The youngling, from his sagging defensive posture, turned a drooping eye in Fritti’s direction, but showed no sign of recognition. The fox turned sharply to look at the oncoming Tailchaser, but gave no ground. When Fritti drew to a halt a jump or two away, the Visl barked a warning.

“Come no closer, bark-scrabbler! I will do for you, also!”

Tailchaser could now see that the Visl was a female, and despite her ruffled hackles, not much bigger than he. She was thin, too, and her legs were trembling—whether from anger or fear, Fritti could not tell.

“Why do you menace this cat, hunt-sister?” sang Fritti, slowly and soothingly. “Has he done wrong to you? He is my cousin-son, and I must stand for him.”

The ritualistic question seemed to calm the fox a little, but she did not back off. “He menaced my pups,” she said, panting. “I will fight you both if I must.”

Her pups! Tailchaser understood the situation better. Fox mothers, just as the matriarchs of the Folk, would do anything to protect their litters. He looked at her protruding ribs. It must have been a difficult autumn for mother and young.

“How was your family menaced?” Tailchaser inquired. Pouncequick, a jump away, was staring fixedly at the Visl, seemingly unaware of Fritti’s presence.

The she-fox looked at Fritti appraisingly. “In the morning-dark, I had taken the pups out prowling,” she began, “when I smelled predators—large ones. The scent was unfamiliar, but it had something of badgers, and something of cats. I hurried the pups down to the den and lay on them to keep them quiet, but the danger smell did not go away. So I decided to lead whatever lurked out there away from the nest. I told the pups to stay where they were, then broke from a second burrow entrance.

“The smell was very strong—the predators were near. I showed myself briefly and ran. After a moment, I heard something following. I took them down-ravine, and up the basin’s edge. I even exposed myself to sight on the long meadow, in hopes of getting a moon-glimpse of what pursued me—”

“What were they?” Tailchaser interrupted. The Visl glared at him, and her hackles bristled. Patience! Tailchaser chided himself.

“I don’t know, cat,” she said harshly. “They were too smart to follow out onto the grassland.

“When they didn’t appear, I had to double back, for fear they had given me up and gone back to seek the den. As I said, though, they were cruelly clever ... they were waiting for me when I reentered the scrub wood, and I had to run like Renred to get away. They kept to shadows and underbrush, though. I don’t even know to a certainty how many there were. More than three, I think.”

Fritti admired the fox mother for her bravery. He wondered if he would be as selfless in a similar situation. The Visl spoke again.

“Anyway, I ran and ran—far enough that I felt safe for my young—and finally left them in a gorse thicket with a few false scents to chase.... I hope you’re listening very carefully. I seldom speak to cats, and I never repeat myself for them!”

“I am listening with great interest, hunt-sister.”

“Very well.” The fox looked somewhat mollified. Fritti hoped that they could settle whatever kittenish mistake Pouncequick had made without resorting to claw and tooth.

“Well, after taking a confusing route back, I arrived at my nest to hear my pups making a terrible noise: barking and yelping and calling for me. I found this little monster in the nest with them. Obviously, the others had led me off, and he had then snuck in to do harm to my young!” Again she bristled. Tailchaser was about to say something calming when Pouncequick cried out shrilly. Fritti and the fox turned to see the kitten starting forward, panting.

“No! No! I was hiding! Hiding!” cried Pouncequick piteously. “Hiding from them!” The kitten began to shiver uncontrollably. Fritti, worried for his little friend, began to move slowly toward him.

“Hunt-sister, in your understandable concern for your litter, I think you have mistaken another victim for one of the wrongdoers.” He was at Pouncequick’s side now. The little cat buried his nose miserably in Tailchaser’s flank and whimpered. The fox pinned Fritti with a shrewd gaze.

“What is your name, cat?”

“Tailchaser, of the Meeting Wall Clan,” he replied respectfully. His soft singing seemed to have prevented conflict.

