Soft As Silk: Blackhollow's Tale

The first "story" of Felriver", which serves as a foray into the civilization, society, and norms of the culture.

Soft As Silk: Blackhollow's Tale

 

       Editor's Note: It was only with much pleading and promises to keep this story hidden from the eyes of the public that our researchers were able to convince Sister Blackhollow to allow us to publish it at all. However, we deemed it far too remarkable an example of Felriver ingenuity and enterprise for it to remain undocumented and, Greenmother forbid, lost to the mists of time. I do believe though that Sister Blackhollow may be suffering from a slight case of paranoia over whether her livelihood and source of income would be infringed upon by competitors, as her method of industry does appear to be one that if it were better known, would likely be avoided at all costs by our general populace. That is, by its own nature, unfortunate, for her products are in such great demand and, due to her unfortunate advanced age, at great risk of their production techniques being forgotten. Hopefully this document will suffice to not only educate our future readers, but also illustrate her techniques for the next generation should she pass beyond the Veil before others can completely learn her skills.

       It also pleases me to say that the subject matter herein was such that Stick has taken to hiding in his room with a large branch for swatting, and is unable to provide his sorry excuse for a commentary at this time.

With the most sincerest of reverence,

Ende of the Arrtes Tribe

 

Part One: Morning

 

     "Oh Sister Blackhollow, I am so, SO sorry," Deltalia moaned, laying a gentle hand on the elderly Skirra's black shoulder as she blotted a tear with her own ringed tail. Crowds of other creatures surrounded them, nodding somberly as they looked at the smashed husk of what had once been Blackhollow's home. The Skirra, on her part, was doing her best to ignore their simpering platitudes as she took a calculating inventory of what needed to be done.

     The previous night the winds had come up along the canyon, howling down the length of the Felriver and whipping its already raging torrent into nothing more than froth. Along the rim, in the town of Highcanyon, animals closed up their shops, sealed their shutters, and listened warily as their tree homes groaned and creaked above their heads as they tried to sleep. The roar of the wind had been such that no creature heard the crash of the old maple falling at the far edge of the settlement some time after moon set, and the town had awoken whispering thanks to the Greenmother, the Mahsta, and other deities that everyone had made it through the storm.

     Blackhollow, on the other hand, had spent her evening cursing at every god, spirit, and ancestor she could imagine as she dashed through the driving rain and debris, trying to rescue her notes and supplies before they blew over the rim and into the river below. It had been a losing battle, and she Skirra was not in a good mood as the winds died, the sun rose, and the town learned that not all had been as lucky as they. She stood glaring with tightly folded arms at the toppled maple tree, its hollow trunk now cracked open like a bird's egg hatching her last few remaining belongings, and thrashed her tail angrily as the cultured sympathy piled up from the community standing behind her.

     "Please," Delmurph said from behind his wife, his eyes appropriately sad within his black mask and his voice deep with overly-affected comfort, "come stay with us until we can build you a new home." Deltalia nodded and smiled, but the smile was much too broad and tight and her eyes too wide for her trepidation to be hidden, and the eager nods of the crowd came quickly enough that their evident relief that someone else had volunteered to house her was almost tangible enough for a fuming Skirra to bite.

      "GO!" Blackhollow shrieked, slapping Deltalia across the face with her brush as she spun around to face the animals. "GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO! MY house! MY work! Don't need you!" She kept up her angry barking as she stooped to pick up a sodden pine cone and threw it at Delmurph's head, hitting him squarely between the eyes. The crowd gasped in collective shock, taking a unified step back from the raging Skirra. "Don't need no Coonai with their boo-hoos and stinkin' milk-pups in my fur! Don't need new home. GOT home! GO GO GO GO GO!"

     Deltalia's jaw dropped at the insult to her many children, and with a loud "HMMPH!" she marched away with her nose held as high as her stocky Coonai frame would allow, ringed tail swinging haughtily behind her as she shouldered through the other creatures. Calling to his wife, Delmurph followed, and the crowd slowly dispersed back toward the Highcanyon market to mutter and gossip over food stalls and other sold goods about the grumpy old Skirra.

     This, of course, suited Blackhollow just fine. Alone at last, she turned back to the old maple, laying on its side in the ferns and underbrush.

    Joints stiff with age, she bent down to pick up a scattered basket, and tossed it aside with a growl upon noticing its bottom had been smashed in. She walked up to one of the now numerous openings in the trunk and, pausing to give a fond pat to the wet bark, stuck her head and shoulders in a crevice to begin salvaging what she could.

     A loud voice startled her such that she smacked her head on the top of the opening when she jumped.

     "Blackie! Oi Blackie-girl! Wh'are yah? Alloooo- OI, waz this messa STUFF! Oooh, like this, and like this, an' take this, an'-"

     "YOU FOOL," Blackhollow hissed, bounding over the maple trunk and pouncing on the head of the scavenging Yoteen who had approached from the far side of the tree. With a yelp, the canine flattened himself to the ground, and the Skirra pinned him by one oversized ear. "You were supposed to come last night! How many times have I told you not to come during the day? Someone might see you!"

     "Ya, ya I know that, but, ya know, big honkin' storm las' night there was, an' ya know, I don' like getting' wet . . . did ya know there was a storm las' night?"

