The Complete Series

Chapter Fourteen

Thistle-chaser lay near Ratha, trying not to think of anything at all. The events just past were too painful to recall. Bite-and-scratch wounds throbbed and burned all over her body. Some had come from Ratha, others she had inflicted with her own teeth during the fit. She had a scratch on her nose from Mishanti. Though it hurt, she was glad she had saved him, although she still didn’t know why. She felt confused, but it was a new kind of confusion: one that promised rather than one that denied.

She wriggled closer to the cub, nestling him in the longer fur covering her belly. Ratha’s fur was starting to dry in the fitful wind. Mishanti might be warmer, Thistle-chaser thought, if she sheltered him between herself and Ratha. To get herself and the cub into the right position, she had to lay a paw over Ratha. She didn’t want to. It was still frightening to be near this stranger who had somehow given birth to her. She kept her paw in the air above Ratha until it ached with weariness. Gradually she let it sink until her pawpad rested on the fawn-colored fur over Ratha’s ribs.

I am touching my Dreambiter, she thought.

To her touch, Ratha felt cold, even colder than Mishanti. She lay stretched out by the pull on her imprisoned forepaw, her head lolled to one side, her mouth half open, her tongue flopping out. It frightened Thistle-chaser.

She it so cold and she doesn’t shiver. Dreambiter, wake up. She pawed Ratha gently, then a little more roughly. There was no response.

Dreambiter, why am I afraid you will die? I wanted you to die.

Feeling as though someone else were using her body, she wriggled closer to Ratha, pulling her mother against her chest.

It hurt to hear what you said, but you are right: We are both the same.

Slowly, because she was so frightened, Thistle-chaser spread herself across Ratha as well as Mishanti, trying to warm both of them. She too was shivering, and she wondered if she would die out on this lonely rock. She felt a strange and painful mixture of hope and despair. Perhaps this one who had cast her into such a gray world would be the one to lead her out of it.

But not if you die, Dreambiter. For my sake, please live.

And at last, Thistle-chaser stopped shivering and fell asleep.

Dripping and winded, Thakur scrambled up the crest of an island near the end of the chain that extended from the jetty. Fessran was right behind him, though she faltered, and he had to grab her scruff and haul her up. They had swum and scrabbled from island to island after spotting Ratha adrift on the escaped raft. During one channel crossing, Fessran had encountered a vicious fish with skin that grated like sand and an inclination to take a bite out of anything furry that swam its way.

“I’m sorry,” she growled. “You would think that losing my tail tip wouldn’t make any difference, but I feel as shaky as a newborn cub.” She swung her tail around, licked the torn end. “At least it’s stopped bleeding.”

“I don’t blame you for shaking. I’m a bit unsteady myself. That was just too close.”

“Well, I’ll remember that cursed fish the next time I’m tempted to dunk myself. It had more teeth than I do. Brrr!”

The two scrambled down over the rocks as seabirds swirled in flocks around them. “This is the last islet, Fessran,” Thakur said, not adding that if Ratha and Mishanti weren’t on this one, they had been taken by the sea.

They climbed over and around tumbled boulders that had sheared from the cliffs above. Thakur put Fessran in the lead, hoping that would help steady her. He saw her leap atop a flat-topped rock and then freeze where she stood. “They’re here,” she hissed.

Thakur hopped up beside her and looked out. There, on the last few rocks that met the sea, he saw a rust-and-black pelt sprawled atop a fawn one. His first glance sent a cold wash of dismay through him. Both looked still and stiff enough to be dead. Then he saw the twitch of a rust-and-black tail. Newt still lived. There wasn’t enough of Ratha visible to tell.

Beside him, he heard Fessran moan softly and then felt her tense to jump down.

“No, stay here.” Thakur put a paw on the Firekeeper’s flank.

“Ratha... and Mishanti,” Fessran choked out.

