Climbs Quickly scurried up the nearest trunk, then paused
at the first cross-branch to clean his sticky true-hands
and hand-feet with fastidious care. He hated crossing
between trees now that the cold days were passing into
those of mud. Not that he was particularly fond of snow,
either, he admitted with a bleek of laughter, but at least
it melted out of his fur-eventually-instead of forming
gluey clots that dried hard as rock. Still, there were
compensations to warming weather, and he sniffed
appreciatively at the breeze that rustled the furled buds
just beginning to fringe the all-but-bare branches. Under
most circumstances, he would have climbed all the way to
the top to luxuriate in the wind fingers ruffling his
coat, but he had other things on his mind today.
He finished grooming himself, then rose on his rear legs
in the angle of the cross-branch and trunk to scan his
surroundings with grass-green eyes. None of the two-legs
were in sight, but that meant little; two-legs were full
of surprises. Climbs Quickly's own Bright Water Clan had
seen little of them until lately, but other clans had
observed them for twelve full turnings of the seasons, and
it was obvious they had tricks the People had never
mastered. Among those was some way to keep watch from far
away-so far, indeed, that the People could neither hear
nor taste them, much less see them. Yet Climbs Quickly
detected no sign that he was being watched, and he flowed
smoothly to the adjacent trunk, following the line of
cross-branches deeper into the clearing.
His clan had not been too apprehensive when the first
flying thing arrived and the two-legs emerged to create
the clearing, for the clans whose territory had already
been invaded had warned them of what to expect. The two-
legs could be dangerous, and they kept changing things,
but they weren't like death fangs or snow hunters, who all
too often killed randomly or for pleasure, and scouts and
hunters like Climbs Quickly had watched that first handful
of two-legs from the cover of the frost-bright leaves,
perched high in the trees. The newcomers had spread out
carrying strange things-some that glittered or blinked
flashing lights and others that stood on tall, skinny legs-
which they moved from place to place and peered through,
and then they'd driven stakes of some equally strange not-
wood into the ground at intervals. The Bright Water memory
singers had sung back through the songs from other clans
and decided that the things they peered through were tools
of some sort. Climbs Quickly couldn't argue their
conclusion, yet the two-leg tools were as different from
the hand axes and knives the People made as the substance
from which they were made was unlike the flint, wood, and
bone the People used.
All of which explained why the two-legs must be watched
most carefully ... and secretly. Small as the People were,
they were quick and clever, and their axes and knives and
use of fire let them accomplish things larger but less
clever creatures could not. Yet the shortest two-leg stood
more than two People-lengths in height. Even if their
tools had been no better than the People's (and Climbs
Quickly knew they were much, much better) their greater
size would have made them far more effective. And if there
was no sign that the two-legs intended to threaten the
People, there was also no sign they did not, so no doubt
it was fortunate they were so easy to spy upon.
Climbs Quickly slowed as he reached the final cross-
branch. He sat for long, still moments, cream and gray
coat blending into invisibility against trunks and
branches veiled in a fine spray of tight green buds,
motionless but for a single true-hand which groomed his
whiskers reflexively. He listened carefully, with ears and
thoughts alike, and those ears pricked as he tasted the
faint mind glow that indicated the presence of two-legs.
It wasn't the clear, bright communication it would have
been from one of the People, for the two-legs appeared to
be mind-blind, yet there was something ... nice about it.
Which was odd, for whatever else they were, the two-legs
were very unlike the People. The memory singers of every
clan had sent their songs sweeping far and wide when the
two-legs first appeared twelve season-turnings back.
They'd sought any song of any other clan which might tell
them something-anything-about these strange creatures and
whence they had come ... or at least why.
No one had been able to answer those questions, yet the
memory singers of the Blue Mountain Dancing Clan and the
Fire Runs Fast Clan had remembered a very old song-one
which went back almost two hundred turnings. The song
offered no clue to the two-legs' origins or purpose, but
it did tell of the very first time the People had ever
seen two-legs and how the long ago scout who'd brought it
back to his singers had seen their egg-shaped silver thing
come down out of the very sky in light and fire and a
sound more terrible than any thunder.