     "Yes. I do believe I figured that out," Blackhollow answered coldly.

     "Oh? OH, this you HOUSE! Oh!" The Yoteen tried to empty his numerous bags and packs best he could of the Skirra's household goods he had gathered, not an easy task with the small animal standing on his ear. "I very, very sorry, such a bad thing, alwus happen to da bes' critters, ya know?"

     "Oh, shut up," Blackhollow grumbled, kicking the prone Yoteen in the head and soliciting a small "yip!" before stepping from his ear. "Did you bring it, Sharp?"

     Sharp-Teeth-Not-Brain grinned broadly, and nodded. "Ya, I did! You ask fer weirdes' stuff, ya know? Speakin' of weird, that you yellin' a couple minute back? I hear you all way back in th' wood, I do. You don' talk too good when ya mad."

     Blackhollow glared at the gangly Yoteen, who shut his mouth, gulped, and shouldered off one of his carrying bags. Flipping open one of the flaps, he reached into the sack and pulled out a tiny rolled tube of birch bark, capped at both ends with moss. The Skirra eagerly grabbed it from him and, uncapping one end, peeked inside. She grinned broadly and capped it again, clutching the tube protectively to her chest. "What do I owe you?"

     "Hmm, not an easy one ta say there, Blackie. This not easy to get, ya know. Whatcha got?"

     For the first time since her tree fell, Blackhollow felt a small twinge of self-pity that her life had essentially just been blown away. But still, it was a Yoteen she was dealing with, and it was Sharp-Teeth-Not-Brain on top of it. She could have handed him a leaf and he would probably be happy.

     "I'll make you a deal," she said. "I'll take this now, and you leave. Come back here tonight, and anything left in the tree trunk that I couldn't carry out of here is yours."

      She had to pounce on his muzzle again to keep Sharp from howling with glee and kicking up a dance. "Ya really mean it? All fer me? You the BES' Skirra in Highcanyon, ya are, Blackie! You th' BES'! Ya need anythin', you allus call fer me firs', right?"

     "Right, of course, Sharp." Blackhollow wiped the Yoteen's slobber off her dark-furred arm with a look of faint disgust, and eyed him again. "There is something else I need, and I think it is a fair trade considering how many things you'll be getting. I need one of your bags."

     "Oooh, a pack! I got lossa packs! Big ones, small ones, ones fer bones, ones fer . . . "

     "A small one would be just fine."

     ". . . an' ones fer shiny things, an' - oh! Small one, okay." Sharp sat back up and started unloading another one of his bags. Soon a vast collection of what most animals would consider to be junk - broken tools, odd stones, squashed plants, and various scraps and string - were heaped in front of Blackhollow before the Yoteen found what he sought. He pulled out a small bag with a strap and handed it to her. It was much too large for a Skirra, and had probably originally been made as a waist bag for a Verine or overweight Coonai, but with as much as Blackhollow was going to have to haul it was perfect.

     Blackhollow dragged the bag behind her for a few steps to make sure it would work, and nodded firmly. "Excellent. Now go away."

     "Gotcha! I go now, and I come back tonight, and I get SO MUCH STUFF! Thank ya thank ya, Blackie! Than-"

     "SCOOT!"

    "Scooting!" The Yoteen threw everything back in his packs, strapped some to his back, some around his waist, and shouldered the rest. As he turned to go, he gave Blackhollow a plaintive look. "Um, Blackie? Did I mention ya th' best of Skirras? Did I mention?"

     "Yes, I'll leave you a candy," she groaned, climbing back over the tree trunk with her new satchel.

     Sharp grinned from ear to ear and loudly licked his lips before bounding back into the woods, sometimes on two legs, sometimes four.

     Shaking her head, Blackhollow got back to work packing what was left of her home and thinking of how lucky she was that she actually got a Yoteen to help her work her craft. Most Yoteen were nowhere near as foolish as Sharp-Tooth-Not-Brain was, and most would try to eat her as soon as trade with her; it was this very unpredictability, their reputation for thievery, and a penchant for scamming that had kept the Yoteen Tribe banned from Highcanyon, and made her meetings with Sharp a thing for dark nights and shadow-covered dealings. But no one in the town could help her, not with the types of supplies she needed, not that she would ever let them know what they were anyway.

     And supplies, it turns out, were going to be a thing of concern. After shimmying into the hollow cavity of the maple trunk, Blackhollow discovered that her food cabinet had been smashed, all her dried goods soaked, and her preserve jars cracked and leaking. The fresh greenery she had gathered the day before now had so much bark and wood pulp crushed into it she would never get it edible again, and the bulk of her nut store was now in filthy standing water. Still, she was able to gather enough for a couple of days, and knew she would be able to find more on her journey to her workshop; at least enough to see her over a few days more before she would have to return to town to restock.

    However, before anything else, she had to protect that small package that Sharp had delivered. She opened one of the moss lids on the canister again, gazing inside and smiling with a gentle tenderness that no one in all of Highcanyon would have ever recognized on her. "Hello, in there," she crooned. "I'll have you in your new home straight away, don't you worry. We just have a little bit of delay. But don't worry, you'll love living with me, I promise." Replacing the cover with a little pat, she looked around for something to act as a cushion, finally settling on a pillow that was only slightly damp and had managed to keep most of its stuffing. Folding it around the container and wrapping that in a blanket, she carefully placed the bundle in the satchel along with the meager foodstuffs.