“I know. But Newt is there too. If she sees you, she may attack us. If I go alone, it will be easier.”

“You know my part in this, Thakur,” Fessran said in a low voice. “If I hadn’t been so angry at Ratha, you might have had a chance to bring the two together.”

“We’ll talk about that later,” Thakur said, his eyes on the two bedraggled forms lying together on the rocks below.

“Mishanti.” Fessran tried to keep her voice from shaking. Thakur knew how hard it was for her to wait here, not knowing. Quickly he leaped down off the boulder and scrambled over the rocks. As he approached, he saw Newt stir.

He came alongside her as quietly as he could, then nudged her. Her nose twitched in response to his scent. Her head lifted, wobbly and bleary eyed. As she raised herself, Thakur saw Mishanti curled up between Newt’s belly and Ratha’s back. His flank rose and fell in a comforting rhythm.

What Thakur could see of Ratha, however, did not look encouraging. Her salt-encrusted fur stood up in spikes, stiffened by bloodstains. Her head lolled to one side, her tongue spilling from slack jaws. Unsteadily Newt half rolled, half crawled to one side, still weak and groggy from exhaustion. “Dreambiter,” she hissed softly, stretching out a paw to touch the ragged fawn pelt. “Her foot... stuck... down between rocks... ”

Thakur could not see any movement in Ratha’s rib cage. His heart sinking, he licked the end of his muzzle and crouched at her head, trying to detect any breath on his dampened nose. He held his own breath until he was nearly dizzy, then let it out in a rush as he felt a tickle of air against his nose-leather.

Quickly he nuzzled Ratha, checking for injuries. He found one forepaw stuck directly down into a crevice, where jagged rock clamped the foot. Gently he nudged her all over, looking for broken bones, but found nothing. She was still breathing, but she was so cold, Thakur thought to himself.

“Tried... tried to warm her,” Newt said in a thin voice. “She said we both Dreambiters, and she is right, so want her to live.”

Thakur began to rub himself against Ratha to warm her and get her alert enough to start moving. He used his tongue on her face and ears, cleaning away salt crystals from the fur around her eyes.

“Come on, yearling,” he muttered as he scrubbed. “It would take more than a dunking to kill you. Fessran!” he called over his shoulder to the Firekeeper, who came flying out from behind the rocks. At the sight of Fessran, Newt flattened and retreated.

“She won’t hurt you, I promise,” said Thakur to Newt. He sent a warning look toward Fessran, but the Firekeeper was taken up with nuzzling Mishanti to make sure he was all right. Then she began licking and rubbing Ratha.

A sneeze was the first indication that Ratha was reviving, then a series of shivers and a moan. Thakur saw her gulp, blink, and open her eyes. Fessran was rubbing her so enthusiastically that the motion pulled Ratha against her trapped foreleg, and she winced with pain.

“Arr! Firekeeper, you always overdo things,” she growled. Her gaze turned to Thakur. “I don’t know how you got here, herding teacher, but I’m glad you did.” She tried to lift her head. strained, and sagged back.

Then her gaze traveled to Newt and rested on her daughter. “I wouldn’t have lasted this long if someone hadn’t given me some warmth. I thought you hated me, Thistle-chaser. Why did you save me?”

Newt hung her head, as if what she had done was shameful. “I don’t know, Dreambiter.”

Thakur interrupted. “Don’t question her now, Ratha. Save the questions for later. We have to get you off this rock.” He slid his foreleg under Ratha’s chest and tried to pry upward. Ratha clamped her teeth together and made no sound, but he could hear her breathing hard in pain. Her leg was locked fast.

He called Fessran over and both tugged, but with no greater success. Newt stood to one side, watching, then started forward to help.

Thakur stopped her. “No good,” he said. “All we’ll do is pull her leg off.”

He hopped down onto a lower rock, peered sideways through the crevice where Ratha’s paw was stuck. The cleft widened toward the front, where he was looking in.

