Free Ratha’s Challenge (The Fourth Book of The Named) by Clare Bell Page B

distant, but Thistle had no doubt they saw her and recognized her. Why didn’t they chase her away?
    Perhaps they know that I tried to help.
    Her belly rumbled again and she swallowed. Would they mind if she had just a little of the meat and melon? She crept toward the nearest piece, sniffed it, and almost jumped out of her pelt when the wounded male pushed it toward her with his nose.
    Thinking that the others might not approve of his act, she glanced at them, tensing to flee if anyone showed raised hackles. But no one did. Soon she was gulping face-tail meat and crunching moist melon, enjoying its juicy coolness on her tongue.
    Once the wounded male had eaten, he rested and then tried to groom himself. The bleeding from his tusk wound had dwindled to a slow seepage, but Thistle feared that if he twisted around to lick himself, he might start bleeding again.
    “Don’t try,” she said softly. “Will do it for you.”
    He looked faintly baffled at her words but seemed to understand her intent. He lay quietly as she worked on him, using her teeth and raspy tongue to clean the fur around the wound. Several of the hunters gathered around, as if to watch, although their odd, dreamy gaze made Thistle feel as though they were looking right through her.
    She was startled when one spoke. The voice was light, female. “True-of-voice has learned of the hurt done to Quiet Hunter.”
    Thistle, unsure whether the speaker was talking to her or not, glanced at her companion. He was washing his face, but he paused, put his paw down, and lay, eyes closed, ears forward as if listening.
    “True-of-voice sings healing,” said someone else.
    Thistle itched with curiosity. Who was this True-of-voice? A clan leader, like her mother, Ratha? She realized that she didn’t know if the unknown singer was male or female. He or she might even be right here, watching. Thistle had no way to tell.
    These people... so strange. Know why Thakur could not talk to them.
    She felt lost and uneasy. What if this True-of-voice found out about her, realized that she was an outsider, ordered the others to attack her?
    In her uncertainty she had moved close to the wounded male and was now huddling against him.
    “The song’s healing is for all.” She both heard and felt her companion’s voice as it vibrated through his body.
    If you can hear it, she thought, her ears twitching crossly. Did hear it once. Had to go deep inside myself.
    Dare she try that again? It would leave her open, vulnerable, dream-entranced.
    But they are all like that, too.
    She glanced around at the cat shapes surrounding her. Their eyes never met hers and they avoided her gaze as if it was too sharp, too direct. She felt left out, as if everyone were speaking a silent language she could not understand.
    Her only choice was to go ... inside.
    Again she pushed away her feeling of identity, of self. There was no one named Thistle-chaser. There was no one with a name. There was nobody and no names....
    And she, without self, without name, walked in mist-shrouded caverns, following a haunting, distant call. It had a voice, but no words. It did not need speech. The rise and fall of the voice itself spoke with an eloquence beyond words. It drew her like the scent of one beloved, and she realized that it was not just a sound but a scent as well—distant, tenuous, yet powerful just as the voice was. It resonated not only in her senses, but in her whole being.
    The desire in her grew frantic. Her longing to find the singer, to feel surrounded by the strength and sureness of the song, hurtled her headlong through the depths of herself.
    There were no questions in the song. There were no doubts. The voice, the smell, the feeling, all promised an end to uncertainty. She would not need to seek. The singer, the song... already knew.
    That was why the singer was called True-of-voice.
    To one who walked so much on the edge, to one for whom the questions overwhelmed the answers, the song was a lure that