    The protective cover for the birch-bark cylinder didn't leave much room in the back for anything else in the pack, but she looked around carefully anyway. She had never been one for knick-knacks and useless trinkets, but she did pause and, carefully wiping away the grime, lift a small painting out of the muck. The pigments had faded over the years, and the wood it was painted upon had begin to warp, but the image of a piebald Skirra in the prime of his life still smiled back from Blackhollow's hands. The old creature sighed, almost hearing the quiet bells of the death-cart coming again out of the past. "It's a good thing you weren't here to see this, Bitleaf, though I could sure use your help carrying things to the workshop now." Blackhollow frowned at the picture of her late husband, for it had been at the workshop that he had died doing the work he not only loved, but had developed himself.

    "The Greenmother blesses us with our memories and lessons learned, even when we have to move on, does she not, Sister?" came a quiet, deep voice from outside the fallen tree.

     Blackhollow grunted, her narrowed eyes darting toward the opening in the side of the trunk as she shoved the painting into her bag. So it was not the death-cart she had heard again. "Better that she could bless me with a wagon, or perhaps give me a strong back," the Skirra growled, sorting through a few odds and ends and also packing a couple of bowls and other utensils. "What brings your tattered hide here, Aloren?" she called out. "Not even the Grove Master could ride last night's winds from Skybirch in time to offer sympathy to an old Skirra, but he WOULD know she doesn't need it." To emphasize her point, Blackhollow half-heartedly threw a spoon at the crack in the trunk, and allowed herself a dark grin as she heard a small tinkling of bells that let her know she had hit her target. She looked around one last time, nodded curtly at what was left of her home, and stepped back out into the sunlight to glare at the ancient Bukind.

     Aloren towered over the Skirra, but he lowered his heavily antlered head in a gesture of respect for someone of her advanced age, the tiny bells on his tines sounding quietly like a brook in the distance. Not waiting for a return bow, which Blackhollow didn't offer anyway, he lowered his silver-grey body into the ferns and leaf-litter, arthritic knees popping as he pulled his legs under his chest. He heaved a sigh as he made himself comfortable.

     "Ah, but he would know when he sees a traveling companion," the Bukind chuckled, giving his head a sharp shake that dropped the spoon that had tangled in his decorations back at Blackhollow's feet. "I was actually here to bless Deltalia's new litter, and-"

     "Great Tree, MORE of those little hellions?!"

     "- AND, now that the little blessings have been welcomed -"

     "Better they had been put on a raft and sent downriver."

     " - it's time for me to return to the Grove, and -"

      "Probably more like skedaddle before you get more candy slobber wiped into your fur."

     " - I was thinking perhaps we could walk together as far as your workshop."

     "Which you are NOT sticking your muzzle into, you nosy old glue-factory! You think I don't know what you're up to? I told you, MY job, MY secret, MY work, and no Grove busy-bodies are going to get in my business!" Blackhollow jabbed a finger into the flesh of Aloren's nose with each exclamation.

     Aloren simply sat there, letting the Skirra scold him until she was out of breath. "If I give you my word we'll part ways before we get there? It's not often I have the opportunity to walk with someone older than I."

     This was not quite true of course, though for their species Aloren and Blackhollow were two of the oldest creatures in the Felriver Basin. Blackhollow snorted at the joke. "Pfft, you were soaking your joints when the Umil were here to hunt you," she said in rejoinder, and sighed with an over-exaggerated air. "Fine, though I'm not waiting for your creaky limbs to keep up with me."

     "I wouldn't think of asking," Aloren said with a wink. He waited for Blackhollow's brush to disappear back into the tree trunk and the sounds of her packing to start again before he turned his head to his shoulder, where he did in fact have a large, sticky smear of leftover candy from little Coonai hands. He groomed himself vigorously with his tongue to rid himself of the stain and to hopefully stave off another tirade about the ever-growing Del family. It tasted of strawberries.

     "Don't think I don't see what you're doing!"

     "Merely scratching a fly bite!" He gave his fur a final swipe, frowning at the still faint pink highlights on his pelt. He looked up again as Blackhollow heaved the now bulging sack out of her broken home. The elderly Skirra tried to hide her heavy panting as she rolled it over the jagged bark and into the leaves of the forest floor. Aloren sat quietly blinking in the morning sunlight, giving her her dignity by not drawing attention to her discomfort. When she had caught her breath again, he spoke.

     "By the way, Sister - "

     "Ug, I've told you not to call me Sister. You sound like one of those simpering townies."

     "I found this down by the river. I do believe it is yours?" Turning his head to reach behind the bulk of his body, he turned back with a small piece of shimmering purple cloth in his mouth. Gently he dropped it into Blackhollow's shaking paws.

     One piece of cloth, soft as silk, that embodied all of Blackhollow's life . . . everything that she was. The last project that she and Bitleaf had worked on together, and the project that had caused his death. The craft that she and her mate alone had perfected, that no other animal in Felriver could duplicate. Her greatest pride, and her darkest secret - the secret of cloth-making.

