“The longer we leave our dens and our land, the less we shall have when we return.”
“To what? Look across the river. The Red Tongue has eaten the grass and the leaves. Where will our beasts graze?”
“There is new growth.” Meoran yawned, snapping his jaws shut.
“Not enough to feed an entire herd.”
Meoran’s eyes darkened to cold amber and he showed his fangs as he spoke. “Torn-Claw, if you are wise, you will not mention this to me again. I let you speak once before the clan gathering. I even restrained myself from excusing you for your cowardice. Is that not enough?”
Thakur flinched and glared down at the ground so that Meoran couldn’t see his eyes.
“If you have no stomach to walk amid the Red Tongue’s leavings,” Meoran added, “stay here with the she-cub until the forest grows again.”
“I will swim, clan leader,” Ratha blurted, stung at being thought a weakling. “I will help drive the herd.”
“See, Torn-Claw?” Meoran grinned, showing most of his teeth. “The small one is not afraid. She shames you, herder.” Thakur kicked at a log of driftwood, half-buried in the sand. His eyes met Meoran’s. “We will both be ready.”
“Good. I want no delays.” Meoran turned and left.
Ratha sat down and began digging at her coat again as Thakur stared after Meoran and drove his front claws into the sand. Ratha stole a glance at him as he shook both feet free of sand and cleaned them, biting fiercely between the pads.
“Fessran’s dapplebacks woke you,” he said. “I may go and chew her ears.”
“You’re angry at Meoran, not Fessran,” Ratha said cautiously, her nose in her fur. Thakur gave a low growl. “Why? What did he mean, saying you weren’t brave? I saw you catch the dappleback. You would have saved him.”
His tail twitched, making snake-patterns in the sand. He lowered his head and started to pad away.
“Thakur.”
“Yearling, more words will do me no good and may do me harm. Wait here. I’ll be back soon.” He wheeled and galloped away down the beach.
When Thakur returned, he was carrying several odd objects in his jaws. He dipped his head and dropped them in front of Ratha. Their legs waved. She sniffed, wrinkled her nose. “I don’t eat bugs.”
“They aren’t bugs. Try one. I’ll show you how to bite the shell off.”
Thakur selected one of the crayfish, held it down with one paw and bit the head off. He worked it to the side of his mouth, got his jaws around the arched carapace and cracked it. He pried it open with his claws, peeled the shell away and stripped out the meat with his front teeth. He dangled the morsel in front of Ratha. The aroma teased her nose. Delicately she licked and then nibbled at it. The meat was chewy but light and sweet. She snapped, gulped and waited eagerly for another. When Thakur had fed her twice, he nosed the rest of the crayfish toward Ratha.
“I thought I’d better feed you up if you’re going to swim tomorrow,” he said, choosing another multi-legged morsel from the pile. It tried to scuttle away from him but he seized it by the tail and dragged it back. The flailing legs and antennae threw sand grains. This one was smaller and Thakur didn’t even bother to peel the shell off. He took the crayfish into his mouth, crunched it and sorted out bits of meat and shell with his tongue.
Ratha spat out a shell and eyed Thakur. “Why is Meoran so impatient to return to clan ground?”
“I don’t know, yearling. Perhaps he dislikes the thought of any other animal in his den.”
“Or the Un-Named Ones on clan territory.”
Thakur drew back his whiskers. “I doubt it. He thinks so little of them that ground squirrels in his den would bother him more. Even the recent raids haven’t taught him that they are more dangerous than he thinks.”
“You know a lot about the clanless ones, don’t you, Thakur?” Ratha said cautiously. She watched his eyes. Thakur lowered his muzzle, ostensibly searching for another crayfish.
“Yes, yearling, I do.”
“Why don’t you tell Meoran what you know?”
“He would listen to me as well as he did today. Yearling, don’t ask me any more.”
Ratha bit down on a stubborn carapace and felt it bend in her mouth.
“Forget about the Un-Named, Ratha. The Red Tongue has driven them far away. They won’t come back for a while.”
There was silence, broken only by the sound of the river flowing and Thakur’s crunching shells.
“I know why you don’t want to go back,” Ratha teased.
Thakur stared at her, eyes narrowed, whiskers back. “You do?”
“You’re so fond of these river-crawlers you can’t give them up.”
Thakur relaxed. His sigh of relief puzzled Ratha, his odor told her she wouldn’t get an answer if she asked him why.
“You are clever, yearling. I see I can’t fool you. Yes, I have grown fond of the river-crawlers and I’ll take some with me on the way back.”
Ratha watched him as he ate. His odor, his eyes and everything else about him told her that the reason he didn’t want to return to clan ground had nothing to do with river-crawlers.
* * *
Ratha trotted over the beach, her pads obliterating for a moment the maze of tracks in the sand. She stepped in a pile of dung and hopped on three legs, shaking her foot in disgust, while the dapplebacks covered her tracks with sharp-edged toe prints. The beach wasn’t big enough for this many animals at once, she thought, wiping her pad clean in a patch of scrubby dune grass.
The three-horned deer stood together in a tight bunch eyeing the clan herders. The stags pawed and thrust their spikes into the sand, their musky scent sharp with ill temper. Herdfolk rushed at them, singly and together, trying to shy the males away and split the herd in half. Ratha, knowing she was still too weak for this task, watched as Thakur and Fessran sparred with two big males guarding the center of the herd. Skillfully the two herders drew the stags aside and Meoran led a drive into the center of the herd. The mass of animals shuddered and then broke apart. Herders on both sides of the split kept the milling animals separated.
Ratha jumped up. Her task was to join with the other herdfolk in driving the dapplebacks, cud-chewers and other animals between the three-horns.
“Keep the deer on the outside!”
Ratha glanced back and saw Meoran yowling orders down the beach. Herdfolk snarled and nipped at the deer, driving them into the river. Over the backs and heads of the little horses, Ratha saw the deer plunging and tossing their heads, throwing spray from hooves and antlers. The sound of the river was lost in the clamor of splashing and bawling. The water boiled and darkened with mud, churned up from the bottom. Ratha saw flashes of white in the water, as silt-blinded fish thrashed and jumped to escape the animals’ hooves. The dapplebacks followed the deer into the river and the herders followed them.
Ratha ran down the beach, leaped and bellyflopped into the water. She opened her eyes, gasped at the cold and started paddling. Ahead of her, the short-legged dapplebacks swam beside the wading deer, bouncing in the brown current that swirled past the three-horns’ legs. Ratha’s feet left the bottom and she began to swim after the little horses, feeling the water pull through her pads at each stroke. She angled up against the current, which buffeted her chest.
Now the deer were swimming, only their necks above water, their crowns forming a moving thorny forest around the dapplebacks. Ratha felt the water churn beside her and saw Thakur’s slick head and dripping whiskers. She grinned at him over her shoulder and got a mouthful of muddy water as a wave slapped her in the face.
“Can you swim it, yearling?” he called as she sneezed and spluttered.
“I’ll swim it, Thakur,” she answered, water running out of the corners of her mouth. “Don’t stay beside me,” she protested as he bobbed alongside, his tail dragging downstream in the current.