fighters.
In summer the kropek ran in small, extended-family herds just
below the tundra, subsisting on grubs and roots. But the kropek was
a true omnivore, capable of eating anything that did not eat it
first. They did not hunt, though, being lazy as a species.
Vegetables neither ran nor fought back. The only adventure in a
kropek’s life was its long vernal and autumnal
migrations.
The meth of the upper Ponath hunted kropek only in the fall. In
the spring, for the months bracketing the mating season, kropek
flesh was inedible. It caused vomiting and powerful stomach
cramps.
A young huntress raced into the packstead. The forerunners of
the migration had been spotted in the high Plenthzo Valley,
following that tributary of the east fork of the Hainlin. The near
part of that valley lay only twenty miles east of the Degnan
packstead. Excitement reached new heights. The kropek had not
passed down Plenthzo Valley in generations. The good broad
bottomland there made travel easy but gave meth room to maneuver in
the hunt. There were natural formations where the migration could
be brought under massed missile fire, the hunters remaining safe
from counterattack.
Kropek were feisty. They would charge anything that threatened
them—meaning mainly meth, for the meth were their most
dangerous natural enemy. A meth caught was a meth dead. But meth
could outrun and outsmart kropek.
Most of the time.
Huntresses double-checked weapons held ready and checked a dozen
times since the season began. Messengers went out to the neighbors,
suggesting meeting places. Males shouldered packs and tools. Pups
being taken out to watch and learn scooted around, chattering at
one another, trying to stay out of sight of those who ordered
chores.
Skiljan finally gave Marika the light bow she had been hoping
was meant for her. “You stay close, pup. And pay attention.
Daydream around the kropek and you will find yourself dreaming
forever. In the embrace of the All.”
“Yes, Dam.”
Skiljan wheeled on Kublin. “You stay close to Bhlase. Hear
me? Do not get in the huntresses’ way.”
“Yes, Dam.”
Marika and Kublin exchanged glances behind Skiljan’s back,
meaning they would do what they wanted.
A paw slammed against Marika’s ear. “You heard your
dam,” Pobuda said. Her teeth were bared in amusement.
“Put those thoughts out of your mind. Both of you.”
Damned old Pobuda, Marika thought. She might be wide and ugly,
but she never forgot what it was like to be young. You could not
get away with anything with her around. She always knew what you
were thinking.
Skiljan, and Barlog from Gerrien’s loghouse, led the way.
They set a pace the pups soon found brutal. Marika was panting and
stumbling when they reached the Laspe packstead, where the Laspe
huntresses joined the column. Marika did not, as she usually did,
study the odd structure of the Laspe stockade and wonder why those
meth did things so differently. She hadn’t the energy. She
had begun to realize that carrying a pack and bow made all the
difference in the world.
Pobuda trotted by, mocking her with an amused grunt. Though
Pobuda’s pack weighed thrice what Marika’s did, the
huntress was as frisky as a pup.
Marika glanced back at Kublin, among the males. Her littermate,
to her surprise, was keeping pace with Zambi. His face, though,
betrayed the cost. He was running on pure will.
The pace slackened as they went up into the hills beyond the
Laspe packstead. The scouts raced ahead, carrying only their
javelins. The huntresses moved in silence now, listening intently.
Marika never heard anything.
An hour later the Degnan and Laspe joined three packs corning up
from the south. The enlarged party continued eastward on a broad
front, still listening.
Marika finally surrendered to curiosity and asked why.
Skiljan told her, “Because kropek were spotted in the
Plenthzo Valley does not guarantee that that is the route to be
followed by the main herd. It could come some
In summer the kropek ran in small, extended-family herds just
below the tundra, subsisting on grubs and roots. But the kropek was
a true omnivore, capable of eating anything that did not eat it
first. They did not hunt, though, being lazy as a species.
Vegetables neither ran nor fought back. The only adventure in a
kropek’s life was its long vernal and autumnal
migrations.
The meth of the upper Ponath hunted kropek only in the fall. In
the spring, for the months bracketing the mating season, kropek
flesh was inedible. It caused vomiting and powerful stomach
cramps.
A young huntress raced into the packstead. The forerunners of
the migration had been spotted in the high Plenthzo Valley,
following that tributary of the east fork of the Hainlin. The near
part of that valley lay only twenty miles east of the Degnan
packstead. Excitement reached new heights. The kropek had not
passed down Plenthzo Valley in generations. The good broad
bottomland there made travel easy but gave meth room to maneuver in
the hunt. There were natural formations where the migration could
be brought under massed missile fire, the hunters remaining safe
from counterattack.
Kropek were feisty. They would charge anything that threatened
them—meaning mainly meth, for the meth were their most
dangerous natural enemy. A meth caught was a meth dead. But meth
could outrun and outsmart kropek.
Most of the time.
Huntresses double-checked weapons held ready and checked a dozen
times since the season began. Messengers went out to the neighbors,
suggesting meeting places. Males shouldered packs and tools. Pups
being taken out to watch and learn scooted around, chattering at
one another, trying to stay out of sight of those who ordered
chores.
Skiljan finally gave Marika the light bow she had been hoping
was meant for her. “You stay close, pup. And pay attention.
Daydream around the kropek and you will find yourself dreaming
forever. In the embrace of the All.”
“Yes, Dam.”
Skiljan wheeled on Kublin. “You stay close to Bhlase. Hear
me? Do not get in the huntresses’ way.”
“Yes, Dam.”
Marika and Kublin exchanged glances behind Skiljan’s back,
meaning they would do what they wanted.
A paw slammed against Marika’s ear. “You heard your
dam,” Pobuda said. Her teeth were bared in amusement.
“Put those thoughts out of your mind. Both of you.”
Damned old Pobuda, Marika thought. She might be wide and ugly,
but she never forgot what it was like to be young. You could not
get away with anything with her around. She always knew what you
were thinking.
Skiljan, and Barlog from Gerrien’s loghouse, led the way.
They set a pace the pups soon found brutal. Marika was panting and
stumbling when they reached the Laspe packstead, where the Laspe
huntresses joined the column. Marika did not, as she usually did,
study the odd structure of the Laspe stockade and wonder why those
meth did things so differently. She hadn’t the energy. She
had begun to realize that carrying a pack and bow made all the
difference in the world.
Pobuda trotted by, mocking her with an amused grunt. Though
Pobuda’s pack weighed thrice what Marika’s did, the
huntress was as frisky as a pup.
Marika glanced back at Kublin, among the males. Her littermate,
to her surprise, was keeping pace with Zambi. His face, though,
betrayed the cost. He was running on pure will.
The pace slackened as they went up into the hills beyond the
Laspe packstead. The scouts raced ahead, carrying only their
javelins. The huntresses moved in silence now, listening intently.
Marika never heard anything.
An hour later the Degnan and Laspe joined three packs corning up
from the south. The enlarged party continued eastward on a broad
front, still listening.
Marika finally surrendered to curiosity and asked why.
Skiljan told her, “Because kropek were spotted in the
Plenthzo Valley does not guarantee that that is the route to be
followed by the main herd. It could come some
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