     Blinking back a tear, she tied the scarf around her head, its deep purple sheen standing out sharply against her ebony fur. "Thank you," she whispered.

     Aloren knew better than to say anything, so he simply nodded and slowly began getting to his feet. As he did so, with a jingle of bells he looped the strap of Blackhollow's pack around one antler tine. The Skirra leaped up and grabbed Aloren's beard as he stood, and with a deft swing that could only have been accomplished through years of practice, vaulted up to grab the Bukind's ear and climbed up to take a seat on one of the more palmate branches growing from his ancient skull.

     As Aloren slowly strode into the dark forest, Blackhollow held her head high. She did not look back.

 

    One of the most precious of gifts to the elderly is silence, particularly silence with an old friend. The Skirra and the Bukind said nothing as Aloren's hooves stepped silently on the wet leaves of the path. Close to Highcanyon there were not many creatures out and about, as most were still in town cleaning up after the storm while sharing horror stories over their brooms of stripped shingles and leaking roofs with neighbors who listened wide-eyed, eager to tell their of their own problems. The few that they passed called out a blessing to the Lord of the Grove as he glided by, which Aloren acknowledged with a slight dip of his head. If any of them noticed Blackhollow perched on his left antler or the bulging bag swinging against the Bukind's ear, they said nothing, which suited Blackhollow well.

     Highcanyon was a large town by Felriver standards, and it took the better part of an hour before the pair were past criss-crossing paths, cultivated patches of vegetables and berries, and stumps of trees felled for lumber. Aloren continued to stride confidently though the thickening underbrush, as at home in the wilderness as he was closer to civilization. The Skirra was thankful that he did not keep to the worn paths; it would have been much faster, but with his size and stature - not just physically but also within the community - it would have drawn much too much attention. Normally when Blackhollow traveled to her workshop she did it as any red-blooded Skirra would do: through the highest branches, nigh untrackable. Now she scowled slightly, realizing that even though she had never brought him there, Aloren was walking on a dead path straight to her hidden workplace. So, the busybody had been spying on her after all.

     Her brush beginning to bristle, Blackhollow opened her mouth to scold Aloren, before noticing he had frozen in place and was looking up the ridge to his left. The Skirra, ears perked, stood balancing on the Bukind's antler and scanned the woods. What she saw made her heart freeze in her chest.

     Delk. At least six of them, standing just at the edge of the darkest shadows.

     Where Bukind were the Greenmother's expression of delicate grace, the Delk were her dark side of death. They were the massive cousins to the Bukind, with hooves as big around as a thirty year old tree, fur the black of a scorched forest, and necks strong enough to heft a Beorr on their thick palmate antlers; and where the Bukind were oft considered the pinnacle of civilized thought, the Delk were civilization's mortal enemy. Several times a season, a traveler would come upon a bloody mass on the trail, its owner a mystery, and the only clue as to the how or why of the death the massive cloven hoofprints embedded in the sodden pelt. Delk would kill any lone town-bred traveler, in their minds to prove the strength of the wilds and the folly of soft ways; to the other creatures of Felriver, they were naught but insane savages.

     And to kill the Grove Master would be their greatest statement of strength and savagery of all.

     Gasping in fear, Blackhollow climbed up to the highest tines of Aloren's antlers, her tail flicking behind her as she scanned out of the corner of her eye for an escape route. There - that tree was close enough to others that she could take the branch-path back to town without risking getting trampled by the Delk. But as for Aloren . . . .

     Skirra and Bukind stared motionlessly at the black Delk, the latters' eyes glowing a sickly grey in the shadow of the forest. Then, silently, they turned and melted into the trees.

     The sun had moved a pawspan before either of the traveling companions dared move or make a sound. "Thank you. You saved my life," Aloren whispered almost soundlessly.

     Still frozen on his antler, Blackhollow hissed back, "How?"

     "If I were alone, they would have thought nothing about chasing me down. But you would have been a witness that they could not catch. They don't like witnesses."

     "Then blast it, let's get out of here before they change their mind!"

     "We shall, but we do have a small problem that we cannot let them know about."

     "Drown the problem! We - "

     And that is when Blackhollow realized she was slowly, imperceptibly, sinking. She bunched her hindquarters to jump, but a harsh "FREEZE!" from Aloren halted her. "Slowly, SLOWLY, climb down onto my head, would you?" Blackhollow complied, and as she crept down the antler, realized what was happening - it was spring, and her weight had caused the antler to loosen, and begin to shed. A bleeding, one-antlered, elderly Bukind would be too tempting a target for the Delk, even with a witness.

     Blackhollow gingerly stepped down onto Aloren's head, and holding onto the lowest tine with both paws to hold the antler steady, gave him a tap with her hind foot to get moving. With a grace belying his age, the Bukind started off into a brisk, silent trot, holding his head near immobile as his hooves ate the invisible trail beneath his feet.

     The Skirra held tightly to the antler, but even with the Bukind's steady step, she could see the blood beginning to pool under the flared base and running down the side of Aloren's face. Nor was the strength of a Skirra particularly renowned, and the antler wiggled more and more with each small jolt.

