Free Ratha’s Creature (The First Book of The Named) by Clare Bell

but would leap and crackle happily over dry needles and twigs. It also displayed a disconcerting relish for fur and whiskers. Ratha was careful to keep hers well out of its reach.
    The fire burned fast and grew large. The waves of heat made Ratha’s eyes water. She stopped feeding it and soon it grew small again.
    The song of a bird far across the burn made Ratha lift her head. She saw that it was evening. The sun’s edge was slipping below the horizon and the red-streaked sky was fading to violet. A single cricket began chirping; then the chorus joined in. Ratha listened to the noises, muted by the night and the soft hiss of the dying Red Tongue.
    The burn lay open beneath the star-filled sky. With no trees to hold the day’s heat and break the wind, the air grew cold. Ratha, prowling in the shadows beyond the firelight, fluffed her fur and shivered, despite the summer stars overhead.
    When she came back and lay down by the flame, it spread its warmth over her; her shivering stopped. She yawned and stretched her pads toward the flame. She hadn’t felt so warm and comfortable since she was a nursling curled up in the den with her mother. She rolled onto her front, tucked her forepaws under her breast and fell into a light doze, waking now and then to feed her fire.
    The night grew colder. A harsh wind hissed in the trees. Ratha crept closer to the fire. She gathered a bundle of twigs and moved it nearby so that she need not leave her creature’s warmth to search for the food it needed. The fire’s sound became friendlier to her ears and she thought, sleepily, that her creature was purring. The sound lulled her and she dozed.
     
    * * *
     
    Ratha woke, not knowing what had disturbed her. She lay still, peering through half-closed eyes, her chin on the ground, trying not to sneeze despite the flaky ash that stung and teased her nose. A slight tremor in the ground beneath her chin told her someone was coming.
    Thakur? Fessran? The intruder moved downwind of her and she could catch no scent.
    She heard two sets of footsteps; one in counterpoint to the other. Two pairs of eyes glinted, green stars in the dark. She saw two forms; one hung back; the other approached. Firelight painted the newcomer’s coat with dancing shadows as it crept out of the night into the Red Tongue’s circle. The intruder raised a wary head, squinting into the flame, and Ratha saw that it was Fessran.
    She crouched, limbs tensed, muscles bunched, her belly fur brushing the ground. She took a few quick steps and stopped, her flanks quivering. Ratha watched her pupils dwindle to points as she looked past the flame.
    “You are still strong, wretched creature,” Ratha heard her hiss. “Did you kill the one who tamed you and eat her to gain your strength?”
    Ratha sat up. Fessran’s head turned sharply, her neck fur bristling in spikes. “Ratha?”
    “Here, Fessran. Behind the Red Tongue.”
    “So the thing hasn’t eaten you even though it is stronger than before. You told me it was dying.”
    “It was.” Ratha skirted the fire, came to Fessran, extended her neck to touch noses, but there was no answering nudge. Ratha drew her head back, wary of the other’s raised hackles and narrowed eyes. “It needed to eat,” she said, feeling awkward, yet slightly proud. “I found what it wanted. I fed it and kept it alive.”
    “Ptah! Thakur and I have journeyed here for nothing. Keep your creature. Feed it and play with it all night if you want. My summer coat isn’t thick enough for this wind. I go.”
    “Fessran.” Ratha pawed her flank.
    Fessran said, her ears back, “I have run far in the cold this night. You begged me to return. You told me the Red Tongue would be dead by then. Ptah!”
    Ratha retreated as Fessran spat. The two eyed each other. Fessran lowered her head and turned away. “Are you cold now?” Ratha asked.
    “Yarr?” Fessran halted and looked back.
    “You are cross because you were cold,” Ratha said patiently. “Are