confident? Why not indeed, unless …
What if there were no station? What if these two giants were imps of the Lower Hell sent here to tempt him to stray from the Home?
Bah, nonsense! They were as human as he, despite their great size and strange garb. How else could it be that they spoke the same language of man? Though what strange modulations and phrasings they used! And they did not emfol. Born could not conceive of a person who could not emfol, so he conveniently forgot about it He parted the leafleather dooring and entered his home, closed it carefully behind him. Untying his cloak, he slung it into a far corner. A muffled sound came from the darkness. Immediately he crouched, the bone knife jumping reflexively from belt to hand. A dim figure whimpered. Moving carefully in the blackness, he brought out the little packet of incendiary pollen, sprinkled it over the pile of deadwood in the center of the floor. A touch, and the wood coughed and blazed, revealing the huddled form of Brightly Go.
Relaxing, he replaced the knife in its sheath. After a curious glance at the girl, he sat down beside the fire and crossed his legs. Its yellow-bright depths were soothing, friendly, undemanding. They would leave tomorrow, the giants and he, and he would have liked a long, quiet sleep but …
“You come to laugh at me like the others,” he muttered, without rancour.
“Oh, no!” She crawled timidly toward the fire. The light made olivine patterns deep in her eyes, and Born found the attraction of the fire waning steadily. “You know my feelings, Born.”
He huffed, turned nervously away. “Losting you like, Losting you love—me, I amuse you!”
“No, Born,” she protested, her voice rising. “I like Losting, yes, but … I like you as well. Losting is nice, but not nearly so nice as you. Not nearly.” She looked at him imploringly. “I don’t want you to do this thing, Born. If you go with the giants you’ll never come back. I believe what everyone says about the dangers so far from Home and what is whispered about the places where the two hells come together.”
“Stories, legends,” Born grumbled. “Cub tales. The dangers far from the Home are no different than they are a spear’s throw from this room. Nor do I believe there is a place where the two hells join. But if there is, we will go around it or through it.”
She moved around the fire on hands and knees, to sidle close and put one hand on his shoulder. “For me, Born, don’t go with the giants.”
Looking at her, he started to lean close, started to agree, started to give in. Then the thing that drove him to lie in wait for grazers and to go down into the depths of wells reached out, interceded, crossed him up. Instead of saying, “I’ll do whatever you desire, Brightly Go, for the love of you,” he whispered huskily, “I’ve given my word and said before the whole tribe I will go. And even had I not, I will do this thing.”
Her hand slid from his shoulder. She half-mumbled, “Born, I don’t want you to,” then bent over and kissed him before he could draw away. Then she was on her feet and out the door before he could react. The night-rain swallowed her up.
He was silent a long time, thinking, as the fire consumed itself and the tepid drops trickled off leaf-leather roof. Then he mumbled something there was no one to hear, rolled back onto his sleeping fur, and drifted off to a troubled, dream-filled slumber.
Ruumahum’s left eye opened halfway, cocked sideways. A dark bulk stood on the branch by his resting crevice. He coughed, shook droplets from his muzzle, and snorted in the sibilant rumbling way of the furcot.
“Where is your person, cub?”
Muf jerked his head, in imitation of the human gesture, down toward the cluster of enclosed branches below. “Somewhere there, asleep.”
“As you should be, nuisance.” The eye closed, and Ruumahum rearranged his massive head on his fore-paws.
Muf hesitated before blurting out,
What if there were no station? What if these two giants were imps of the Lower Hell sent here to tempt him to stray from the Home?
Bah, nonsense! They were as human as he, despite their great size and strange garb. How else could it be that they spoke the same language of man? Though what strange modulations and phrasings they used! And they did not emfol. Born could not conceive of a person who could not emfol, so he conveniently forgot about it He parted the leafleather dooring and entered his home, closed it carefully behind him. Untying his cloak, he slung it into a far corner. A muffled sound came from the darkness. Immediately he crouched, the bone knife jumping reflexively from belt to hand. A dim figure whimpered. Moving carefully in the blackness, he brought out the little packet of incendiary pollen, sprinkled it over the pile of deadwood in the center of the floor. A touch, and the wood coughed and blazed, revealing the huddled form of Brightly Go.
Relaxing, he replaced the knife in its sheath. After a curious glance at the girl, he sat down beside the fire and crossed his legs. Its yellow-bright depths were soothing, friendly, undemanding. They would leave tomorrow, the giants and he, and he would have liked a long, quiet sleep but …
“You come to laugh at me like the others,” he muttered, without rancour.
“Oh, no!” She crawled timidly toward the fire. The light made olivine patterns deep in her eyes, and Born found the attraction of the fire waning steadily. “You know my feelings, Born.”
He huffed, turned nervously away. “Losting you like, Losting you love—me, I amuse you!”
“No, Born,” she protested, her voice rising. “I like Losting, yes, but … I like you as well. Losting is nice, but not nearly so nice as you. Not nearly.” She looked at him imploringly. “I don’t want you to do this thing, Born. If you go with the giants you’ll never come back. I believe what everyone says about the dangers so far from Home and what is whispered about the places where the two hells come together.”
“Stories, legends,” Born grumbled. “Cub tales. The dangers far from the Home are no different than they are a spear’s throw from this room. Nor do I believe there is a place where the two hells join. But if there is, we will go around it or through it.”
She moved around the fire on hands and knees, to sidle close and put one hand on his shoulder. “For me, Born, don’t go with the giants.”
Looking at her, he started to lean close, started to agree, started to give in. Then the thing that drove him to lie in wait for grazers and to go down into the depths of wells reached out, interceded, crossed him up. Instead of saying, “I’ll do whatever you desire, Brightly Go, for the love of you,” he whispered huskily, “I’ve given my word and said before the whole tribe I will go. And even had I not, I will do this thing.”
Her hand slid from his shoulder. She half-mumbled, “Born, I don’t want you to,” then bent over and kissed him before he could draw away. Then she was on her feet and out the door before he could react. The night-rain swallowed her up.
He was silent a long time, thinking, as the fire consumed itself and the tepid drops trickled off leaf-leather roof. Then he mumbled something there was no one to hear, rolled back onto his sleeping fur, and drifted off to a troubled, dream-filled slumber.
Ruumahum’s left eye opened halfway, cocked sideways. A dark bulk stood on the branch by his resting crevice. He coughed, shook droplets from his muzzle, and snorted in the sibilant rumbling way of the furcot.
“Where is your person, cub?”
Muf jerked his head, in imitation of the human gesture, down toward the cluster of enclosed branches below. “Somewhere there, asleep.”
“As you should be, nuisance.” The eye closed, and Ruumahum rearranged his massive head on his fore-paws.
Muf hesitated before blurting out,
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