The Named: The Complete Series

Chapter One

Stones flew over Thakur’s head and rattled against the bark of a tree behind him. The steep-sided gully in which he and his companions were trying to capture a shaggy young mammoth had become a trap for them instead of for the mammoth. Thakur crouched, flattening his fur and ears. The beast before him raised its trunk in a trumpeting blast.

Thakur drove his claws into the ground and bared his fangs in a feline hiss before he could stop himself. As herding teacher to his people, the Named, Thakur knew and taught the young ones all the skills that had been developed to manage dapplebacked horses and three-horn deer. He told his cub-students never to show fear to a herdbeast. Now he had broken his own rule, though this woolly tusker wasn’t one of the clan’s herdbeasts. Not yet.

The ground vibrated beneath Thakur’s paws as the mammoth stamped its massive front feet and bellowed. The gully resounded with the brassy roar. His head ringing from the noise, Thakur glanced at his young fellow stalkers, Khushi and Bira.

Khushi, a herder, and Bira, a Firekeeper, had come with him on this scouting expedition far from the clan’s seacoast settlement. Khushi was a seasoned herder and not easily intimidated. This creature had him bristling all over. The usually calm Bira had a line of raised red-gold fur down her back.

This was their second attempt to catch a mammoth. And this one wasn’t even fully grown—that was why they had chosen it.

Thakur and Khushi made another sharp rush at the beast, trying to back it into a narrow corner of the gully. Bira joined in. The quarry tossed its head, flailing its trunk and spearing the air with its tusks. Thakur’s nose was filled with its heavy smell and the faint but sharp odor that told him that his two companions were fighting fear of their own. The beast’s red-rimmed eyes glared from behind a thicket of orange hair. Its trunk swung down and coiled like a snake in the loose gravel. When the trunk whisked up again, another barrage of rocks hurtled at Bira.

She dodged, but several struck her ribs and back. Thakur heard her grunt in surprise and pain. Herdbeasts weren’t supposed to throw rocks.

“You said this would be easier than herding three-horns!” Bira yowled at Khushi.

“I … thought … it would be since … these face-tail things … don’t have horns!” Khushi puffed.

“They don’t need them!”

Thakur glanced at Khushi. Every hair of the young herder’s dun-colored fur was standing on end. Still, Khushi advanced on the quarry, trying to trap its gaze with his own. The stare-down worked on deer and dapplebacks, but this mountain of hide and flesh was having none of it.

With an enraged roar, the beast charged Khushi. Thakur and Bira both leaped at the same instant, snarling, to turn it back before it trampled him. They broke the face-tail’s attack, but it would not be deprived of its quarry. Again the trunk swept down, but instead of gathering and flinging stones, it curled around Khushi’s middle.

In an instant the squalling herder was lifted high over Thakur’s head. Then he was shooting through the air. With a loud crash he landed in a thicket.

“Enough!” Thakur yowled to Bira, who was vainly trying to force the beast back to its corner with short rushes and feints. “Let the thing go!”

Bira dived to one side while Thakur galloped to the bush where Khushi had landed. He whirled, fearing for an instant that the beast would charge into the thicket and tear it apart trying to find Khushi. Even in his short experience with these animals, Thakur had found them to be very single-minded, especially when they wanted to trample an enemy.

With a ground-shaking trot, the orange-haired young mammoth headed for the thicket, then swerved aside. It lumbered away down the gully, ears flapping, short tail stuck stiffly upright.

Bira’s ribs lifted in a sigh of combined exhaustion and relief. The red-gold fur on her back flattened, but worry remained in her green eyes. Thakur shared it. The face-tail had thrown Khushi hard.

“He’s young and tough,” Thakur said before Bira could speak, but he could not keep anxiety out of his own voice as he pawed at the thicket, calling to Khushi.

At last he heard the herder’s low moan. “Oooh, why did we try to catch that creature? I wish we had never seen it!”

Thakur’s ears and whiskers lifted. Khushi couldn’t be badly hurt if he chose to complain about the face-tail instead of about his own injuries.

Thakur and Bira turned to the task of extricating the herder. Only one of his feet was visible, hanging forlornly from a tangle of thorn scrub. Using claws and teeth, Thakur and Bira attacked the bush.

“Let me get Biaree,” Bira offered as Thakur grimaced at the sharp twigs and thorns that lodged painfully between his teeth. He agreed. Bira ran off to fetch her treeling companion. Treelings were much better than the Named at untangling or clearing away things. Their clever fingers could do what paws and teeth could not.