     "It's no use, you old Geeshot, we have to leave it, then we can run."

     "Don't think it wasn't a consideration, Sister, but I cannot leave the relics behind. They are priceless not only to the Grove, but also the craftsfolk who made them." He was, of course, referring to the numerous bells, gems, and decorations that adorned the antler tines; family treasures and Grove masterpieces that were irreplaceable. Blackhollow rolled her eyes and growled at the foolishness. If it were between their lives and some trinkets, she would have hoped their lives would come first. She opened her mouth to give Aloren a piece of her mind, just as with a wet jolt, the antler finally gave way.

     One would think that the loss of the antler had killed the ancient Bukind, so quickly did he fall to the ground, but as Blackhollow dived to the nearest tree trunk, she realized it was to try to slow the antler's descent and keep the noise of the bells to a minimum. Spraying blood with a quick jerk of his head, Aloren severed the last bit of skin connecting the pedicle and the dead bone.

     Blackhollow hung upside down from the trunk of the tree, looking back and forth between the decorated cast-off in the leaves, and the crestfallen Aloren.

     "So . . . now what do we do?"

     "We carry it," the Bukind answered, nosing the antler to his side.

     "Are you CRAZY? We can't carry that, it's almost as big as you are!"

     "We will carry it," Aloren repeated firmly, giving the Skirra a steady stare that left no question that he was not leaving without the antler.

     "Those THINGS are still out there! We have to leave, NOW! We'll hide it and I'll go back for help, get some of the Foss and Pomats to strip it and bring the pieces back to the Grove - "

     "If you wish to leave, do so, and I will carry it." The Bukind tried to flip one end of the antler across his shoulders, but it fell back to the leaves with a soft jingle.

     Blackhollow sighed loudly, and banged her head against the tree trunk in frustration a couple of times. "Like blazes you will, you can't even move the fool thing. No, like this," and she climbed down the trunk to roll the antler closer. She leaped onto Aloren's flank, sure to give his fur a smart yank, and heaved on one tine as Aloren pushed the base with his nose. After several false starts, they were able to drape the massive antler in a somewhat balanced fashion across the Bukind's shoulders. Very slowly and oh, so carefully, Aloren eased himself to his feet. The antler began to slip, and Blackhollow found herself jumping to balance it again, her two hind feet standing upon it to act as a mobile counterweight, and her front paws gripping Aloren's think neck ruff. With the Skirra looking for all the world like an ancient Umil rider from the images found in books in the Braroco, the pair set off through the forest again. Both prayed under their breath that the Delk were truly gone, and that they did not come across any of the other unsavory tribes, such as the Yoteen or one of the fringe outcast packs of Huuel.

 

     The final part of the pair's travels ended up being largely uneventful, though it was carried out in silence and with a few false alarms. At one point a startled hareet dashed out of the bushes, its long ears flat against its back as it zig-zagged between Aloren's dancing hooves. And further down the trail, the Bukind reared and leaped into the brush in surprise when a massive webjumper pounced on his leg from a hollow stump. Blackhollow had to hold on for her life as the antler pitched and rolled under her feet, but she maintained its balance and within a few strides Aloren regained the pathway.

     "Ug, I HATE those things. May the Greenmother forgive me for doubting any of her creations, but web-jumpers always make my skin crawl." As if to prove his point, a massive shudder rippled through his ancient hide.

      "Yes, yes, they're creepy. Turn right up here, toward the river. I think the Delk are long gone, and we're close enough to my workshop that we should split up now."

     Aloren took the indicated turn, and looked around at the surrounding woods. The Skirra knew that he would never see a single sign of her secret hideaway, no matter how carefully he sought, so she did not bother to scold his curiosity.

     "The Grove would be more than happy to have you visit for a while, if you would like to come for some personal time and relaxation . . . ." Aloren said quietly.

     Blackhollow opened her mouth for a biting remark, but instead sighed softly. To be honest, a few months by the reflecting pool, long walks on cultured moss, and the soft prayers of the faithful whispering through the birches didn't sound all that bad at the moment. "Much too much work to do, and only my hands to do it, old friend." She gave his neck ruff a soft tug to the left, indicating a clearing at the side of the near-invisible trail. As the Bukind slowly lowered himself to the ground, he wrinkled his nose.

     "Is the river sick here? All I can smell is dead fish!"

     "No, they just tend to wash up on the shore nearby, there's a sandbar that catches them. Quit your complaining, though; between the sound of the river no one will hear you, and the smell of the dead fish will mask the smell of blood on your face." Blackhollow kicked the antler off Aloren's back, and it fell to the ground with a soft ringing of bells. "Give me a few minutes, and I'll make something to remove the ornaments. We'll put them in my bag, and you can carry them back to Skybirch. I have to stay here."

     Aloren nodded as the elderly Skirra leaped up into a tree and started gnawing on one of the thin, green branches. In short order she broke off a supple twig, and carried it back to the ground. She bit the ends into chisel-shapes, and stripped the bark; last, she folded the twig onto itself, and lashed the bark around to hold its new shape, fashioning a simple yet large, sturdy pair of tweezers. Finally she settled herself by one of the antler tines, and started to work.