That had been enough to send the People of that time
scurrying into hiding, and they'd watched from the shadows
and leaves-much as Climbs Quickly did now. The first scout
to see the masters of that silver egg emerge from it had
been joined by others, set to watch the fascinating
creatures from a safe distance, but no one had approached
the intruders. Perhaps they might have, had not a death
fang attempted to eat one of the two-legs.
People didn't like death fangs. The huge creatures looked
much like outsized People, but unlike People, they were
far from clever. Not that something their size really
needed to be clever. Death fangs were the biggest,
strongest, most deadly hunters in all the world. Unlike
People, they often killed for the sheer pleasure of it,
and they feared nothing that lived ... except the People.
They never passed up the opportunity to eat a single scout
or hunter if they happened across one stupid enough to be
caught on the ground, but even death fangs avoided the
heart of any clan's range. Individual size meant little
when an entire clan swarmed down from the trees to attack.
Yet the death fang who attacked one of the two-legs had
discovered something new to fear. None of the watching
People had ever heard anything like the ear
shattering "Craaack!" from the tubular thing the two-leg
carried, but the charging death fang had suddenly
somersaulted end-for-end, crashed to the ground, and lain
still, with a bloody hole blown clear through it.
Once they got over their immediate shock, the watching
scouts had taken a fierce delight in the death fang's
fate, but anything that could kill a death fang with a
single bark could certainly do the same to one of the
People, and so the decision had been made to avoid the two-
legs until the watchers learned more about them.
Unfortunately, the scouts were still watching from hiding
when, after perhaps a quarter turning, they dismantled the
strange, square living places in which they had dwelt,
went back into their egg, and disappeared once more into
the sky.
All of that had been long, long ago, and Climbs Quickly
regretted that no more had been learned of them before
they left. He understood the need for caution, yet he
wished the Blue Mountain Dancing scouts had been just a
little less careful. Perhaps then the People might have
been able to decide what the two-legs wanted-or what the
People should do about them-between their first arrival
and their reappearance.
Personally, Climbs Quickly thought those first two-legs
had been scouts, as he himself was. Certainly it would
have made sense for the two-legs to send scouts ahead; any
clan did the same when expanding or changing its range.
Yet if that was the case, why had the rest of their clan
delayed so long before following them? And why did the two-
legs spread themselves so thinly? The living place in the
clearing he'd come to watch had required great labor by
over a dozen two-legs to create, even with their clever
tools, and it was large enough for a full clan. Yet its
builders had simply gone away when they finished. It had
stood completely empty for over ten days, and even now it
housed only three of the two-legs, one of them-unless
Climbs Quickly was mistaken-but a youngling. He sometimes
wondered what had happened to the youngling's litter
mates, but the important point was that the way in which
the two-legs dispersed their living places must surely
deprive them of any communication with their fellows.
That was one reason many of the watchers believed two-legs
were unlike People in all ways, not just their size and
shape and tools. It was the ability to communicate with
their fellows which made People people, after all. Only
unthinking creatures-like the death fangs, or the snow
hunters, or those upon whom the People themselves preyed-
lived sealed within themselves, so if the two-legs were
not only mind-blind but chose to avoid even their own
kind, they could not be people. But Climbs Quickly
disagreed. He couldn't fully explain why, even to himself,
yet he was convinced the two-legs were, in fact, people-of
a sort, at least. They fascinated him, and he'd listened
again and again to the song of the first two-legs and
their egg, both in an effort to understand what it was
they'd wanted and because even now that song carried
overtones of something he thought he had tasted from the
two-legs he spied upon.
Unfortunately, the song had been worn smooth by too many
singers before Sings Truly first sang it for Bright Water
Clan. That often happened to older songs or those which
had been relayed for great distances, and this song was
both ancient and from far away. Though its images remained
clear and sharp, they had been subtly shaped and shadowed
by all the singers who had come before Sings Truly. Climbs
Quickly knew what the two-legs of the song had done, but
he knew nothing about why they'd done it, and the
interplay of so many singers' minds had blurred any mind
glow the long ago watchers might have tasted.