“Ratha, if you could pull your leg sideways instead of straight up, you might have a chance.”

She tried, failed. Thakur and Fessran got their jaws around the upper part of her leg near her chest and tried to shove her forelimb toward the wider part of the crevice.

They strained and grunted while Newt watched. “No good,” Thakur groaned after several tries. “We’ll either snap our teeth or break her foreleg.”

Ratha lay back down. He could see by her panting and her glazing eyes that she was losing strength rapidly. “Maybe the leg will have to stay,” she whispered softly. “Thistle-chaser has shown me that you can get along without one paw.”

Thakur went cold at the idea of having to cripple Ratha to free her. He shot a glance toward Newt. What was she thinking? It would be suitable revenge on Ratha. And Newt’s foreleg was much stronger than it had been; she was no longer severely hampered by the old injury. It would be as if the two had changed places.

He studied Ratha’s position, how deeply her foreleg extended into the crack and how much room there would be for the horrible task, if they were forced to do it.

“No,” he said roughly. “Your leg is in too far. We’d have to work above your elbow, near your chest.” He faltered. “You would bleed to death before... ” He broke off. “There must be another way. There must!”

Jumping down beside the crevice, he peered in once again. If he could somehow snag her stuck foot and yank it sideways, she might be able to get free. He tried to fit his paw in through the opening, but his toes were too large.

“Mishanti,” Ratha said, watching him. “A cub’s paws are smaller.”

“But his leg isn’t long enough,” Thakur said, still crouched down by the crevice, peering in from the side.

Fessran’s yowl interrupted him. “There’s a big wave coming. Get up high or hang on!” He saw the Firekeeper grab Mishanti by the scruff. Thakur leaped up beside Ratha, jerked and tugged at her furiously.

“Get the cub and Thistle-chaser to high ground,” Ratha growled. “Now!”

With grief tearing at him, Thakur made himself obey, shepherding a stunned Newt after Fessran, who had already climbed to the highest point on the tiny island. He was still scrabbling for a hold when gray water spilled across the islet. He strained to look back at Ratha. The frothing sea lashed her, robbing her of the last vestiges of warmth she had gained from her daughter and the others. Thakur knew that if they did not get her off the island soon, with or without her foreleg, she would die.

Even before the water drained away, the three were back beside Ratha. Mishanti was left clinging to his perch.

“Newt’s got small paws,” Fessran said. “And her lame leg is narrower than her good one.”

Thakur turned to Newt, but she was already peering into the crack. The thoughts raced in his head. Would she do it? Could she, even if she had the wish to try? Why was she hesitating? Was she judging the situation, or was she just stalling, hoping to force him to cripple Ratha? It would be a suitable revenge, he thought. If she wants it.

Newt lifted her lame foreleg and slowly threaded her paw into the crevice. She gave Thakur an unreadable look. “For my Dreambiter,” she hissed.

“For you,” he answered softly. Ratha lay, coat still streaming, eyes closed. He wondered if she could hear them.

With grunts of effort, Newt wiggled her lame forepaw deep into the crack.

“She’s close,” said Fessran, peering down from the top. “Just a little bit more, Thistle.”

Thakur saw Newt’s lips draw back from her clamped teeth as she forced more of her leg in.

“You’re touching now,” came Fessran’s voice from the top. “Spread your pad. Get your claws out.”

Newt snarled and strained. She shot an agonized glance at Thakur. “Not strong enough. Claws won’t go far enough.”

Thakur swallowed, not knowing what to say. It wasn’t her fault if her leg had not completely come back to normal. If it hadn’t, she would never have been able to get in this far. But will could overcome weakness, if she wanted to free Ratha badly enough.

I can’t condemn her if she fails, he thought. But I won’t be able to keep away the doubt.

Newt gave a grunt, then a startled gasp.

“She’s got a clawhold,” Fessran said from the top. “Come up here and look.”