Thakur thought longingly of his own treeling, Aree. His neck still felt bare without her small arms about it and her fingers twining in his fur. He’d left her behind in the clan’s care, for she was bulging with babies. A mammoth-capturing expedition was no place for a pregnant treeling.

Soon Bira galloped back with her male treeling, Biaree, perched on the nape of her neck. The treeling’s slender ringed tail stuck up, and a pointed light-brow muzzle with a black mask showed between Bira’s cars. A few purrs of encouragement and a nudge from Bira’s nose soon had the treeling pulling apart branches and breaking off dead twigs. With his aid, they cleared a way in to Khushi and gently pulled him out.

Khushi was more shaken than hurt. While Bira and Biaree groomed thorns and twigs from the young herder’s hide and tail, Thakur used his paws and his sensitive nose to check Khushi for injuries.

“Why did I ever tell the clan leader about these animals that wear their tails on their faces?” Khushi asked him plaintively. “And why did I ever think we could add them to our herds?”

“I think we will be able to, when we find ways to manage them,” Thakur answered.

“If we ever do.” Khushi groaned.

Thakur didn’t contradict him. Despite his words, he wasn’t sure that these beasts the Named called face-tails would work out as herd animals. There was certainly a lot of meat on one, but Khushi’s unexpected trip through the air had shown that there were certain hazards involved in taming them.

“Well,” said Bira, “if they aren’t suitable, it won’t be the first time we’ve chosen the wrong kind of animal. Thistle’s seamares didn’t work out either.”

As he watched Bira and Biarce finish grooming Khushi, Thakur licked his own dark-copper fur and thought of their previous attempt to bring a new kind of animal into the herd. Last season’s drought and its effects on the three-horn deer and dapplebacked horses had made Ratha, the clan leader, start the search. If the clan herds had animals that could survive under different kinds of conditions, the Named would have a more stable supply of meat.

Ratha’s idea was a good one, but putting it into practice was difficult. It had also yielded one very unexpected result. While scouting the seacoast for possible herdbeasts, Thakur had found a crippled young female of his own kind. She turned out to be Thistle-chaser, Ratha’s lost daughter.

Thakur had also found the seamares, chunky water creatures with horselike heads and webbed feet—and tusks that they used to dig up and tear apart heavy-shelled clams on the shore. Thistle had formed a strange but real friendship with them. When the clan tried to capture and keep seamares, she angrily interfered. Then she turned her wrath against her mother.

Thakur still remembered finding the two on the wave-washed rocks, both bleeding from their fight and nearly dead from exposure. Since then Ratha and her daughter had become partially reconciled, but Thistle had not accepted Ratha’s offer to join the clan. She remained apart, living among the seamares.

With a twitch of his whiskers, Thakur turned his attention back to Khushi, who had recovered enough to shake the last leaves and twigs out of his coat.

“Maybe you should have used a lighted torch,” he heard Khushi say to Bira. “I haven’t seen a beast yet who didn’t fear the Red Tongue.”

Except us and our treelings, Thakur thought. And I have seen that we do fear it, although in a different way than the herdbeasts.

“Thakur doesn’t like using the Red Tongue to frighten herdbeasts,” Bira said, looking to him. “I agree. It’s cruel and often useless. Once a herdbeast is maddened by fear, you can’t do anything except kill it. That is a waste.”

“And imagine what would have happened if that face-tail had grabbed the torch and flung it,” Thakur said, entering the conversation. “If it hadn’t hit one of us, it would have spread the Red Tongue all over the grass.”

“That wretched beast deserved to get burned up,” Khushi growled.

“Yes, and we’d have burned up with it,” Bira reproved. “You know how fast the Red Tongue can run.”

Khushi admitted that they were right, but he wouldn’t have minded if Bira had singed the obnoxious mammoth in a tender spot.

“I need to see that the embers in the fire-den haven’t gone out,” Bira announced, lifting her plumed tail. “Are we going back to the knoll? Good, I’ll meet you there.”

As she loped off down the gully, Thakur climbed up the side, followed by Khushi. He found the hill that they had used as a vantage point to locate the face-tails. It had a single oak that gave shade from the sun. The prevailing breeze carried their own scent away from the face-tail herd.

