Tailchaser’s Song

CHAPTER 30

Poorintricated soul! Riddling, perplexed labyrinthical soul!

–John Do

Spring was bursting and crawling, pushing forth irreverent scents and smells-the very ground beneath Tailchaser's back was warm with activity and renewed life. Soon he would get up and stroll back to his nest, to his box on the porch of the M'an-dwelling… but for now he was content to sprawl on the grass. A breeze ruffled up his fur. He waved his legs carelessly in the air, enjoying the cooling effect. Eyes closed, a long day of Squeaker-dandling and tree-scuffing behind him, he felt as though he could lie this way forever.

The feathering wind brought a tiny squeak, faint as the gleeful cry of a vole finding vole-treasure deep within the earth. Deep, deep within the earth. Again the cry came-louder, now-and Fritti thought he heard his name. Why would anyone want to disturb him? He tried to recapture his pleasant reverie, but the imploring voice became more insistent. The breeze increased, singing past his whiskers and ears. Why should his perfect day be spoiled? It sounded like Hushpad, or Roofshadow: felas were all alike, treating you like an old stoat until they needed you, then following you around and yowling as if they'd hurt themselves. Ever since he had brought Hushpad back from… from… where had he found her? It hadn't been more than an Eye ago, since…

"Tailchaser!" That cry again. His brow furrowed, but he would not condescend to open his eyes. Well… maybe just to take one quick look…

Why couldn't he see anything? Why was it all black?

The voice cried out again, sounding as though it were disappearing down a long, dark tu

The light! Where was the light?

Somebody-or something-was licking his face. A harsh, insistent tongue rasped across the sorest parts of his mask, but when he tried to pull his head away, that pain was worse. He lay back, resigned, and after a while little spots of light began to appear before his eyes. He could make no sense of these swirling, leaping points, but his nose finally distinguished a scent that was familiar. The floating specks began to coalesce; like tali grass pushed aside by a paw, the blackness slid away.

Roofshadow, with a look of fierce concentration, was washing his muzzle with her rough pink tongue. Fritti could not focus his eyes well-she was very close, and the effort was painful-but her smell confirmed it. He spoke her name, and was surprised when she did not react. He tried again, and this time she drew back and stared, then called out to someone he could not yet see: "He's awake!!"

Fritti tried to greet her, to tell her how glad he was to see her in the fields of the living-if that was where he was-but before he could do more than make a sound, he slipped back into darkness again.

When he awoke later, Roofshadow had been joined bv a large. shaggy red cat. It took him a long time to recognize Prince Fencewalker.

"What… what…" His voice was very weak. He swallowed. "What happened? Are we… on top of the ground?"

Roofshadow leaned forward, green eyes warm. "Don't try to talk," she said soothingly. "You're safe. Fencewalker brought you out." Fritti felt a weak, irrational stab of jealousy.

"Where's Pouncequick?" he asked.

"You'll see him soon," she said, and looked up at the Prince. Fencewalker beamed down with bluff good spirits.

"Worried about you. Didn't think… just worried, we were. What a row, what a row. Fabulous tussle." The Prince seemed about to give Fritti a good-natured thump. Roofshadow moved between Fencewalker and his intended victim, who was already tiring.

"Just sleep, and let Meerclar mend," she said. Tailchaser reluctantly let go his grip on wakefulness. So many questions…

Fritti found healing in the dream-fields. He soon found that he could sit up, although it dizzied him. A determined self-inventory found no serious wounds. His numerous cuts had stopped bleeding, and Roof-shadow's patient ministrations had cleaned the worst of the matted blood from his short fur. His eyes were swollen-he had trouble opening them more than halfway-but generally he was in good condition. Roofshadow did not want to answer his questions yet, and would sit patiently silent as he pressed her for information. Fencewalker dropped by frequently to see Tailchaser as he recuperated, but his roving temperament made it difficult for him to sit and talk long. His visits were hearty, but brief.

Fritti's dreams had not been entirely wrong. The ground was warm. The distant reaches of Ratleaf Forest were capped in snow, a white mantle extending into the misty horizon, but the fringe of the forest in which Tailchaser had awakened was green and wet-the thin carpet of grass humid and damp, as though the snow had been suddenly melted away by a hot sun. Roofshadow said that all the area around the mound was that way, but that she thought the snow would return eventually. It was, after all, still the ragtag end of winter.

Days went by, and before long Fritti was up and walking. He and Roofshadow explored the prematurely green forest, padding together through the sodden false spring. Here and there a solitary fla-fa'az could be heard singing bravely in the treetops.

Fritti still had not seen Pouncequick, but Roof-shadow promised to take him soon. Pounce, too, was recovering, she said, and should not be excited.

Here and there in the unseasonal greenery the startled faces of other Folk would appear, gaunt and staring-eyed. Most of those who had made their way to freedom during the dying Hours of the mound had lingered only a short while, leaving to search for better hunting or to return to home grounds. No spirit of fellowship seemed to tie these survivors: they drifted off one by one as they became strong enough to travel. Only the sick-and the dying- remained with Fencewalker's band of hunters, and soon even the Prince would lead most of his party back to the wooded bowers of Firsthome. A small guard would be mounted to stay and keep watch on the site.

Seeing these survivors, Fritti wondered aloud about the fate of the uncounted multitudes, masters and slaves, who had not escaped. Hearing this, Roofshadow told Fritti as best she could of the final Hour in Vastnir.

"When we left you with that… beast," she said, "I neer expected to see you again. It seemed as if the world was coming to pieces." She walked silently for a while. Fritti tried to say something reassuring, but she stopped him with a curiously stern look.

"Pounce was half dead, bleeding. I pulled him up the last tu

Their walk had taken them out to the rim of Ratleaf. Before them stretched the rising plain, slick with melted snow, droplets gleaming on the leaves of stunted vegetation. Roofshadow led on, continuing her story.

"I saw someone dashing about, making loud noises and leading Folk to and fro… it was Fencewalker, of course. I caught up with him and told him what had happened. I'm afraid I was rather ears-back at that point, but the Prince understood. He said, 'Tailchaser? Young Tailchaser?'-Fencewalker's not so very old, but he acts as if he'd like to be. Anyway, he said: 'Can't have that, not young Tailchaser, must do something, by all means!' You know how he talks. Well, he gathered up a few of the healthier Folk and I led them all back to the tu

"They found you half buried, under dirt and rocks, and carried you out just before the rest of the place shook itself down. I didn't know you were alive for a very long time. I hadn't been able to bear waiting to find out."