Thakur bounded up beside the unconscious Ratha and peered down at Newt’s rust-colored forepaw, lit by a stray beam of sunlight. She had one claw hooked into the side of Ratha’s leathery pad. Thakur saw the tendons in Newt’s foot stand out as she strained to spread her forepaw and extend the claws. She got another claw into Ratha’s pad and then another.

“Pull slowly,” Thakur called down to her. “Don’t jerk, or you’ll lose your hold.” He heard her panting shallowly and knew her leg was cramping. Then he saw her foot starting to inch back, Ratha’s paw moving with it. He suppressed his impulse to yowl at the sky. Instead he joined Fessran in trying to lick the salt water from Ratha’s coat and lie across her to provide what warmth they could.

From his position atop the rock, he peeked down in the crack. Ratha’s foot had stuck at a cluster of mussel shells in the crevice. Newt wriggled and panted but couldn’t get past the obstacle. Slowly she unhooked her claws from Ratha’s foot and began to scrape and pry at the shellfish, breaking away one fragment at a time. It was an agonizing effort for the weakened forepaw, but Newt kept doggedly at her task. Thakur started to call down instructions then stopped. No. He trusted Newt to do everything that was needed. He and Fessran should concentrate on reviving Ratha, getting her ready to move should Newt’s efforts be effective.

They lay one on each side of her, warming her, trying to wring the water from her fur. Fessran scanned the sea anxiously for any sign that another wave was about to break over them.

Then Newt gave a yowl that was both triumph and pain as she snagged Ratha’s foot again and pulled it free. Carefully Thakur got his jaws around the bruised and cut limb, gently drawing it out of the crevice.

“Thakur, another wave’s coming,” Fessran warned.

He wormed himself under Ratha’s belly, heaved her up on his nape and shoulders, and half dragged, half carried her while yowling at Fessran to get Mishanti. He felt his load lighten slightly as Newt came up beside him and grabbed Ratha with her jaws. She was limping again, her leg drawn up and folded over in a fierce cramp. She grimaced with pain but said nothing as she helped Thakur carry Ratha away from the surging water.

The two hauled her to the highest spot on the island and then, when the water receded, wrestled her across the wave-washed boulders connecting this outermost islet with the chain leading back to the jetty. Fessran helped them as much as she could while carrying the cub.

Ratha, after being warmed and shaken around by her short journey on top of Thakur, began to show some signs of life. Thakur took her a short distance to a hollow that screened out the wind. He laid her down on a slab that slanted at an angle, allowing water to drain from her fur instead of puddling around her.

Thakur and Newt began to lick her again, helped in their task by weak sunlight that grew stronger as the clouds parted. Her eyes remained closed, but her whiskers twitched and she whispered, “Thakur, I’m so numb I can’t feel anything in my legs. Is my forepaw... ”

He answered her unspoken question by pushing her limp foreleg toward her nose. “You’ve still got all your paws, thanks to your daughter.”

He saw her rib cage rise then fall in a huge sigh of relief.

“Where’s Thistle-chaser?” she asked, her eyes still shut. Thakur’s gaze went to Newt, and he watched her ears flick nervously.

“Here,” she answered, her voice thin with exhaustion and uncertainty.

Ratha’s teeth chattered but she managed to say, “Lie down with me. I need you.”

With another uncertain glance at Thakur, Newt arranged herself with her belly against Ratha’s back. Thakur saw her grimace as her lame foreleg cramped. “Here,” he said, taking her paw in his mouth and pulling it to ease the tight, knotted muscles. He massaged it gently with his tongue.

“Well this is certainly a cozy group,” said Fessran as soon as she had dried Mishanti as well as she could. “I’m starting to feel left out.”

“Well, join us,” said Thakur. “Ratha needs all the warmth she can get.”

“After what I did, I’m not sure... ”

“She doesn’t need apologies or arguments,” Thakur replied. “Just a warm pelt against her.”

