Free Tailchaser's Song by Tad Williams Page B

know, my lord, but it is unusual for my Folk to hunt in such large numbers,” said Tailchaser thoughtfully.
    Snap deliberated for a moment. “You good-cat. Keep-keep promise. Sacred Oak binds. First time Rikchikchik owe cat-folk favor since Root-in-Ground. T-t-t-teach you thing—you need-need help, Rikchikchik give. Yes?” Fritti nodded, surprised. “Good-cat have troubles, sing: ‘Mrikkarrikarek-Snap,’ get help. Sing!”
    Fritti tried: “Mreowarriksnap.” Lord Snap repeated the phrase, and Fritti tried again, troubled by the difficult squirrelish sounds. Over and over he repeated it, tasting the odd chattering feel. All the Rikchikchik leaned forward, encouraging him, showing him how to make the noises.
    If Stretchslow saw this he’d really have a laugh, thought Fritti.
    Finally he approximated it closely enough to satisfy the old squirrel-lord.
    “In my so-so-nice forest, you use for help. Also sing for certain in trees of brother, Lord Pop. Further ... Snap-knows-not.”
    The old squirrel leaned forward and fixed Tailchaser with his gleaming eyes. “Other thing. You hunt Rikchikchik, no help. Promise gone-gone. Rule of Leaf and Bough. Agree, good-cat?” Snap looked at him cunningly.
    Fritti was taken by surprise. “I ... I suppose so. Yes, I promise.” A gasp of pleasure went up from the attending squirrels, and Lord Snap beamed with delight, showing his worn incisors.
    “Good, most-good.” He chuckled. “Is bargain-bargain.” The Rikchikchik chief gestured with his tail to the squirrel who had brought Tailchaser. “Master Click, take cat-folk down tree.”
    “Yes, Lord Snap,” said Click. Fritti—sensing the end of his interview—began to inch backward along the narrow tree limb. The squirrels chattered brightly behind him. He thought he heard Whir and Fizz bid him good-journey.
    As he descended behind the brisk and efficient Click, Tailchaser reflected with chagrin on the bargain he had just struck with the Rikchikchik.
    All I have to do is meet the King of the Birds and the King of the Field Mice, he thought sourly, and I’ll most likely starve to death.
     
    The waning moments of Stretching Sun had turned the sky above the great forest into flame. The glow of the setting sun reached through the tangled branches and speckled the leafy ground at Tailchaser’s feet. On the eve of his journey’s first night he padded on, deeper and deeper into the ancient secrecy of the Old Woods.
    He was hungry. He had not eaten since Final Dancing of the previous day.
    Suddenly, as if it had been swallowed up by the Venris Hound, the light disappeared. In the half-moment it took his eyes to adjust, Fritti was blinded.
    He paused, and as his night vision compensated for the sudden darkness, Tailchaser shook his head and shivered. To live always in darkness! Harar! How could the hole-dwellers and burrow-sleepers stand it? He thanked the Allmother for having brought him into the fields as one of the Folk, who enjoyed all their senses.
    Continuing on his way with the effortless stealth native to his race, Tailchaser noted the nighttime life of the great woods in its first flowering. His whiskers received the faint heat-pulses of small creatures cautiously emerging to test the evening. All their movements were tentative, though—cautious and hesitant. Fritti himself was a factor most of them were already aware of. The small animal that charged headlong from its huddling place at first dark did not usually live long enough to pass its foolishness along to offspring.
    Thinking of food now, Fritti moved with control, each step coming down on packed ground that would betray no sound. He wanted to find a place where the air currents moved in more favorable ways, or did not move at all: he was going to effect a trap. He had walked hungry for too long, and did not want to wait for a chance kill.
    Besides, Grassnestle, his mother, had taught him hunting lore, after all. He was not going to be forced into digging up