It brought him the odors of many other kinds of animals. Among these were feline scents that might belong to the Un-Named outsiders who outwardly resembled his own people but had only the minds and ways of beasts. Everything was so overlaid with the pungent smell of mammoth that Thakur could not be sure. He was not going to worry. The Red Tongue that Bira carried would protect him and his party.

He sat down in the litter of last season’s leaves and acorns, letting his gaze travel over the rolling plain below. It was still filled with the face-tailed beasts, some wallowing in a marshy sink between two hills, some drifting back and forth in a large group as they tore up grass with their trunks and stuffed it into their mouths.

The young ones showed up as blotches of orange against the more somber black and brown wool of their elders.

One of those orange splotches was probably the animal that had just escaped them. Despite their bulk the face-tails could move fast. Thakur eyed the beasts, trying to pick one that was young enough to be vulnerable and old enough not to need the protection of its mother. It wasn’t easy. Yesterday he had chosen a young calf and ended up fleeing from the enraged mother. Today’s quarry had proved to be old enough to defend itself.

His cars pricked forward as a line of smaller shapes emerged from a copse of trees near the wallow. They were not face-tails, nor any other kind of herdbeast. Beside him he felt Khushi stiffen as the wind brought a stronger version of a familiar scent to their noses.

“Un-Named ones, Thakur!” Khushi hissed.

The herding teacher hesitated in his reply. Yes, the forms were the cat shapes that resembled those of his own kind, but never had he seen the Un-Named do what these newcomers were doing.

The line broke up as its members dispersed and melted into the high grass about the wallow. Thakur narrowed his eyes. At one end of the marshy area stood a face-tail whose patchy orange-and-black coat showed that it was older than the one the Named had tried to capture.

“They are hunting it,” Bira said. She had arrived so quietly that Thakur had hardly noticed.

Yes, they were. He caught a glimpse of a circle of hidden stalkers creeping toward the face-tail. There were more hunters than he had first thought, and they seemed to move with a deadly purpose. Unconsciously he cased himself down, peering through the high grass. Bira and Khushi followed his example.

The face-tail, unconcerned, was sloshing in the wallow, squirting water over itself with its trunk. The circle of hunters paused, as if making the final decision to attack. The scent wafting to Thakur’s nose carried more than a sense of hunger or the usual blind ferocity of the Un-Named. He sensed a certain unified purpose in their behavior that surprised him.

If these ones are truly Un-Named, they are different than any I know, he thought.

He did not see which individual triggered the attack. At one instant they were all crouched together in the grass; the next they were swarming onto the startled face-tail. Muddy water turned pink as the attackers clawed their way up the beast’s flanks and laid open its flesh with deep slashes.

The rest of the face-tails, alarmed, lumbered away with raised trunks, abandoning the victim.

The struggle did not last long. Despite the face-tail’s trumpeting and plunging, it soon toppled under the savagery of the assault. For a while it flailed in the shallow water as the hunters gathered atop it and began to feed. Then it grew still.

Beside him, Thakur felt Bira shivering. “I have never seen Un-Named ones like these before,” she hissed. “And I don’t like them!”

Khushi was struck silent. “They made it look … easy!” he blurted at last.

“Sh. We don’t want to attract their attention,” Thakur cautioned.

Bira began to creep slowly backward, deeper into the shade cast by the oak. Khushi followed. Thakur, torn between curiosity and fear, was the last to come away.

“Let’s go,” said Bira as Biaree huddled nervously on her shoulders.

Thakur agreed, but would only let his companions retreat as far as the small fire-den Bira had dug to store the coals of the Red Tongue.

He was thinking hard. The speed and efficiency of the unknown hunters told him that they were not a ragtag group of Un-Named ones such as those that had raided the clan’s herds in previous seasons. Even the organized attacks that had nearly decimated the Named had not been as complex or as smoothly carried out as this hunt. His sense of danger told him to leave these hunters far behind, but there was another sense that told him to stay.

Who were they? Where had they come from? How had they learned to hunt such formidable prey as the face-tails? The questions whirled through Thakur’s mind.

“You saw the hunt,” he argued, when his two companions protested against the idea of remaining. “Something like that takes more than strength and fierceness. They were working together.”

Bira gave him a questioning look. “The Un-Named can work together. They did when they attacked us several seasons ago.”