“Mine’s pretty damp, but I’ll do what I can.” Fessran shook herself off and fluffed her fur.

Together they rubbed against Ratha and wrung as much water out of her fur as they could by pressing against her. The sunlight brightened, helping to dry her pelt, while the sheltering rocks kept the wind from blowing away the heat.

Yet as Thakur worked alongside the others, he felt that there were many things yet to be resolved. As Ratha started to recover, Newt began inching away from her, as if she could only dare to touch Ratha when she was too sick or weak to really notice.

And as Ratha became more like her old self in the warmth and dryness of the sun and those around her, she seemed ill at ease with Newt. She let her daughter gradually retreat without calling her back. Perhaps, Thakur thought, everything that had happened on the island was just a feverish dream to her, unsure, unreal. And perhaps to Newt the intimacy that crisis allowed was gone.

He looked at Ratha and then at her daughter and felt angry. Both were strong, stubborn, and adamant about denying the tie that bound them together, yet both were clearly driven by it.

He shook himself, bristled his whiskers, and said, “Ratha, Thistle-chaser, there is someone I would like you to meet.”

Both stared at him as if he had gone mad.

“What, by the Red Tongue’s ashes, are you talking about?” asked Fessran. “There’s no one else on this wave-washed rock but us.”

He ignored the Firekeeper. Instead he went to Thistle-chaser, nudged her back toward Ratha. “This is your mother,” he said, looking into the sea-green eyes. “She birthed you, fed you, and desperately wanted to love you.”

He turned next to Ratha, still lying on her side, looking up at him. “And this is your daughter. She came from your belly, suckled at your teats, and never had the chance to be what you wanted her to be.”

Pausing, he surveyed both of them. “That is the simple truth between you. You may deny it at the top of your voices, but everything you have done shows that it is still at work.”

There was a very long silence.

Ratha lowered her muzzle, looking at the ground, then gave a sideways glance at Newt. “Thakur has the most sense of any of us, doesn’t he? Do you think he’s right?”

“He is right,” said Newt softly, choosing her words carefully and slowly. “But want to know. Why you bite me bad when I was small?”

Ratha closed her eyes, and for an instant Thakur thought she couldn’t answer the question.

“I think the best answer to that,” Ratha said, “is to have Fessran bring Mishanti over here.”

When the Firekeeper had placed the cub between Ratha and Thistle-chaser, Ratha said, “Look at him. If there is light in his eyes, it is hard to see, isn’t it?” As the Firekeeper started to bristle, she added, “No, Fessran. I’m not making a judgment of him now. For one thing, I’m hardly in a condition to do that. I just want to show Thistle-chaser something she needs to know.” Ratha nudged Mishanti so that he faced Thistle-chaser.

“That is what you looked like to me,” Ratha said. “I looked in your eyes and could not see what I wanted the most; the promise that you would grow up as one of the Named, be able to speak, think, and know what names mean.” She looked up at her daughter, half-angry, half-pleading. “Can you understand? I had seen the empty faces of the Un-Named and to think that you would be like them... I couldn’t bear it. I clawed Bonechewer. I bit you. I didn’t realize it would wound you so badly. I didn’t know.”

Thistle-chaser bent her head and thoughtfully licked the collar of rough fur that hid her scar. Then she gave Ratha a searching look. “Am I what you... are afraid of?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” Ratha admitted.

“Am I what you wanted?”

“I’m not sure about that either,” Ratha confessed. She looked away. “You lived so long without me, do you really care what I think?”

Newt looked as if she were struggling to put the right words together. At last she said, “I did not live without you. We both made Dreambiter.”

Ratha’s jaw trembled. “There is no way I can take back what I did. And I know you can’t pretend it didn’t happen. That trail is not an easy one.”

“You do one thing for me,” Newt said. “Help me let Dreambiter go.”

