Page 37 of Blacktail

Sometimes he felt watched. Twice he saw the green eyes of house cats glinting at him from the shadows. It might have been his imagination, but he thought there were others that he did not see. Once a yard dog saw him and began to bark out a challenge, but his pack mate nipped him hard enough to make him yelp. “Shut up, Clyde! It’s him! Remember what the cat said!”

He didn’t stop to ask which cat or what it might have said, though he did wonder. He didn’t stop for much of anything; the man-stink that lay over this place further strained his already frazzled nerves. He trotted all through the night, darting from shadow to shadow. By sunrise he was back in something resembling a forest. He found a crumbling, abandoned burrow that once sheltered a bear and her cubs. He lay down in it, exhausted. He slept as soon as he shut his eyes. But his sleep did not bring peace. For the first time in his life his dreams were wicked. Alone in the abandoned burrow, he rolled back and forth, pawing the air like a puppy, crying out in his sleep.

He woke again at sunset and set out at a hard run to the south, making for the mountains just over the horizon. The journey took him three nights, at the end of which he had passed out of the hills of his puppyhood into a mountainous region that was mostly empty of men.

This new land was wilder than anything he had known. The skyline was all rocky hills, high and jagged. Spruce, pine, and fir trees grew everywhere, thicker in the trunk and taller than he had ever seen them. Bison and caribou dotted the valley. Sheep and goats grazed on the hills. Mountain hares darted to and fro amid the bearberry and a purple, feathery grass. The only footprints he saw in the snow were of beasts, and at night the lights of men were dim and far away. It felt like a homecoming.

He ate well that night, two fat rabbits and another small creature that he did not know, and then splashed his way along beside a stream with his tail high. This is quite a nice place, really. A fellow might make a den here, settle down.

“…eee…”

At first he was unsure whether he heard a real thing or if he had somehow slipped back into the terrible dream—please, please, please, I am so hungry—of the previous night.

“…eeee…” came the voice, very faint.

He shook his head to clear it, then trotted on another few paces.

“…help meee…” came the voice again.

Curious, Blacktail moved away from the stream and headed into the forest. Before long, he came to the crest of a hill from which he could see a distant clearing. He paused and stared into the blackness. His eyes were sharp, but he could make out only the faintest trace of image in this dim light.

It looked like a house cat. The sound came again.

“…help meee…”

A mouse, Blacktail thought, relieved and a bit embarrassed. My nightmares have made me into a puppy. It is only some cat, playing with their dinner.

Blacktail was not hungry, but he was by nature a curious fellow. He slipped into his hunting stance and padded through the undergrowth. His paws fell light and sure on the forest floor, cracking no twigs, rustling no leaves. He flowed through the brush. He slunk under low branches. He was perfect and silent. So he was more than a little surprised when the cat spoke to him without even bothering to look over its shoulder.

“You’ll not likely sneak up on a cat on a moonless night,” the cat said. “I’d have thought a hunter such as yourself would know that.”

It was a female, he saw, and very old. Her fur was matted and clumped, in the way of aged cats who no longer have the time or inclination to be vain.

“Don’t fret, little one,” he answered. “You have nothing to fear from me.” In truth, though, she did not seem afraid. “Tell me, how are you called?”

At this point a pair of cougars padded softly out of the shadows on the other side of the clearing. Blacktail tensed. The fur on the back of his neck stood up. Not long after he dealt with Hate, a cougar came to challenge him. The fight was fierce. He snapped the beast’s neck just as its rear claws found purchase in his belly. He remembered thinking, Another second and my guts would have decorated the grass. Since then he made a point of being polite to cougars. He eyed the two of them warily.

“She is called the Old Kitty Mother,” said the cougar on the left.

“She is first among cats in this land,” said the one on the right.

“—in many lands—”

“She has nothing to fear from you—”

“—whether you will it or no.”

Old Kitty Mother glared up at the cougars. They fell silent. She turned to face Blacktail. “Please allow me to introduce my bodyguards. This is Anki. That is Enki. I must apologize for their discourtesy,” she said. Her voice was tight, angry. “I am newly arrived in this part of the world. I have not had time to train them properly. I told them that we were to be visited by a great hunter. I said that you were to be treated with respect”—she spat out the last word, and the two cougars towering over her shared a nervous glance—“but they are still very young and lack discipline. I assure you that I will remedy that failing shortly.”

“No apology is necessary,” Blacktail said. “Those who expect cats to obey are doomed to a life of heartbreak.”

The Old Kitty Mother traced her tail through the air in an intricate arc that didn’t seem entirely…natural. He didn’t like looking at it. Even when he forced himself, it kept drifting in and out of focus. What’s she doing? Blacktail thought. Is she doing something? Is she doing something to me?

“There’s some truth to that,” the Old Kitty Mother said.

For a moment, it wasn’t completely clear to Blacktail whether she was responding to his words or his thoughts. But he brushed this away.

“Don’t worry, Lord Hunter. I mean only the best for you. If you trust nothing else, trust that. Truly.” She purred for a moment, which seemed to startle her cougars. “Also…if I may say, that little fox was right. You are loosening up. A bit, at least. Well met, Blacktail.”