Climbs Quickly had shared what he thought he'd picked up
from "his" two-legs only with Sings Truly. It was his duty
to report to the memory singers, of course, and so he had.
But he'd implored Sings Truly to keep his suspicions only
in her own song for now, for some of the other scouts
would have laughed uproariously at them. Sings Truly
hadn't laughed, but neither had she rushed to agree with
him, and he knew she longed to travel in person to the
Blue Mountain Dancing or Fire Runs Fast Clan's range to
receive the original song from their senior singers. But
that was out of the question. Singers were the core of any
clan, the storehouse of memory and dispensers of wisdom.
They were always female, and their loss could not be
risked, whatever Sings Truly might want. Unless a clan was
fortunate enough to have a surplus of singers, it must
protect its potential supply of replacements by denying
them more dangerous tasks. Climbs Quickly understood that,
but he found its implications a bit harder to live with
than the clan's other scouts and hunters did. There could
be disadvantages to being a memory singer's brother when
she chose to sulk over the freedoms her role denied
her ... and allowed him.
Climbs Quickly gave another soft chitter of laughter (it
was safe enough; Sings Truly was too far away to taste his
thoughts), then crept stealthily out to the last trunk. He
climbed easily to its highest fork and settled down on the
comfortable pad of leaves and branches. The cold days'
ravages required a few repairs, but there was no hurry. It
remained serviceable, and it would be many days yet before
the slowly budding leaves could provide the needed
materials, anyway.
In a way, he would be unhappy when the leaves did open. In
their absence, bright sunlight spilled through the thin
upper branches, pouring down with gentle warmth, and he
stretched out on his belly with a sigh of pleasure. He
folded his true-hands under his chin and settled himself
for a long wait. Scouts learned early to be patient. If
they needed help with that lesson, there were teachers
enough-from falls to hungry death fangs-to drive it home.
Climbs Quickly had never needed such instruction, which,
even more than his relationship to Sings Truly, was why he
was second only to Short Tail, Bright Water Clan's chief
scout ... and why he'd been chosen to keep watch on these
two-legs since their arrival.
So now he waited, motionless in the warm sunlight, and
watched the sharp-topped stone living place the two-legs
had built in the center of the clearing.
Chapter Two
"I mean it, Stephanie!" Richard Harrington said. "I don't
want you wandering off into those woods again without me
or your mom along. Is that clear?"
"Oh, Daaaddy-" Stephanie began, only to close her mouth
sharply when her father folded his arms. Then the toe of
his right foot started tapping the carpet lightly, and her
heart sank. This wasn't going well at all, and she
resented that reflection on her ... negotiating skill
almost as much as she resented the restriction she was
trying to avoid. She was eleven T-years old, smart, an
only child, a daughter, and cute as a button. That gave
her certain advantages, and she'd become an expert at
wrapping her father around her finger almost as soon as
she could talk. She rather suspected that much of her
success came from the fact that he was perfectly willing
to be so wrapped, but that was all right as long as it
worked. Unfortunately, her mother had always been a
tougher customer ... and even her father was
unscrupulously willing to abandon his proper pliancy when
he decided the situation justified it.
Like now.
"We're not going to discuss this further," he said with
ominous calm. "Just because you haven't seen any hexapumas
or peak bears doesn't mean they aren't out there."
"But I've been stuck inside with nothing to do all
winter," she said as reasonably as she could, easily
suppressing a twinge of conscience as she neglected to
mention snowball fights, cross-country skiing, sleds, and
certain other diversions. "I want to go outside and see
things!"
"I know you do, honey," her father said more gently,
reaching out to tousle her curly brown hair. "But it's
dangerous out there. This isn't Meyerdahl, you know."
Stephanie rolled her eyes and looked martyred, and his
expression showed a flash of regret at having let the last
sentence slip out. "If you really want something to do,
why don't you run into Twin Forks with Mom this
afternoon?"
"Because Twin Forks is a complete null, Daddy."
Exasperation colored Stephanie's reply, even though she
knew it was a tactical error.