“How?” Ratha’s gaze went to Thakur. He could see the lostness in her eyes.

He answered, “The Dreambiter is everything in you that she dreads and fears.”

“But I am not just that,” Ratha said, pleading. “Thakur, tell her. I’m not.”

“You will have to show her yourself. By not judging, not pushing, and learning patience.”

Ratha looked away from him toward Newt. Nervously licking the tip of her nose, she gave a soft come-here purr. Newt crouched then crept to her, putting her head beneath Ratha’s chin. Slowly, tentatively, Thakur saw Ratha lick the top of Newt’s head. She gave a startled grimace. Obviously the sea had not rinsed away all of the sea-beast tang from Newt’s fur. But she did not let the rhythm of her licking falter. She sent a defiant glance toward Thakur.

Then Newt withdrew her head and settled nearby, laying her head on her forepaws.

“I think this gives us a lesson about judging cubs,” Thakur observed. “If we could be so wrong about Thistle-chaser, what about others? The thing we call the light in our eyes is more than just that. I think it shows itself in many ways and we must learn to see it in whatever form it takes.”

He saw Newt twitch her tail impatiently. “What about him?” she said, pointing her nose at Mishanti.

“Well, I guess we should let him grow a little more; give him the chance that we didn’t give you,” Ratha answered.

“No,” Newt said abruptly, startling everyone. She rushed on, her anger making her strangely eloquent. “It won’t work. He is like I was. Different. None of you will have the patience to teach him. You will always be thinking that he should be this or should be that. Even if you try not to, you will. And someone will get impatient and bite him.”

Fessran narrowed her eyes at Newt. “Then what do you suggest?”

“Let me take Mishanti, teach him what I know.”

The Firekeeper grumbled to herself, but Thakur heard Ratha say, “She’s right. We would get impatient with him. Even you, Fessran.”

“I’m not sure that she’s the best... ” Fessran started.

“Well, she may not be, but we certainly didn’t do any better,” Ratha argued. Then she turned to Newt. “I’d like you to come into the clan and help Fessran with Mishanti.”

Thakur saw Fessran sit up, startled. “You mean you’re not going to throw me out? Even after what I did?”

“No, singe-whiskers.” Ratha grinned at her. “Who else can I depend on to tell me when I’m running the wrong trail? Thakur often knows, but his voice is sometimes too soft. Fessran’s yowl I can’t help but hear. Even if I do disagree.”

“You may not have been entirely wrong,” Fessran said softly, looking at Mishanti, who was frisking about with his tail. “He hasn’t shown any ability to speak.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t need to.” The interruption was Newt’s. “I didn’t. Not for long time. Perhaps he the same way.”

“But words are important to us in the clan,” Ratha said. “And they are important to you now. I thought you wanted to come into the clan. There is no reason why we can’t accept you.”

Newt gathered herself together. “I don’t want your clan. My seamares give me what I need. I want to be with you,” she said, turning to her mother, “but as... friend, not leader.”

Ratha’s whiskers sagged a little. Thakur imagined that she thought Newt would be eager to end her long isolation and be welcomed back among the Named. But Newt’s adversity had fostered a sense of independence that could not be given up easily.

“Let me take Mishanti,” she said, looking at Ratha and Fessran. “Let me teach him to live with seamares. Let me keep my own ground and my own way and make my own choice to be with the Named or not. That is what I ask.”

Thakur turned to the two, who were staring at each other with disgruntled looks.

“I hate to mention this,” said Fessran, pointing toward the cub with her nose. The wound over his ribs had stopped bleeding and was crusted with dried blood. “You were the one who ripped up his side. Can I trust you?”

Newt looked down at her paws. “He is hurt. I was hurt. We both share that.”

“I know, but is it... ” Fessran began.

“This is part of letting the Dreambiter go,” Newt answered.

