Клэр Белл - The Named - The Complete Series

True-of-voice and his people moved off into the lengthening shadows. Ratha glanced at the setting sun. Like it, she was exhausted, ready to drop into darkness.

The Named would meet tomorrow, around the sunning rock. We may have to drive True-of-voice and the others away with the Red Tongue as we should have done in the beginning. Yes, I have been blind.

Ratha forced herself to watch as the black went to his prey, picked it up by the neck, and dragged it away.

When Ratha woke, she was eager to scramble out of her den. Then she remembered what had happened at the herding show. Her ears sagged and her whiskers drooped. She wanted to curl up in the den and bury her nose in her tail, hoping nobody would need her.

I can’t just retreat, Ratha scolded herself. She bore most of the responsibility for the act that let a young three-horn be slaughtered without need. Her daughter also bore a little. If Thistle hadn’t taunted me like that …

Ratha turned a regretful grimace into a yawn, shook dead leaves out of her fur, and left the den. Dawn was pawing new shadows across the dew-dampened grass. She sat down in the weak morning sunlight a few paces away from her den. A lungful of crisp morning air made her feel slightly better. A wash would help.

She had done her face and was craning around to do her back when two scents and two shadows joined hers. Thistle and Quiet Hunter looked a bit rumpled, as if they had worried more than slept.

“Please, finish your grooming,” said Quiet Hunter, earning him, Ratha noticed, an impatient look from Thistle. Patiently he started to lick Thistle’s nape.

“I appreciate your courtesy,” Ratha answered, knowing that they both urgently needed to speak to her. The young pair groomed one another, while Ratha completed her task as quickly as possible.

“I know, you need to talk about what happened yesterday,” she said as Thistle opened her mouth. Quiet Hunter waved his whiskers in a silent ‘yes.’

“Will let him go first,” Thistle said, nudging him. Quiet Hunter began to speak.

“Clan leader, this one … is sorry that the herd animal was needlessly killed. There is another feeling … more than sadness. The other feeling makes this one wish he was not from those led by True-of-voice. This one … I … I do not know what to call this feeling. It makes me choke, though Ihave eaten nothing. It makes me hang my head and drag my tail, though I am not weary.”

Ratha realized that he was appealing to her as one who was more experienced with the Named ways of thinking and feeling. She remembered what a vast gulf he had crossed, not so very long ago. That he had managed to adapt to the Named and adopt ways that at first were impossibly alien to him spoke of his determination.

“Have tried to help him with this,” Thistle said softly. “Can’t. Still not good at word-thinking.”

Ratha looked at the downcast young male, wanting to put her paws around him, as if he were a cub.“Quiet Hunter, we do have a word for the feeling, but you should not have to use it. Nothing you have done has harmed or angered us. It doesn’t matter that you came from the other tribe. You are as truly Named as if you had been born among us. And you have given my Thistle-chaser great happiness.”

Some of the strain left Quiet Hunter’s face as he looked at Ratha, then at Thistle, who rubbed her forehead against his.

“The feeling eases,” he said, “but a little still remains.”

“The word you seek is ‘shame,’” Ratha answered. “You are ashamed at what True-of-voice and the black one did.”

Quiet Hunter seemed to taste the word, trying it on his tongue and in his mind.“Yes,” he said at last. “The word has the right sound. Of rain falling, heavy on fur, pulling down so that the head falls and the feet slow. Yes, I am ashamed … of them.”

Ratha did not know what to say next. She could point out that he had left the hunter tribe and its old ways, that he had no need to be ashamed on their behalf. That, however, was not strictly true. Quiet Hunter still needed to return, to bathe in the mysterious power of True-of-voice’s song. Thistle went with him, not so much out of need, but out of longing.

“They are still part of you.” Ratha found her voice. “Quiet Hunter, we have all known shame. We have all been ashamed of a part of us, whether it lies inside or with others. When we don’t understand that part, we are afraid and ashamed of it. Many times when we know it better, when we understand why, the bad feeling starts to go away. It may never all go away, but it gets better.”

“Is that a part of being Named?” asked Quiet Hunter. “Living alone behind the eyes … with such feelings?”

“Not alone,” interrupted Thistle fiercely. “Never alone!”

Quiet Hunter seemed to brighten as Thistle slid alongside him, dropping her tail over his back and drawing it over him in a long caress.

“Know these things are new to you,” she purred. “If you struggle, I will help.”

From the way that Quiet Hunter laid his tail across Thistle’s, Ratha knew that he would welcome her offer.

“Your mother has a lot of you in her,” Quiet Hunter said to Thistle. “Both of you give words that comfort. I feel …”

“Better,” mother and daughter finished for him.

Ratha relaxed, thinking about grooming that one place on her flank that she hadn’t gotten to her satisfaction. Quiet Hunter, however, had one more question.

“So it is the same with anger,” he said. “Instead of being angry at my people, you will try to know them better. So that you understand. You will not feel anger. I will not feel ashamed.”

Ratha found herself with her mouth open.“Well, those are the ideals. We can’t always reach them. It is like jumping up to a branch in the wind. Sometimes the wind helps you, other times it doesn’t. I promise, though, Quiet Hunter, we will do our best.”

She paused.“Do you have any other questions?”

“No, but can Quiet Hunter say one thing more?”

Ratha lifted her tail in a yes.

“This one … no … I … I lost my mother when young. I was too old for any female to take in. Many nights was I alone and huddled shivering while the wind blew. Now this one’s fur is heavier. I no longer shiver in the wind off the plain. Other little ones do, even those who have mothers. Some die. The clan’s creature, Red Tongue, makes great warmth. Please let the little ones share it.”

“So you are asking me to do as I originally intended,” Ratha said. “Let my Firekeepers bring the Red Tongue to your people’s litterlings.”

“Yes, if it can be done so that the wrong that happened yesterday can be kept from happening again.”

“You mean so that True-of-voice can be prevented from misusing our gift, if I decide to give it.”

“Yes. This one knows that finding such a way will be hard. This one also knows that you and your clan have done hard things.”

“We are your clan as well,” Ratha couldn’t help saying. Quiet Hunter had his own simple eloquence, even in his mistakes with Named language. Those mistakes were similar to, but not the same as, Thistle’s, giving each a unique voice.

“If it could be,” said Quiet Hunter, looking deeply into Ratha’s eyes, “both would be my clan.”

Ratha felt her own eyes widen. Somehow this young male was asking even more of her than any of the Named, even Thistle. I wonder if he knows what he asks? She felt at once awed and shaken by the trust he was placing in her.

“I am grateful for your honesty, Quiet Hunter,” she answered finally.

“This one … I … will go to the meeting place so that you and Thistle can speak alone,”

Thistle came to her side and sat while both watched Quiet Hunter leaving.