“Thank you for stating the obvious.”
“There’s almost a human-ish quality to your demeanor.” Tobble circled me as we walked. “On the other hand, I just watched humans try to kill you.” Another head tilt. “Still and all, humans are well known for killing each other.”
“I’m a dairne,” I repeated firmly. “And you’re a wobbyk. And for the record, dairnes eat wobbyks.”
Tobble snorted. “There are no dairnes,” he said, as certainly as if he’d just stated that water is wet. Which was certainly proving to be true.
“And yet here I stand before you, wet and cold and hungry. I’ll admit there aren’t as many of us as there used to be. But I can assure you that I know what I am.”
We scrambled up the fallen cliff face and plunged at last into the shadow of the trees. The rain still fell, but the canopy of branches overhead kept most of it from hitting us.
“I just don’t understand,” Tobble continued. “Dairnes are . . . no more.” His voice was low, as if he were telling me a scary bedtime tale. “My father said so. My grandfather. My great-grandfather. You’re, if you’ll excuse the word—I realize it’s a bit harsh—you’re extinct.”
I stopped moving and stood as tall as I could manage. At full height, I towered over the little wobbyk. “Now I’m certain I’m going to eat you.”
“You saved my life. You can’t eat me.”
“Setting aside the fact that I don’t exist and so cannot be
held to any rule, why is that?” My own whisper was too loud, and I reminded myself to be quiet.
“It’s just not done. It’s impolite.” Tobble twisted his head around, raised one of his tails, and licked it. “So who was that trying to kill you?”
“Poachers,” I said. “You’re changing the subject.”
“And now I shall thank you for stating the obvious.” Tobble smiled. “Poachers don’t bother wobbyks much.”
“Probably because you taste like turtle.”
“I don’t know whether to be insulted or relieved.”
“They kill us for our fur,” I said.
“May I?” Tobble asked, pointing to my arm. When I shrugged, he timidly patted my shoulder. “Even damp,” he marveled, “you are remarkably soft.”
I shrugged. “My father says the whole world is trying to kill dairnes these days.”
A branch snapped, and Tobble grabbed my arm.
We froze in place.
I studied the air with my nose. Tobble’s left ear swiveled like the head of a skittish owl.
“There!” He pointed. “They’re waiting for us!”
7.
The Poachers Return
I motioned for the wobbyk to stay low—unnecessary, given that a wobbyk standing on tiptoes is still shorter than a dairne creeping on all fours. Leading the way, tree trunk to tree trunk, I calculated each step for silence.
The scents of human and horse and dog grew stronger. I strained my ears but heard nothing but my thudding heart.
It was the dogs I feared. The nose of a dog is almost as talented as a dairne’s. But the breeze was my friend, blowing them to me and concealing us. One human was nearer, I was sure of it. The others were farther back with the horses.
With movements so slow and cautious that I doubted any predator, human or otherwise, could detect them, I pushed aside the brambles of a billerberry bush.
And there he was.
He stood alone near a fallen log in a small clearing, intense
concentration on his face. Slender and tall, he was dressed in simple peasant clothes: a faded brown shirt beneath a leather jerkin, fastened with a belt, woolen trousers, and tall buff leather boots.
I knew almost nothing about human emotions, and yet I sensed, somehow, that this one was anxious.
No, more than that: he was angry.
“Did ya ever catch sight of it again, guide?” It was not the slender boy but a yell from deeper in the forest.
“No, master,” the boy called back. “Drownt in the sea, most likely.”
I heard the faint sound of horses stamping their hooves impatiently. Nearby I heard two sets of feet—human, I thought—plodding through the underbrush.
Two bearded men came into view on either side of the boy. One was short and heavyset. The other, tall and gaunt, I recognized as the leader of the poachers. They were dressed in cast-off bits of armor over leather jerkins. Each had a sword, a bow, and two knives.
“What was it, d’ya think?” asked the leader.
“Thought it was a wolf, or a dog, maybe,” said the other. “But the way it practically flew right off that cliff? I’m thinkin’ it had to be a dairne.”
“Never seen a dairne in my life. Never met a soul who’s seen one.” The leader leaned against a thick pine tree, arms
crossed. “Boy, what d’ya think it was?”
“I’m not sure,” the guide answered. “S’pose we’ll never know.”
“They say dairne fur’s the softest and warmest in the world. One pelt’d feed us all for a year, and then some,” said the short man.
“True,” said the guide, “but I daresay a dairne would fetch far more alive, rare as they are.”
“Cursed creatures.” The short man spit. “My grandfather saw two back when he was a boy. Claimed their noses were bewitched. They can smell a fart a hundred furlongs off.”
The leader grunted a laugh. “Here’s hopin’ where there’s one dairne, there’s more.”
“If we do catch sight of one,” said the boy, “please don’t kill it.” He paused when the leader sent him a dark look. “I just mean to say it’ll be more coin in our pockets if we can capture it.”
“Worth plenty dead, and quicker by half,” the leader grumbled. “Speakin’ o’ which, I ever hear you scream, ‘Don’t kill it!’ in the middle of a hunt again, and it’ll be your pelt we’re takin’ to market.”
The boy looked at the ground. “Yes, master.”
“Where to, then, boy,” asked the leader, “seein’ as you’re so clever?”
The guide turned, then stood still as stone, staring into the trees.
He was looking in our direction. Despite the thick cover of the billerberry bush, I sensed that he saw us.
The men fell silent.
The guide closed his eyes.
“He’s catchin’ the trackin’ spell again,” the first man said.
“Then shut your gob and let him at it.”
The guide’s eyes opened. In spite of the distance between us, I could see that they were deep brown, heavy lidded and thoughtful.
“Head north,” he called to the men. “I’ll grab my mount and catch up with you.”
The older men moved away. The boy waited in silence, taking in the scene. Then he, too, departed.
But before he disappeared into the trees, he stopped and glanced back toward us, and I thought, though I could not be sure, that he was smiling.