“I am called Karthwine,” said the fox simply. “I will allow you to take your cousin-son without malice. You, however, must take the responsibility for keeping him out of the dens of my Folk. If I find him again near my pups, there will be no compromise.”

“That is more than fair, Karthwine,” said Tailchaser, giving a little head-dip of acceptance. The she-Visl looked him up and down, then turned a final glance to Pouncequick, whose face was hidden against Tailchaser’s belly.

“You sing well, Tailchaser,” the fox said slowly, taking care with her words. “But do not think to rely on that alone in this world. We foxes sing, too, and we know many things. But we also teach our pups how to bite.” She turned and stalked away in great solemnity.

The dawn was breaking above them as Tailchaser lay with a shuddering Pouncequick, singing quiet songs of reassurance. After a while, when the kitten’s terror had subsided, Fritti led him back to the sleeping tree and curled up around him. As the morning sun rose, covering the woodland floor with crisscrossed shadows,‘they fell asleep.

Fritti raised his head and saw the young catling up and frolicking, soft fur aclutter with pine needles and dead leaves. When Fritti rose and stretched he discovered a great soreness in his muscles. Watching the gamboling kitten with envy, he decided that he would have to set an easier pace until he became more accustomed to this steady traveling.

Pouncequick, still cavorting happily while Fritti sunned his aching legs and paws, seemed to have recovered completely from the terrors of the night before. When Fritti asked him about what had happened, however, a shade of disquiet came into the youngling’s eyes.

“Can we talk about it after we eat, Tailchaser?” he asked. “I’m very hungry!”

Fritti assented, and the next part of the afternoon was spent in a none-too-effectual hunt—spoiled in a large part by Pouncequick’s tendency to squeak when excited. They did manage to capture a couple of beetles, which—strangely ticklish going down—were at least filling. After finding a still but drinkable puddle of water, they settled down in the shade to digest.

The long, sleepy silence was broken only by the lulling whir of unseen insects. Then, as Fritti felt himself drifting into sleep, Pouncequick began to talk.

“I know I shouldn’t have followed you, Tailchaser. I’m sure I’ll be a burden, but I want so much to help you. You have been kind to me many times, when Fleetpaw and the rest just cuffed me about, or teased me.

“I knew you wouldn’t let me come, though, so I hid until you set out, and then I tracked you. All by myself!” he added proudly.

“Ah. So that’s why you were asking about my leave-taking among the Folk.”

“That’s right. I wanted to know where you were leaving from. I’m not that good a tracker,” he added a little morosely, then brightened. “Anyway, I kept my nose to the ground and followed. Everything went fairly well until midday or so; then I became confused.

“For a while it seemed like your trail had turned into someone else‘s, and then it doubled back on itself, and up and down trees—at least it smelled that way. I got very confused and wandered around for a while; when I found the track again, your traces were pretty cold. I followed as best I could, but it was getting dark, and I was hungry. Actually, I still am. Could we go find a few more beetles or something?”

“Later, Pouncequick,” snorted Fritti. “Later. First I want to hear the rest of your song, little cu‘nre.”

“Oh, yes. Well, I was trying to make up ground on you—hoping you would stop to sleep, or something—when I heard the most awful noise. It was a huge group of birds, and they were all twittering and shrieking at the same time. I looked up, and there were hundreds of them—a whole cloud of fla-fa‘az—all flying like mad around this tree, and making a terrible fuss.

“I went to the base of the tree, naturally, to see what was going on.

“It must have been horrible up top. There were piles of dead fla-fa‘az, ripped and bitten, and feathers everywhere, floating down from the upper branches. And when I looked up, I could see eyes!”

“What do you mean, ‘eyes’?” Fritti questioned.

“Eyes. Big, pale-yellow ones—like nothing I’ve ever seen. There were too many branches in the way for me to see anything else, but I know I wasn’t mistaken. Then whatever it was made a hissing noise at me, and I ran. I think it came down the tree after me, Tailchaser, because the birds stopped making that terrible ruckus—but I didn’t look back to find out. I just ran.” Pouncequick paused for a moment with his eyes closed, then continued.