“Yes, but those attacks were not as well planned as the hunt we just saw. I was in those fights. I remember.” Thakur turned to Khushi. “This kill looked easy because everything was arranged in advance. Each hunter knew exactly what she or he was supposed to do and did it.” He continued, growing more excited. “Don’t you see? Not only must they be able to think and speak, they must be able to make detailed plans and describe them to each other. They must be like us!”

The other two stared at him, their jaws hanging open. As long as the Named had existed, they had thought their clan was the only one of its kind and that they alone had the gifts of awareness, forethought, and speech. A few individuals with such gifts existed among the Un-Named, but they had come from fringe matings with the clan.

Perhaps the Named were not unique after all.

Thakur and his two companions returned to the scene of the kill, hid, and watched patiently. The face-tail hunters were joined by others: elders, half-grown cubs, and nursing or pregnant females. The group all gorged themselves until late in the day. They then scattered to chew on bones they had taken from the carcass, or to lie in the sun.

Now was the best time to approach, Thakur decided. The Un-Named would be sated and sleepy. Carefully he and the others crept to a small stand of brush that was closer to the hunters and safely downwind.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, herding teacher?” Bira asked when he told her what he planned and asked her to stay behind with a small flame of the Red Tongue and pine branches to light for torches.

“They won’t attack. They’ve eaten too much. And if they chase us, they can’t run far with heavy stomachs.”

Bira was still doubtful. She also questioned Thakur’s conviction that he would be able to talk to the face-tail hunters. “We did not hear them speak to each other,” she argued quietly. “And they did not seem to be following a leader’s directions. That tells me that they are not like us. Perhaps we should wait and keep watching from a distance.”

Thakur answered that those objections had occurred to him, but that this chance was one worth taking. The hunters would only be sated and lazy for a short time. Afterward it would be too dangerous to approach.

Khushi, listening to them both, offered to go by himself. Thakur’s skills were too valuable to risk losing, he said. Who else would instruct the clan’s young if the herding teacher were killed?

“You and all the other herders I have trained,” Thakur answered. “Together you have enough knowledge. What you do not have is my experience in dealing with strangers outside the clan. I don’t plan to let myself be killed. You and I look enough like the hunters to fool them, at least from a distance.”

“What about our smell?”

“Rolling in face-tail dung should disguise it; the stuff is strong enough.”

Khushi only made a grimace.

Thakur gazed out over the open plain where the hunters sprawled in scattered groups. “Bira, watch us and keep a torch ready. I hope we will not need it….”

“But if you do, the Red Tongue will be there,” Bira said fiercely, taking up her post.

With Khushi pacing beside him, Thakur left the sheltering brush and walked out onto the open plain. The sun sat low behind him and the sky was starting to pale into the colors of dusk. After rolling thoroughly in a fresh pile of face-tail manure, he and Khushi took a wandering course toward the hunters. Sometimes the two lay down or even flopped over on their backs for a little while, imitating the bloated lassitude of the others.

The smell of the carcass was rich in Thakur’s nose. Next to him, Khushi swallowed, and the aroma of hunger tinged his smell. Thakur could not blame the young herder. His own mouth was watering. They had eaten yesterday, a few ground-birds caught by Bira, but it was not enough to fill their bellies.

“Don’t think about eating,” he said when he saw the thought in Khushi’s eyes. “We won’t get close to the kill. The chances are that they will smell something strange about us, despite the dung, and chase us away.”

To Thakur’s astonishment, his deception worked. In the fading light the two managed to pass the outer fringes of the large group without being challenged. To one side, Thakur saw spotted cubs gamboling around their parents. He and Khushi skirted a group of half-grown males all snoring together in a pile.

“They don’t even post sentries?” Khushi whispered to Thakur.

“Why should they? Who is going to attack them? As for the kill, it is too heavy to be stolen, and they have eaten all they want.”

Thakur looked about for someone who might respond to their approach. He chose a group of three who were resting but not asleep. One was toying with a broken piece of rib bone, but none were still eating. As one lifted a muzzle against the sky, Thakur could see that the fangs were long enough to show outside the mouth.

The sight of those teeth reminded him of Shongshar, the orange-eyed stranger that Ratha had once taken into the clan. Could these hunters be his people? Feeling a chill, Thakur hoped not. Shongshar had turned into a tyrant, overthrowing Ratha and ruling the clan with his savage ways and long saber-teeth. One of his kind was enough.

But the fangs of these hunters were not as long as Shongshar’s, although their teeth were longer than Thakur’s own. The length seemed to vary in different individuals. It also did among the Named, although not to such extremes.

