.
“You idiot cub, you can’t go back by yourself!” Ratha turned her head aside and trotted off in a different direction. Again Thakur blocked her.
“Go away. I don’t want you as teacher any more,” she snarled. “Fessran may be hard, but she listens to me and answers my questions. And I am not a cub. You wouldn’t have brought me here with you if you thought I was.”
“The way you are acting tells me I may have made a mistake. Yarr! Yearling, come back here!” he called as Ratha galloped away. She ran as hard as she could, twisting and turning so that Thakur would lose her trail. Soon the fog muffled his footsteps and they died away behind her. She ran on, aching and shivering, not sure where she was going and not really caring. There was a feeling in her throat as if a piece of meat were stuck there, and swallow as she might, she couldn’t get it down.
At last Ratha jogged into a patch of frosty grass and stopped to rest. The cold was pulling the fog out of the air, laying it on the ground in crystals of ice. She fluffed her fur. Running had warmed her, but as she stood, the chill began to creep back again. She lifted her nose. Some stars were showing through the mist overhead. Everything was quiet now.
Ratha peered between two white-covered stalks and ducked back. She didn’t want to be found by anyone, whether it was her teacher or the Un-Named raider. Her whiskers trembled. She whimpered softly and closed her eyes.
She was afraid of the night, of the raiders, of Thakur, but what frightened her most was the change in herself. A cub wasn’t supposed to get angry with her teacher. A cub wasn’t supposed to question, to doubt, or to sense that things were wrong. When had the awareness come?
She hung her head miserably. Had she imagined that the Un-Named One had spoken during the fight? It was easy to believe that she hadn’t heard his words and less frightening to believe so. Less frightening for her and Thakur. But why? Why should Thakur even care whether the scavenger had talked?
Because he knows they can, something in her mind answered, and, for a moment, she was startled by the realization.
Everyone thinks the clanless ones are stupid, Ratha thought. Meoran tells us to think that way. But if Thakur thinks they can talk, as we do, perhaps he thinks they aren’t stupid, either.
“The Un-Named One spoke to me,” Ratha said aloud to herself. “I know he did.”
She sat down and stared at nothing for a long time. None of it made any sense.
“Thakur is wrong,” she muttered. “I am not a cub anymore.”
She stared at the faint form on the grass beside her for a long time before she realized that it was the first trace of her shadow. As the milky light began to spread over the horizon behind the trees, Ratha blinked and shook her head, not sure whether she had been awake.
The sun rose, chasing the fog away into the trees. The hoarfrost melted back into dew and the drops hung from grassblades and the leaves glittered. Sounds reached Ratha’s ears and she turned her head.
She had run so far across the meadow that she couldn’t see the sunning rock and she wasn’t quite sure where she was. As the fog slid away, it uncovered the carnage of the night’s battle. Bodies of slain herdbeasts, both three-horns and dapplebacks, lay still and stiff. Nearby were smaller forms, the torn remains of both the herd’s defenders and attackers. From where she hid, Ratha couldn’t tell whether the slain were clan folk or raiders. The clan believed the Un-Named Ones were different, yet they all looked alike in death, Ratha thought, as she crept from her hiding place.