“I think I understand what she means,” Ratha said softly to Fessran. “I think she’s right. It is the best way, though not the easiest.” She addressed Newt again. “Since we have enough grazing and water for the herdbeasts to breed well, we can concentrate on the three-horns and dapplebacks, while you and Mishanti herd the seamares. Is that what you want?”

“Knock down the pen and let your seamares out,” Newt said. “They can’t live behind thorns and sticks. They need the beaches.”

“She’s right, Ratha,” Thakur added. “The beasts aren’t eating, and they’ll soon get sick.”

He could see that she disliked the idea of abandoning the pen after all the effort that had gone into making it. “Perhaps the seamares aren’t the best animals for our purposes, and trying to pen them was a mistake,” Ratha admitted. “We have what we need to survive. Yes, I will let them go, and you can live among them with Mishanti. I haven’t been able to give you much, but at least I can give you that. Is it enough?”

“Yes.” Newt bent down and touched noses with Ratha. “I am glad that my Dreambiter has become my mother,” Thakur heard her hiss softly. She turned to Thakur. “Will you help me give the gift of words to Mishanti when the time comes?”

He felt himself grinning. “If you’ll teach me to swim.”

“Thistle, what about me?” Fessran asked, sounding forlorn. “I’d like to see him sometimes.”

“You love Mishanti,” Thistle-chaser said, facing the Firekeeper. “I turn to you if I feeling mad with him. Is enough?”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Fessran promised.

“Well, now that we’ve got all this sorted out,” Thakur put in, “perhaps we should think about finding our way back before the tide comes in again. Ratha, can you walk?”

He watched her get shakily to her feet. She took a few steps, winced, and drew up her battered forepaw. “I’ll limp, but I’ll get there.”

Newt came alongside her. “Use your hind legs more and bring them under you. Then you can take bigger steps.”

Thakur saw Ratha give Newt an exasperated look, but she took the offered advice.

“Well, you can’t deny she knows what she’s talking about,” he observed.

“Now you’ve got two of us,” Ratha retorted, hobbling beside her daughter.

“Not for long. You’ve just got a sprain, and Newt’s leg needs only a rest and a little more strengthening.” He led the way, looking back as Ratha and Newt followed.

“If I see that wretched fish, I’ll bite his tail off,” Fessran growled through her mouthful of Mishanti’s scruff fur. Then she padded after, starting the long up and down scramble and swim that would bring them back to the jetty.

The four made their way across the islands and at last regained the jetty by the time twilight was starting to fall. Above, clouds were gathering, and startled seamares honked at the bedraggled party, as Thakur, Ratha, Newt, and Fessran climbed along the spine of rock that led back to the beach. Ratha found herself lagging behind the others, even though they tried to slow down to her tired pace.

Newt did not want to return with them to the forested area where the Named had settled. Instead, she asked Fessran for Mishanti, and when the Firekeeper reluctantly let him down, she picked him up by the scruff and padded away with him.

“That poor cub is going to be so confused by all of this,” Fessran said.

“Stop worrying. She said you can visit him,” Thakur answered.

The sky had been clouding over again. Ratha looked up as a heavy raindrop splashed down on her nose. Billowing gray clouds stretched across the sea and were rolling inland. Another raindrop struck her back. Soon the rain pattered down all around Ratha and her two companions as they crossed the beach, climbed the bluff, and made their way back to the forested pool beneath the cliff.

While Ratha soothed her bruised and aching foreleg in the pool, Thakur went off to collect Aree and Ratharee from the trees where they had been placed for safekeeping. Fessran yawned then climbed up to a slate-colored ledge, where she curled up out of the rain and fell asleep.

Ratha let her leg dangle in the pool, overhanging ferns and branches sheltering her. She smelled the storm, the cool, wet air, and the rain. This looked like a big storm: one that might move far enough inland to break the drought.

Before long Thakur arrived, bringing both treelings. Ratharee chirred with delight and took up her customary place on Ratha’s shoulder.