He realized that he was delaying, fearful of making the first try at speaking to these people. Was he more afraid of provoking an attack or of losing his hope that this group might be a clan like the Named? He did not know.

“Khushi, stay close behind me and don’t say anything,” he warned. His mouth, wetted by appetite, went dry with apprehension. His usually eloquent tail felt stiff and clumsy. Swallowing to moisten his tongue, he deliberately approached the other group. Eyes—green, gold, and amber—shone in the fading dusk.

He feared that his heart was booming loud enough for everyone to hear. His pelt felt as though it would jump right off his body—every hair was standing so much on end. Would the face-tail hunters know him for a stranger and attack, or would they welcome him as a brother?

Not trusting the manure scent to conceal his smell entirely, he and Khushi positioned themselves downwind of the three they were approaching. He lifted his tail in a friendly arch.

One, a tawny female with heavy shoulders, got up. He was afraid she would snarl, but instead she extended her muzzle for a nose-touch. His hopes leaped up. This was the same greeting the Named knew and used. Eagerly he answered in kind, breathing in her scent. It was much like that of his own people, though overlaid with the powerful aroma of face-tail.

The two others in the group roused themselves and also greeted him with the nose-touch. One even rubbed a welcoming chin on Thakur’s shoulder and flopped a tail across his back. Khushi was also accepted.

Yet as soon as the nose-touching and rubbing were finished, the three turned back to lazing or grooming or playing, without a word to the newcomers. Thakur found this disconcerting. They must have recognized that he was a stranger. Why, then, hadn’t they attacked him or chased him away?

Or, if for some reason they had chosen to accept him anyway, why wouldn’t they say something to him?

He rolled over on his side, nudging Khushi to follow suit. He would have to speak first. A dismaying thought seized him. He had not heard any of these hunters talk. Suppose Bira was right and they couldn’t.

No, that can’t be true, he argued to himself. They could not have organized that hunt if they couldn’t tell each other what to do.

Perhaps their language was all gesture and scent. As Thakur considered that possibility, he heard a voice that was not Khushi’s.

“Give the bone,” it said. The heavy-shouldered female was trying to paw the rib fragment from the male who was playing with it.

“No. Go get another. There are plenty left in the carcass,” came the irritable reply.

Thakur’s heart leaped in excitement. Not only did these ones speak, but they used a language so close to that of the Named that he could understand what they said. He waited tensely, hoping someone would speak to him.

The female yawned. “The meat was tender.”

“Salty,” said the other.

“Go drink,” the male advised. “There are places at the water hole.”

Thakur’s ears, which had been sharply pricked, started to sag. Surely they had more interesting things to say than this. He made himself stay quiet and listen, but he heard only more of the same.

Khushi, bored, yawned widely, showing all his teeth. He snapped his mouth shut self-consciously.

“Open it again,” said the male who was playing with the bone. Thakur blinked when he realized the command had been given to Khushi. Khushi was startled, too. Thakur had to nuzzle him before he responded.

The male peered into Khushi’s mouth. “Those fangs are too short. Stop eating bones. They wear teeth down. The song says good teeth are needed for the hunt. Listen to the song.”

“The … song?” asked Khushi, but he spoke so softly that the male didn’t hear him. Thakur listened, but he could hear nothing like the courting yowls the Named called songs.

Puzzled, he asked the hunter, “What are you listening to?”

He thought he spoke clearly, but the male only gave him a baffled look. “Those words are confusing,” the other said. “Speak again.”

Thakur had no idea why his question was not clear. “The song,” he faltered.

“The song is always being sung,” the other stated.

“Why can’t I—”

“Stop speaking!” the male ordered sharply. “Those words make no sense.”

Puzzled and slightly irritated, Thakur closed his mouth. He noticed that the others in the group were eyeing him as if he were something noxious that had walked into their midst. What had he said? He wondered if it had been wise for him to confess he could not hear this “song” or whatever it was that they were making such a fuss about.

Perhaps if he stayed away from that, he might make some headway. With a sinking heart he realized that it was already too late. His easy acceptance and anonymity in the group were gone. Now he was the subject of attention and discussion.

“The ears don’t work,” said the female, looking at him with a grimace and turning to the male.

“The ears do work. The words are heard.”

“The song is not heard.” The female stared at Thakur with molten-gold eyes.

