8.
Three Tails, Three Saves
As soon as the danger had passed, my stomach began to whine, as if it had been waiting to complain until things were safe.
Tobble startled. “What was that?”
“My stomach. I’m hungry.”
“My stomach growls when it’s hungry.”
“Ours whine.” I stood carefully, nosing the air for any sign that the poachers hadn’t actually left. “That guide,” I said. “I feel certain he saw us.”
“But why wouldn’t he have said something?”
“I don’t know.” I shook my head. “It makes no sense.”
I realized at that moment that I was utterly exhausted. The mad leap off the cliff, the impossible glide, the salt water followed by rain, the cold, the fear: I just wanted to be home, safe in the huddle of my sleeping family.
I’d been curious enough for one day.
I looked at Tobble and wondered what to do with him. I didn’t know much about hunting. But I had the feeling you weren’t supposed to converse with your prey.
Tobble seemed to sense what I was thinking. “You do realize you cannot eat me until I return the favor of saving your life?”
Despite myself I smiled. “You’re going to save my life?”
“What I lack in stature I make up for in spirit.” Tobble dusted wet dirt off his rear end. “Besides, it’s Wobbyk Code. You saved my life; I must save yours three times.”
“Why thrice?”
“Because that’s the rule.”
“But why is that the rule?”
“Because I have three tails.”
I frowned. “But that doesn’t make any sense.”
“I don’t make the rules. But I do obey them.”
A noise like thunder rumbled again in the distance. We both flinched, worried the noise might now signal returning hooves rather than angry sky.
“There’s no need to thank me,” I said. Especially, I added silently, since under different circumstances I might well be feasting on you for dinner.
“So. Where to?” asked Tobble.
“You’re not coming with me. My pack has been living on worms and bark for weeks. They’ll eat you in a flash.”
“That’s a risk I’ll simply have to take.”
“You may not come,” I said firmly, surprising myself with the voice my parents so often used on me.
“And yet I shall.”
I decided to try logic. “You’ll slow me down. And you’ll make too much noise.”
“If you think I’ll make noise on the ground, then let me ride on your back. I’m too big for your pouch.” Tobble jutted out his fuzzy chin. “Three times,” he said. “Wobbyk Code. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”
“I could if I ate you,” I muttered, trying to sound intimidating.
Before I could say another word, Tobble climbed up onto my back. “I do hope you don’t mind,” he said.
“That there’s a furry meal hugging my neck?” I asked. “As it happens, I do mind.”
“It seems I’ve neglected to ask your name,” Tobble said, ignoring me.
I sighed. Loudly and with feeling. “It’s Byx.”
“Byx,” he repeated. “A fine name indeed for a fine dairne.” He leaned close to my ear and whispered, “If that’s really what you are.”
I twisted my head and sent him a grimace. “Just a jest,” he said with a wide grin. “Don’t mind me.”
“That may prove difficult.”
Circling back meant a longer return trip, but I wanted
to be very sure I didn’t accidentally lead the poachers to the mirabear hive.
The sky was covered with clouds and the sunset wasn’t far off. I went east, then north, then at last turned in a straight line toward my temporary home and my permanent family.
Tobble didn’t weigh much, but the question of what I was going to do with him once I got to the hive definitely weighed on my mind. At least he’d provide a distraction from the bigger question of why I’d strayed so far.
In any case, even hungry dairnes are civilized. If I claimed Tobble was a friend, I doubted anyone in the pack would try to eat him. They would, however, want to know why I’d befriended a potential meal.
I tried one more time. “You truly should hop off and be on your way,” I told Tobble.
“I understand your concern.” He ducked his head as I raced through stinging brambles. “But I can fend for myself.”
“With what?” I half hoped he had some unrevealed power.
“With my derring-do,” Tobble said confidently. “Let me just say this: You do not want to see me mad. I am a terrible sight to behold.”
“I’ll remember that,” I said, trying not to smile.
“So where are we headed? Your home?”
“Yes. No. We don’t really have homes,” I said. “We move from place to place. Never too long in one spot.”
“I thought you nested in trees. That’s what I always heard.”
“We used to. Not anymore. My parents taught us how to make nests, though. It takes a lot of practice. We weave silk from orb webs, bog reeds, and willow branches, and line the nests with moss and thistledown.”
“I’m impressed. Of course, it probably helps that you dairnes have thumbs.”
“They’re quite useful.” I wiggled them in the air.
“Show-off,” said Tobble. “I’ll bet you can’t do this.”
I turned my head to see his huge ears spinning like tiny cyclones, twisting and untwisting.
“Intriguing,” I said. “What purpose does that serve?”
“None whatsoever,” Tobble said with a grin.
After a few more minutes I stopped, checking for anything new. I had an odd sense that something wasn’t right, although the wind brought me no useful news. I smelled pine sap and mold. Willowweed and ginger flowers. I heard a crimson owl fussing with her nest in the crook of a spruce.
“Do you hear anything?” I asked.
“Nope,” Tobble said. “And with my ears, I hear everything.”
I concentrated again. Nothing. Nothing I could name, anyway. Of course, that feeling often hit me when I’d made an unwise choice. Only afterward did the risk of what I’d done fully register.
My explorations had, for the most part, been careful. Timid, even. But today I’d gone too far. I was not looking forward to explaining myself to my parents. Still, I wanted to get home as quickly as I could. I’d made a big mistake, a very big one. I wanted to avoid any more.
“We live underground,” Tobble volunteered, perhaps trying to distract me from my worries. “In amazing tunnels. They go on for leagues. I have my very own room. It’s gigantic. And luxurious.”
“That’s nice,” I said as I started walking again, even faster than before.
“I share it with my brothers Blaxton, Roopwart, and Piddlecombe.”