The Shadows of Night by Ellen Fisher Page A

permitted him to heal you?”
    The tiger and panther growled, taking a step forward, and Hart remembered the words Katara had uttered in the keep: “If we are injured, we must heal without intervention.”   She had called it the code of her people, and suggested that to rely on artificial healing left her without honor.   He imagined that the Claw, barbarians that they were, might deal with such a situation by killing her, and he wondered if they were both about to be torn to pieces.   He had to struggle to prevent himself from reverting to stag form.
    “It is my fault, not hers,” he said quickly, taking a step forward, so that they stood shoulder to shoulder.   Whatever her fate was to be, he would share in it.   “There are healers among my people, and they help us recover from injuries.   I knew not that such a thing was considered improper among your people.   Katara was unconscious—she had no way of refusing treatment.”
    He saw the flash of surprise in Katara’s eyes as she glanced at him.   She was apparently surprised that he’d taken the blame for her dishonor.   Her mother still looked displeased, but she motioned the great cats back.   “I am not surprised by your actions,” she said tartly.   “We have long known your people are without honor.”
    “We are not without honor, madam.   But our notions of honor are quite different from yours.”
    With the crisis averted, at least for now, Katara stepped forward.   “You can still see the scar on my shoulder, Mother.”  
    The older woman’s eyes narrowed as she examined the ragged, round scar.   “It looks like a minor injury.”
    “Yes,” Hart agreed.   “It is a narrow fang.   But it passed readily through muscle and sinew.   It is slender, but it cuts very deep.”  
    The lioness studied the scar for a long moment.   Her brow wrinkled.   “I have never seen such a wound.   This is indeed new.”
    “We believe the Fang Kindred have plans of war,” Hart said.   “They have attacked Katara and my own brother within the space of a few days.   When we followed them to their lands, they struck us with this fang.   We suspect they intended this as a threat to both our peoples.”
    “We have always lived in peace with the Fang.   Certainly they are not our allies, but generally speaking, they leave us alone, and we leave them alone.”
    “That no longer seems to be the case,” Katara said.   “They ambushed me.”
    Her mother frowned.   “You are lucky to be alive, then.”
    “She was just as lucky to survive this single fang,” Hart said.   “It could have killed her as easily as a Pack ambush.   And more of your people will likely fall victim to this fang, unless we find some way to counter this threat with one of our own.   We must work together if we are to find a way to defend ourselves.”
    “Why?   We have nothing to do with the Antler Kindred.”
    “Perhaps in the past you have not.   But you need us now.   Or can your people create a fang that strikes from a distance?”
    “No.   Nor would we create such a thing if we could.   There is no honor in it.”
    Hart chose his words carefully.   “When one confronts an enemy with no honor, one cannot be too particular about one’s own code of honor.”
    “I disagree.   One’s honor is most important when one is facing a dishonorable enemy.”
    The woman sounded haughty, arrogant, absolutely sure of herself and the code she lived by, and Hart sighed.   It was this attitude that was going to lead the Claw to destruction if he couldn’t convince them of the need to defend themselves against the Fang.
    “There is no honor in allowing oneself to be slaughtered from a distance,” he said.   “ Which is what will happen if we do not find a way to prevent it.   We must work together to find some way to counter this threat.”
    The woman snorted.   “What can the Pack do with a single fang?”
    “We left this particular fang on the forest