“Listen,” Ratha said, pricking her ears to the soft hiss of rain falling through the trees.

Thakur sat in the open, letting the downpour rinse sea salt from his coat. At last he shook himself off and lay down near Ratha. “If that keeps up, the streams will soon be running again on our old home ground,” he said. “Are you thinking we might be able to return?”

“Not for a while. And I don’t want to leave Thistlechaser chaser all alone again.” Ratha laid her nose on one paw, extending the other to Thakur to have it skillfully licked and massaged.

“You were disappointed when she said she didn’t want to join the clan.”

Ratha grunted. “I was surprised. I thought she’d jump at the chance. Instead she turned her tail on it.”

“She’s impetuous, stubborn, and wants to do things her way. I’d be surprised if she wasn’t. After all, she is your daughter.” Thakur nibbled a toe-claw.

She is your daughter. The phrase whispered gently in her mind, blending with the sigh of the falling rain. My daughter. One who is stubborn, willful, strong, self-reliant, and resourceful—and one to take pride in.

It occurred to her that Thistle-chaser had changed something else as well. Bonechewer, her Un-Named father, had been Thakur’s brother. If, as Thakur said, cubs from such matings had the same potential as those whose parents both came from the clan, even if their development was not as rapid, then perhaps such pairings might not be as risky as Ratha had once thought. She had already learned that there were individuals with worthy qualities among the Un-Named.

She closed her eyes, feeling Thakur’s tongue soothe the ache from her leg. “Herding teacher, perhaps you won’t need to go away when the next mating season comes.”

He lay down next to her. “Would you be willing to accept another cub like Thistle-chaser?”

“What she might have been like if I hadn’t turned on Bonechewer and bitten her... ” Ratha sighed.

“She still has that chance,” Thakur answered. “You know, Ratha, I sensed something about her that I don’t understand. To us she seems slow, but I think she understands certain things in a way we don’t. It’s not just cleverness; it’s something else. You know that our cubs take longer to grow up than the young of those creatures who don’t think or speak. If Thistle-chaser and cubs like her grow even more slowly, perhaps it is not because they are less than we, but more.”

Ratha rolled on her back, letting Ratharee scramble onto her chest. “That is an uncomfortable thought, Thakur.”

“That seems to be the way of the Named, to think uncomfortable thoughts, to do uncomfortable things,” said Thakur slowly. “But our feet are set on this path, and we can’t turn aside. Nor would I want to.” He stretched himself, groomed his back.

Ratha lay with her treeling on her chest between her raised forepaws. There had been two other cubs in the same litter that produced Thistle-chaser. Could either one of the siblings have survived? If so, what would they be like? Perhaps one day she would search for them and find out. It would be, as Thakur said, a difficult thing to do. But such an effort could bring its own reward, such as the quiet joy she felt now.

At last the old memories and pains could gradually be put to rest. The Dreambiter would fade away, for both Thistle-chaser and herself. A part of her life was passing behind now. She felt as though she had finished shedding an old coat and now wore clean, new fur. The weight of guilt from her past had slipped from her, making her feel airy and light.

The Named now had two homes: their old territory and this new place by the sea. And though their efforts to keep and tend the seamares had not turned out as well as they’d hoped, still the experience had enlarged their skills, allowing more choices. When the drought broke, some of the Named might return to clan ground, others might stay.

She thought about the future, what might happen with Thistle-chaser and Mishanti. Would the cub grow up as Fessran’s vision had foreseen, to carry a torch burning brightly in his jaws and be a leader of the Named? Or would it be Thistle-chaser, scarred, but strangely gifted, who took over leadership when Ratha grew too feeble to guide the clan’s way?

All this didn’t matter now. What mattered was that she had found both a daughter and a wiser, better part of herself. The times to come might not be certain, but neither would they be shadowed with pain and guilt. She lay on her side, listening to the promise in the pattering rain. It was enough.