“I think that there might have been more than one, from the sounds I heard. They were fast, and if I wasn’t small—able to get under bushes and such—they would have caught me. I have never been so frightened—not even when a Growler was after me.

“Finally, I could barely run anymore. I was slowing down. I couldn’t hear anything behind me, though, so I stopped to listen more carefully.

“I was standing there with my ears up, and something reached out from under a rock and grabbed me!”

“From under a rock?” said Tailchaser incredulously.

“I swear by the First! It grabbed my leg! Here, see these scratches!” Pouncequick displayed his wounds. “You won’t believe this either, Tailchaser, but the thing that grabbed me, whatever it was ... it had red claws!”

“Well, you said that something was killing the birds you saw. It was probably blood.”

“After half an Hour of chasing me over dirt and brambles? It would have come clean. Besides, this wasn’t dried blood. This was bright-red.”

Puzzled, Fritti gestured for the young one to continue.

“I shrieked like a jay, of course, and managed somehow to pull away. I went into a tangle bush as deep as I could, hoping they were too big to come in after me. I couldn’t run any farther. They didn’t make any noise, then, but I could sense they were still there.

“Then I smelled fox, and suddenly they were off. After I’d waited awhile, I staggered out from the bush and found the den-burrow. I supposed I’d go down just inside, where I’d have some defense if they came back for me. Then the Visl returned. I guess you know the rest.”

Fritti leaned forward and gave the youngster a nose-rub on his forehead. “You were very brave, Pouncequick. Very brave. So you never saw what it was that chased you?”

“Not quite, no. But I shall never forget those eyes. And those red claws! Phoof!” Pouncequick shook himself from nose to tail, then turned to Tailchaser, anxiety melted away. “All that talk of fla-fa‘az has made me ravenous. Did I mention that I was hungry?”

“I think you did,” laughed Tailchaser.

Tailchaser had some misgivings about keeping young Pouncequick with him, but decided that he really had no other choice: he couldn’t send the little cat away—back through the dangerous woods—and he himself could not give up his quest for Hushpad.

They made a fairly good pace. Pouncequick tended to trot ahead for a while, then lag behind—fascinated by a butterfly or a shiny stone. It seemed to even out, more or less, and their progress was steady. Pouncequick even managed to curb his squeaking a little, and the hunting improved.

One afternoon, Pouncequick caught a Squeaker all by himself. It was a young mouse, and a very stupid one at that, but Pouncequick caught it without help and was justifiably proud. Moreover, Fritti decided, it tasted just as good as the cleverer sort.

Their companionship eased the tedium of the journey for both cats, and the days flew swiftly by. Although Pouncequick’s incessant bounding and capering occasionally drove Fritti to snarling and swatting, he was still very glad to have the little cat for company. As for Pouncequick, he was delighted to be adventuring with an admired elder. The shadow of his first night in the wild seemed to have vanished, leaving no trace.

The forest seemed to change around them as they traveled—now thick and knotted, choked as tangle-bush, then open and airy as Edge Copse. Then, at the end of their fifth day in the woods, the trees began to appear successively smaller and farther apart.

The downs stretched on into the distance, their farthest reaches shrouded in early-morning fog. Beyond that might lie more hill land, or forests ... or anything. No one Tailchaser knew had ever spoken of what lay beyond the Old Woods.

The two companions scented the breeze, drinking up the smells rising on the warming air. Pouncequick looked down, then butted Fritti’s side.

Below them, on a subordinate peak of the outcropping, stood another cat. It was a strange sight, all muddy, with tangled fur and wild eyes. As Tailchaser and Pouncequick stared the unknown cat looked up at them with a strange, unfocused gaze. They had only a moment more to wonder at its ragged pelt and crooked tail; then the stranger leaped down from the rock, landing unsteadily on a wide limb, and vanished into the foliage. Where it had passed, the leaves bobbed for a moment, then were still.