     The Bukind of the Skybirch Grove had long carried the tradition of antler decoration. As soon as the velvet-covered cartilage that was the growing antlers shed their skin and exposed the hardened bone beneath, their seasonal decorations were begun. Coonai, Skirra, and other craftscreatures began the painstaking task of carving whorls, geometric patterns, and naturalistic decorations such as vines and insects into the antlers, highlighting each carving with bright dyes. At each tine tip, a deep groove was cut, and gold or silver wrapped around and hammered deep into the groove to secure it. To the top of each metal cone was fastened a bell, a gem, or a loop to hold a beaded chain that went from tine to tine.

     The amount of decoration that each Bukind received was dictated by their rank within the Grove; an Acolyte received carvings only up to the first tine on his rack, and simple bells on each tip; unless the acolyte was selected for special tasks, upon which the lowest bells were replaced with gemstones of their Grove's colors. Moving through the Grove ranks of Priests - of course, the Priestesses did not have antlers and thus had their own decoration coding system - the decorations went further and further up the antlers, with an intricate system of symbolism dictating the placement of bells and gems according to rank, years served, branch of priesthood, jobs within the Grove, and of course, the number of tines the Bukind had managed to produce that season. Aloren, being the Master of the Grove, of course had every inch of his antlers carved, dyed, and tipped with precious metals and sapphires, a process that had required him to lay still under the hands of carvers and metal workers for weeks between leading the daily prayers. And now, as happened every spring, the process would begin anew.

     Blackhollow shook her head a little as she carefully pried each cone with its attached bell or gem from the antler. She considered it all a great waste of time and material, to fancy up something that one would just lose the next year.

     Over the course of the remainder of the morning and the early afternoon, the pile of metal grew next to the Skirra as Aloren napped in the sun. Blackhollow worked the tip of her makeshift tweezers into the overlap of each cone, and slowly peeled each one straight, taking care not to tear the thin metal or open the bell and gem loops at their tips. As each was released from its tine, she lay the metal on her lap and rolled a thicker stick over it to flatten it into a sheet, and stacked it on the others. The long strands of beaded, bejeweled chains that went from tine to tine she carefully opened at the ends and wound around yet other sticks so they would not tangle. She was just grateful that this year Aloren had not chosen to have the chains go from antler to antler, or they would have been in a mess of trouble separating them during their flight.

     Twenty-two tines later, the job was complete, and Blackhollow began to empty her carrying bag. She made a careful pile of her belongings under a rock outcrop, and began to pack the precious metals and gems. Aloren opened his eyes at the clinking and the muffled ringing of the bells.

     "I suppose it's almost time for me to start on my way again, then? You are sure I can't convince you to come to the Grove for a while?"

     "Too much work to do," Blackhollow answered, straightening her back with a groan and a loud pop as she fastened the pack closed. "But wait here, there's something I have to check first."

     With a bound, Blackhollow disappeared into the trees again, racing to the top and jumping between the highest branches. She knew every leaf in this part of the forest, for unbeknownst to Aloren, he was right in the middle of her hidden workshop. Recognizing the top of the tree she sought, she made one final leap before scrambling down to its lower branches where what she hoped to see was hanging - a small hollow log with a worn stick inside it.

     Blackhollow nodded in satisfaction, and hefting the stick, beat upon the hollow log in a complicated rhythm while watching the brush. Momentarily the bushes moved as large creatures crept through them to stand at the base of the trunk.

     "The trail kept you safe?" Blackhollow inquired of the seven lifted muzzles of the gathered Huuel.

     "As did our paws, and our strength," they all answered.

     "And this through the blessings of the Greenmother," Blackhollow completed the traditional greeting. "Bites-With-Metal, it's been a sun's age since I saw you last. It looks as if the pack has given you a few more grey hairs."

     One of the Huuel laughed through his war paint and scratched at his definitely greying scalp with one paw, rustling an elaborate headdress of feathers, carved sticks, and hareet ears. "Don't you know it," he chuckled, and playfully punched a younger warrior standing next to him, who grinned sheepishly. "Claws-Over-Rocks here has been the worst of it, what with him approaching his first Huntlead. Could we barter for some red cloth?"

     The Skirra nodded; it was a Huuel tradition to tie something red to a spear tip to signify the blood it was meant to draw. Feathers and dyed leather were commonly used, but for a tribe leader's son, it was not surprising that the proud father would wish for something that showed the young warrior's status in the tribe. And woe betide the young Huuel if his first Huntlead went poorly with all the trappings and blessings a chieftain could buy.

    "I have the cloth, and will give you double. But, there will be no barter; there is but one thing I ask of you and one thing I will accept for the trade."

    This was unusual, but not unheard-of in Huuel culture, and usually signified something of great trust was going to be requested. It was, however, completely out of the question for a Skirra to make such a deal; if the request for the trade was denied, it immediately brought great shame upon the Huuel tribe that refused, for they were indicating that they were not strong enough to complete the task. Some of the warriors growled up at the unflinching Blackhollow, and one readied his atl-atl with a light hunting spear meant for hareet, but just as effective for mouthy Skirras.

     Bites-With-Metal growled at the fighters, and slapped the atl-atl to the ground. Narrowed, yellow eyes glared death at Blackhollow as he clipped out the traditional acceptance between bared fangs.

