ride.
A short time later, they came to the first culling place she was willing to show them. She had disarmed Ersol and de Peugh of their high-tech weapons the previous day, and though she, Liam, and Seamus all carried daggers, short thrusting spears, and bows and arrows, the other three—Mooney, Clotworthy, and Minkus—had not been allowed even those.
“Frag, there must be ten or fifteen rabbits in there,” Ersol said, seeing the hole where the rabbits sat or lay, waiting for them.
“Probably. There have been about that many since spring,” she answered.
“So, you gonna stab ’em, or shoot ’em with your bow?” one of the others asked.
“Neither,” she said. Gently she lifted one rabbit by the scruff of its neck and, avoiding the mouth, twisted its head, saying, “Thank you, little brother, for giving your life that we can live, for your flesh to feed us and your fur to keep us warm. We honor you.”
“Excuse me?” Nigel Clotworthy, systems analyst, looked at his companions in a puzzled fashion.
“She was talking to the rabbit, not you, buddy,” de Peugh answered.
“We gotta talk to rabbits?”
“Yeah. Hey, Sinead, baby, what if Harvey there says he doesn’t
want
to get his neck wrung and he’s not so crazy about being your earmuffs either. Do you let him go, say ‘Sorry, my mistake’?”
“They’re here,” she said, pausing to wring another neck with an emphatic crack and murmur the same prayerful thanks before she continued her explanation to the hunters, “because they want to be killed. Rabbits tend to overproduce. These will be the sick ones, the old ones, the extra bucks or does who couldn’t find a place. Rabbits are very sensitive, actually, and they get depressed if they’re not wanted. They know we have a use for them, so they come here. It’s like that with all the animals in the culling places only more so with rabbits.”
“What about foxes?” Ersol asked, meeting her black look steadily.
“Foxes,” she said, “don’t get depressed. But sometimes they do get sick, or too old. Or there’s not enough food and they decide to become culls.”
“Sounds unnatural to me. I mean, it’s survival of the fittest and all that, but everybody wants to live, as a rule.”
“Yes,” she said. “As a rule. So it’s sure a shame to kill something that doesn’t
want
to die, isn’t it?” Her glacial blue gaze caught and froze his.
“It’s not very sporting though, is it?” observed Minkus, one of the other hunters.
“Killing is serious business,” Sinead said, with a shrug. She handed him the rabbit she had just picked up. “Here, you try this. Make sure the break is clean, and say part of the thanks before you finish him so he knows you’re doing it.”
“Lady, I never try to hurt anything any more than it takes to do the job, but you people have gone over the top. This anthropomorphism shit is crazy. The whole universe is going to have a big belly laugh at your expense. First you try to tell us the
planet
is sentient, and then you want me to believe you’re intimate with the psychology of bunny rabbits and foxes.” Minkus snapped the rabbit’s neck in anger.
First Sinead said thanks to the rabbit. Then she had words for the hunter. “You don’t think we just made all this up, do you? We learned a long time ago that the animals are willing to come to these places to die as long as we are courteous and grateful for their sacrifice. But if we forget our manners, there’ll be no rabbit, no moose, no caribou, bear, or fowl, and we’d better hope the vegetable crop was good in the summer because the long and the short of it is, there’ll be no meat at all. It’s the same with the sea creatures.”
“Come on, you people have only been here a couple hundred years,” de Peugh said.
“Yessir, that’s right, we have,” Seamus put in. “By the time we came, our ancestors back on Earth on the Inuit side had taken to outside ways and didn’t listen to the
A short time later, they came to the first culling place she was willing to show them. She had disarmed Ersol and de Peugh of their high-tech weapons the previous day, and though she, Liam, and Seamus all carried daggers, short thrusting spears, and bows and arrows, the other three—Mooney, Clotworthy, and Minkus—had not been allowed even those.
“Frag, there must be ten or fifteen rabbits in there,” Ersol said, seeing the hole where the rabbits sat or lay, waiting for them.
“Probably. There have been about that many since spring,” she answered.
“So, you gonna stab ’em, or shoot ’em with your bow?” one of the others asked.
“Neither,” she said. Gently she lifted one rabbit by the scruff of its neck and, avoiding the mouth, twisted its head, saying, “Thank you, little brother, for giving your life that we can live, for your flesh to feed us and your fur to keep us warm. We honor you.”
“Excuse me?” Nigel Clotworthy, systems analyst, looked at his companions in a puzzled fashion.
“She was talking to the rabbit, not you, buddy,” de Peugh answered.
“We gotta talk to rabbits?”
“Yeah. Hey, Sinead, baby, what if Harvey there says he doesn’t
want
to get his neck wrung and he’s not so crazy about being your earmuffs either. Do you let him go, say ‘Sorry, my mistake’?”
“They’re here,” she said, pausing to wring another neck with an emphatic crack and murmur the same prayerful thanks before she continued her explanation to the hunters, “because they want to be killed. Rabbits tend to overproduce. These will be the sick ones, the old ones, the extra bucks or does who couldn’t find a place. Rabbits are very sensitive, actually, and they get depressed if they’re not wanted. They know we have a use for them, so they come here. It’s like that with all the animals in the culling places only more so with rabbits.”
“What about foxes?” Ersol asked, meeting her black look steadily.
“Foxes,” she said, “don’t get depressed. But sometimes they do get sick, or too old. Or there’s not enough food and they decide to become culls.”
“Sounds unnatural to me. I mean, it’s survival of the fittest and all that, but everybody wants to live, as a rule.”
“Yes,” she said. “As a rule. So it’s sure a shame to kill something that doesn’t
want
to die, isn’t it?” Her glacial blue gaze caught and froze his.
“It’s not very sporting though, is it?” observed Minkus, one of the other hunters.
“Killing is serious business,” Sinead said, with a shrug. She handed him the rabbit she had just picked up. “Here, you try this. Make sure the break is clean, and say part of the thanks before you finish him so he knows you’re doing it.”
“Lady, I never try to hurt anything any more than it takes to do the job, but you people have gone over the top. This anthropomorphism shit is crazy. The whole universe is going to have a big belly laugh at your expense. First you try to tell us the
planet
is sentient, and then you want me to believe you’re intimate with the psychology of bunny rabbits and foxes.” Minkus snapped the rabbit’s neck in anger.
First Sinead said thanks to the rabbit. Then she had words for the hunter. “You don’t think we just made all this up, do you? We learned a long time ago that the animals are willing to come to these places to die as long as we are courteous and grateful for their sacrifice. But if we forget our manners, there’ll be no rabbit, no moose, no caribou, bear, or fowl, and we’d better hope the vegetable crop was good in the summer because the long and the short of it is, there’ll be no meat at all. It’s the same with the sea creatures.”
“Come on, you people have only been here a couple hundred years,” de Peugh said.
“Yessir, that’s right, we have,” Seamus put in. “By the time we came, our ancestors back on Earth on the Inuit side had taken to outside ways and didn’t listen to the
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