Without answering her stare directly, Thakur tried to get a good look into her eyes. He expected to meet a gaze that was much like his own. He felt the fur prickle up and down his tail when he could not find what he sought. The look in her eyes was neither the blank, unknowing stare of the animal-like Un-Named, nor the sharp, aware gaze of his own people. It was aware, yes, but the awareness was somehow … different.

“The song is heard,” Thakur put in quickly, imitating the odd style of speech.

He hoped his answer would mollify the hunters, but the suspicion in the female’s face grew deeper as she stared at him. “The form is not known to True-of-voice. The eyes are not known; the voice is not known.”

What did she mean? Thakur could make no sense out of what she was saying. Perhaps True-of-voice was her name.

“True-of-voice,” he repeated. “Is that you? Is True-of-voice your name?”

He did not know if she understood him or not, but he saw he had made a major blunder. She flattened her ears and spat.

The other hunters traded looks, bristled, and growled. Thakur noticed that the misunderstanding was starting to draw attention from groups outside their own.

He decided that the time had come to withdraw and think things out before he got himself and Khushi into more trouble. With a poke he got the young herder on his feet. They both backed away from the now-hostile hunters, turned, and jogged in the direction they had come.

Though no one had noticed their initial approach, heads now lifted and eyes followed as they passed. It was as if word of the intruders had somehow spread instantly throughout the group, even though Thakur had heard no cries of alarm.

“Don’t run,” he warned Khushi, even though the muscles in his own hindquarters were twitching with the impulse to turn tail and flee.

Only when he had put the group at a distance did he and Khushi break into a bounding run. It carried them to the bushes, where Bira met them.

“What happened?” she asked.

Thakur sighed. “I said something wrong. I don’t know what.”

“So they do speak like us?”

“They use words, but not the way we do. Bira, we had better not stay here. We’re too close, and they’re angry. ”

Quickly the Firekeeper packed up the coals in an old bird’s nest filled with sand. Khushi helped, taking the resinous pine branches that served as firebrands.

Once Thakur decided they were a safe distance from the hunters, the Named made camp. Bira lit a fire from the embers she carried, and everyone drew close around it.

“I think we should give up on that bunch,” said Khushi, disgusted. “They may speak, but they are as stupid as the Un-Named. And crazy too. They kept mewling about some song. I couldn’t hear anyone singing. Could you, Thakur?”

“No,” the herding teacher confessed. He was disappointed at his failure. Khushi’s dismissal of the hunters as witless and crazy provided an easy escape from his own responsibility. For an instant he was tempted to take it. Perhaps no one could talk to these people. If so, he could not fault himself for failing.

Yet he knew the answer was not so simple. He had been close enough to look into their eyes. He had seen an alertness there, not the blank unawareness of the Un-Named. But it was directed strangely inward in a way he did not understand.

And it echoed something that he had seen and knew well, though at first he could not think what it was. Then he remembered another pair of eyes, sea-green and once shrouded by pain. Those were Thistle’s eyes when he had first found her.

He remembered how he had coaxed Thistle back outside herself, had given her not only words to speak with, but hope. How those eyes had begun to brighten and clear, showing that she was truly of the Named. Yet even now, her gaze would sometimes become opaque and she would retreat where none of the Named could follow. To Thakur it seemed as though Ratha’s daughter walked two paths, one with the Named and another in a cave world of mist and entrancement, where strange voices echoed.

Voices. The hunters had spoken, in their puzzling way, of a voice, a song that Thakur could not hear. Perhaps only they could hear it. The one name they had said was True-of-voice. In some way speech was vital to them, yet why did their grasp of it seem so limited and stilted?

It was clear that they did not walk the same path as the Named. But there was one among the Named who might be able to follow them. Thakur sensed that he would never be able to speak to these hunters by himself. He needed Thistle.

But she was not a clan member and did not have to obey Ratha or anyone else. If he sent for Thistle, the decision to come or not would be hers alone.

Was this the right thing to do? Thakur wondered. Would such a contact with the group of strange cats bring joy or disaster? The hunters could be a formidable enemy, but what if they were an allied clan who could help the Named survive?

He would send for Ratha as well as Thistle, he decided. Experienced as he was, he could not be alone in decisions that involved the future of the Named. Ratha must see these hunters for herself.

When the herding teacher came out of his reverie, he was slightly chagrined to find that Bira had banked the fire and that both she and Khushi had gone to sleep. Try as he would, Thakur could not close his eyes. He remained awake long into the night, thinking.