    "The Tribe of Womb-of-the-Mother will howl our dying breath before your request goes without completion. What does our honor demand of us?"

     "That you escort Aloren, Master of the Grove, to Skybirch."

     To a Huuel, their jaws dropped, and they looked at each other in surprise. Bites-With-Metal was the first to drop to his knee in respect of the name of Aloren, though the others flung themselves to the ground almost as quickly. Blackhollow rolled her eyes at the display, but in this instance, their dedication to their religion was most useful.

     "Of course we will escort the esteemed Master," Bites-With-Metal said, his voice shaking with reverence. "Is he near?"

     "I'll lead you, and then come back for the cloth. And the sooner you can set out, the better!" Blackhollow called over her shoulder as she leaped from trunk to trunk, the Huuel hunt-pack loping through the bushes behind her.

     It wasn't long before the warriors and the Skirra were in the clearing, the Huuel throwing themselves in prostration at the shocked Aloren's hooves. "Gotcha some guards, Aloren," Blackhollow smiled from a tree branch. "No reason for me to go to the Grove now."

     "Oh, there is always a reason," Aloren chuckled, and as he turned to bless each of the warriors, Blackhollow ran through the trees once more to one of her storage areas. Reaching into a dry cleft in an old tree, she rifled through stacks of cloth, finally selecting a large piece of deep, blood red. She folded it under one arm and with awkward bounds, headed back to the clearing.

     She arrived just as Claws-Over-Rocks was hanging the bag with the antler decorations over his neck, and Bites-With-Metal was hefting the shed antler over his shoulder. "No, friend," Aloren said to the Huuel chieftain, "we leave that here, or wherever Blackhollow wishes us to."

     "But Master, the shed antlers of the priests of the Grove are sacred! We - "

      " - will leave it as a gift for the Skirra who helped preserve the wealth of the Grove," Aloren finished firmly, nodding at Blackhollow as she stood stunned at the edge of the clearing and handed the cloth to Bites-With-Metal. An entire antler, for her? Normally the shed antlers of the Grove were pieced out into religious trinkets with one piece to entire families, and pieces of the antlers of the Master of the Grove were usually gifted to entire tribes or villages as town relics. For an entire antler, and one from the Master, to be given to a single Skirra - and not a faithful one, at that - was unheard of.

     "Aloren, I - "

     "- earned it. Take it with the thanks and the blessings of the Greenmother for your service to Skybirch. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here to argue with."

     Even the Huuel had to bow their heads in respect to Blackhollow after that, for they could never have dreamed that a simple elderly Skirra could possibly have saved the life of the Master of the Grove . . . but here they stood with the Master saying this was precisely what happened. The Bukind turned toward one of the warriors. "Growls-With-His-Eyes, would you please carry the antler to wherever Blackhollow wishes? I'm sure she would prefer it not be left in the open like this."

     A middle-aged, gangly Huuel with a bone and feather headdress leaped to his feet, bowing repeatedly as he scooped the antler in one paw and balanced it over his shoulder, looking toward the still shocked Blackhollow for direction. Composing herself, she turned back toward the woods, and led the warrior toward a fallen tree. Long ago she had cleaned out a large cavern underneath it, but had not had a use for it until now. With the Huuel pushing from outside and the Skirra pulling from inside, they managed to fit the antler underground, and then as a pair, packed the opening with fallen leaves.

     "I trust you will not forget where the sacred gift was hidden?" Growls-With-His-Eyes said coldly. It was a statement, not a question.

     Blackhollow snorted at him. "Skirra never forget where they hide things," she scolded, glaring and challenging him to counter the assertion. Growls-With-His-Eyes bared his teeth slightly, but then seemed to remember that he was speaking to the Skirra who had apparently saved the life of the Master of the Grove. He lowered his head and tucked his tail between his legs.

     "You would honor me if I could carry you back to the clearing," the warrior said by way of apology. Blackhollow nodded - to say "you're welcome" would have been an insult - and jumped on the Huuel's back. Growls-With-His-Eyes dropped to all fours and with a ground-eating trot, was back with the others in a short time.

     "You have hidden the antler?" Bites-With-Metal said as they broke through the trees.

     "No one will find it . . . save the good Skirra," Growls-With-His-Eyes answered as Blackhollow slid down his shoulder to the ground.

     "And the job was done well," Blackhollow assured the chieftain. So many protocol, so much tradition in the Huuel tribe, the Skirra thought, it made her head spin. Only by her saying that the job was completed to her satisfaction was Growls-With-His-Eyes released officially from such a simple task and the honor of the tribe assured. Foolishness.

     "Then it is time to be off," Aloren announced, and the Huuel instantly fell into a guard formation around him, Bites-With-Metal and Growls-With-His-Eyes at the fore, and the chieftain's son Claws-Over-Rocks at the rear, the rest surrounding the Bukind. "Make sure that you come visit this summer, Blackhollow. And thank you."

     The Huuel all bowed at the elderly Skirra upon the reminder that she had saved the Master of the Grove, and she stoically nodded at them, though her paw twitched to wave it off as stupidity. "And thank you, Aloren, for carrying my pack for me." She looked up at Bites-With-Metal for the traditional parting. "Quiet leaves under your paws, and warm winds in your nose, where the path may take you."

