Winter vented its fury on Ratleaf Forest. Flurrying snowstorms and gale winds drove Lord Pop's small retinue back into their nests. The messengers had left with a great deal of ceremony, and with their departure Tailchaser sank into lethargy. His one pressing need fulfilled, Firsthome now to be alerted, he found himself succumbing finally to the effects of his harrowing time underground. Contact with the Rikchikchik became less frequent. Fritti spent more and more time hunkered down in his tree-stump nest, sheltering and recuperating. Hunting was sparse so he conserved his energy, spending long stretches of time in slumber, the waking hours brief and barely distinguishable from the sleeping. Curled in his lightning-blasted tree, tail curved protectively over his nose, he let his mind wander over the things he had done and seen. As if they were present with him, he summoned up his friends from Meeting Walclass="underline" Thinbohe, Fleetpaw, the aloof Stretchslow and kind Bristlejaw. How they would marvel!
Sometimes he thought of Hushpad, the grace of her walk and the soft contours of her neck and head. He would pretend that he had found her and taken her back home: that she listened in awe and respect as he described his adventures. "For me?" she would say. "All of that to find me?" Then the wind would whistle down the stump and ruffle his fur. and once more he would be back in Ratleaf. He would think of those he had left behind, left to awful destinies in the mound.
I suppose that is why I was Named Tailchaser, he thought sourly to himself. All I have done is follow the closest thing-led on, like a kitten chasing its tail, moving in circles until it exhausts itself.
One day, nearly half an Eye since he had been found by the Rikchikchik, Fritti was walking back to his nest after a long afternoon of unsuccessful hunting. Not all the life of Ratleaf had been driven out, but most of the creatures that remained were hidden for the long, cold winter. Tailchaser was feeling empty and purposeless. He stopped to drag his claws down the bark of a standing pine tree, relieving a little frustration and sending a shower of powdery snow down from the branches above. He felt a sudden revelation.
His time in Ratleaf was over. The vast, empty forest, snowbound and silent, was a way station-a neutral area. Like the half-sleep between dreaming and waking, it was a place not to remain, but to gather energy to move one direction or the other.
That moment, as he stood with back arched and whiskers washed by the cold air, he remembered the words of one of the Elders at his Naming: "He desires his tail name before he has even received his face name." They had laughed, but now he realized there was truth there. He had set out, not just to find Hushpad, but to gain something. He had been led, true, but he had chosen to follow. Now, he must turn one way or the other. He could return the way he had come, leaving it to Fencewalker and the others to succeed or fail… or he could complete his journey. Not that he, with his own small paws, could make any large difference, but he could finish his journey. His friends were trapped, helpless-he could not save them, perhaps, but they had come with him, and they all belonged together.
For a moment, just a moment, he thought he could understand what it was like to finally hear one's inner voice; to find one's tail name. The fur on his back bristled, and he had a fit of uncontrollable shivering. He dropped back down to his paws and turned back to his nest.
It was not until he had curled himself up for sleep that he realized he was really going back to the mound.
CHAPTER 25
The lions pass a thornbush and melt. Though the whole day is unbroken the passage of the sun will represent heaven the bones will represent time.
–Josephine Jacobsen
Dawn found Tailchaser moving toward the Va'an-ward border of Ratleaf. He had not gone to say farewells to the Rikchikchik. Despite Lord Pop's honor-bound discharge of Snap's debt, Fritti did not feel he could comfortably involve the squirrels any further. They were already struggling for their own survival. Chance and strange times had made them allies, but Tailchaser knew that the Rikchikchik and the Folk were prey and hunter, and would be those things always. He only hoped that the artificial alliance would hold until the message was safely delivered to the Folk of the Queen's Seat.
As he paced silently through the tree-crowded snowscape he thought of Firsthome and his time there-a halfhearted attempt to keep his mind occupied. The mound would be before him soon enough; there was no reason to hasten his thoughts ahead.
Among the thinned tree rows and bracken near the outer edge of the great forest, Fritti heard a sound from above: the rustling of wings. He momentarily considered darting for shelter, but before he could spring from the open white space in which he was framed two black shapes dropped from the heights above. Prepared-he hoped-for whatever ill fortune had descended on him, he crouched, hackles raised.
The two dark creatures settled on a branch above with a flurry of ebony pinions. Fritti relaxed… somewhat. It was only a pair of ravens-Krauka- one large and one small. Not the most harmless of fla-fa'az, but not strong enough to match talons with the Folk. Still, he regarded them suspiciously as they in turn stared down at him with glittering eyes.
"Th'art the Tailchaser?" asked the older bird in an unmusical voice.
'"Course, Dad, there be the star on's head, now, see?" squeaked the smaller. Tailchaser took a step backward in surprise.
"You can speak!" he breathed. "You know the Common Singing?"
With a harsh cackle of amusement the larger Krauka flapped his wings, lifting slightly off the branch. Settling down, he preened his chest feathers in a self-satisfied manner, keeping an eye on Fritti.
"There be many who bear no fur, yet speak nigh better'n catsl" The large bird chuckled again. "Those what be long-lived like we, well, they do learn. Aye, even my eldest here"-he indicated the smaller raven-"though's got no more sense nor a tumblebug."
"Well," said Fritti after a moment's consideration, "I suppose I should by rights be beyond surprise by now. How do you know my name?"
"Those what gossip with squirrels should not wonder that the trees know all they secrets. There be little adrift in this forest what doesn't blow past the ear of old Skoggi, which is me."
"My old dad beest chief Krauka in these woods!" piped the small bird proudly.
"… An' my young Krelli here has not got the brains what the Big Black Bird give to a mushroom." Skoggi leaned o\ er and pecked the top of his son's head. Krelii cawed piteously and scuttled up the branch, out of reach of the paternal beak.
"Next time, do you think afore opening your dinner-hole!" said Skoggi. "An' don't be sharing our business with every marmot what gives you the time o' day."
Fritti was amused in spite of himself. "But you seem to know my business," he pointed out.
"Like I said aforetimes," chuckled the raven, "Rikchikchik is a powerful talky lot. Keep they nuts, but no secrets. It be common knowledge, like, that you come from"-he indicated with his shiny black head-"from there. The mound, as 'twere. You be well known 'mongst those what hasn't fled the Rat-leaf-though that be proper few, now. Where be you going now, Master Tailchaser?
Although the Krauka seemed harmless, Fritti decided on caution. After a moment he said: "Oh, actually, I'm just exploring the forest. As a matter of fact, I should probably be on my way."
"Ah, belike, belike…" rasped Skoggi. He walked a little way down the branch, ruffling his pitchy feathers, then stopped and peered shrewdly at Fritti from the corner of a glinting eye. "Did it not be so obvious that you were a cat of great smartness, like, with a sharp eye toward preservin' that fine, furrv skin you be wearin'… well, were it not for this, it would seem like you were wanderin' toward th-r mound, yonder."
Fela's Whiskers! Fritti cursed to himself-the Krauka was a clever one.