     "We pray to the Greenmother that we may speak again," Bites-With-Metal answered. Blackhollow's eyes widened, but she nodded; it was the parting speech from a Huuel to a priest or priestess that the chieftain had responded with . . . they must now think she was a chosen of the Greenmother for her aid to Aloren.

     More foolishness, but perhaps it would be useful someday.

     The Master of the Grove, surrounded by bristling Huuel warriors, disappeared into the forest on their way to Skybirch. Blackhollow stood silently in the clearing, waiting for the sound of their passage to fade, then disappear, and then a while longer to make sure they had no reason to return. Finally she heaved a sigh, happy that the ordeal was over and she was finally alone.

     Setting her shoulders with new determination, the Skirra bounded toward the nearby river. This wasn't the Felriver itself, but a smaller tributary called the Rockwallow, named for its shallow, pebble-strewn depth that was a haven for breeding fish. This aspect of the flowing water served to assist Blackhollow immensely, for it saved her a lot of work in her day-to-day life by providing her with exactly what Aloren had complained about: dead fish.

     She hadn't told the whole truth, of course. It actually took a bit of planning to gather the fish corpses she needed on the bank in the numbers that she did. For right now though, her dead fish stock was decaying nicely, and she nodded in satisfaction at the stinking piles of rotting flesh as she broke through the brush onto the riverbank. Nor was it even the dead fish themselves that she needed, though the stench did serve to keep other animals away from the area. No, it was what the fish attracted that she needed, and in abundance.

     Flies.

     The heat of the day was working its magic, and the fish were swarming with massive, fat flies, crawling upon the corpses and flying in drunken circles above them. The Skirra reached into one of the bushes, and removed a branch that had been stuck in there to look as if it was a natural part of the foliage. Within the crook of the branch, a web-jumper had weaved a massive web.

      Blackhollow checked the branch carefully, and finding the webjumper, eased it back onto the bush with one claw. "Sorry little friend, I'll return your branch soon," she whispered. She carried the branch over to one of the fish, and with a practiced paw, swung it through the clouds of flies. Not too fast, not to slow, a twist to entwine them here, a swoop through a cloud there. In seconds she had a very loud and panicked collection of flies in her net.

     Careful not to jostle the branch too much, she set back into the woods, stopping at the clearing to pick up the small birchbark tube from the pile of belongings left behind after she gave Aloren her bag. She tucked it under her free arm, and continued walking. She had no fear of keeping to the forest floor in this part of the woods; no one else came here except to see her, and even then, they normally avoided it at all costs. There was something to be said for being surrounded by the smell of death and decay, and creatures of nightmares.

     She approached a hollow tree stump, the same one that Aloren had startled at earlier. She could barely make out the huge webjumper, practically her own size, crouched in a cleft at the splintered top.

     "Come on out, Spring!" Blackhollow called out. "You earned a treat today!" She tapped her foot in the leaf litter, and the webjumper raced out of its hiding spot, rearing two of its eight legs in front of the Skirra and stroking her fur with them. Blackhollow chuckled and reached into her web-net, pulling out the largest fly she could find and holding it out. Spring folded his front legs around the insect, eagerly beginning to spin it into a transportable ball of webbing. The Skirra pet the web-jumper on the abdomen affectionately. "Jumping on Aloren, that was quite a show! 'Spring, Bravest of the Forest'! Able to tackle Bukind Grove Masters and live to tell the tale!" Spring was no longer paying attention to Blackhollow, however, much more intent on his juicy snack. Blackhollow continued to the hollow stump and, moving a bit of bark, disappeared through a hidden entrance. She reached up onto a shelf in the darkness, found the bit of flint and metal she had left, and struck a bit of tinder. Momentarily she had enough flame to light a candle. She extinguished the tinder, replaced the fire-making tools, and held the candle up into the darkness.

     Hundreds of eyes reflected back at her. Hundreds of legs waved from the walls, the floors, the ceiling, and the silk of webjumpers coated every surface.

     Blackhollow smiled, and for the first time that busy day, looked relaxed. "Well, everyone," she said with a smile, "I'm finally home."

Part 2: Afternoon

 

   Blackhollow hummed quietly to herself, holding the improvised net and the candle-holder in one hand while fishing out fat flies and feeding the gathered webjumpers with the other. One by one they all scurried back into crevasses with their meals, and the reflections off arachnid eyes dimmed as the sounds of hundreds of legs wrapping squirming insects filled the tunnel. The last pet fed, the Skirra leaned the borrowed branch against the door to take with her when she left again, to return it to its rightful owner in the bush by the river.

   The tunnel that spiraled down the inside of the stump had been worn smooth by years of padding Skirra feet, and with the webjumpers fed, Blackhollow felt comfortable in blowing out the candle before the light of the workshop came into view. She walked in the darkness with a slight smile on her lips, fingers of one hand dragging along the wall beside her, feeling the soft silk that draped everything here. It felt like home.

   One more turn and the bright illumination of a large room was visible, and a few more steps and Blackhollow was in her massive work space. The hollow stump towered overhead, so tall a Huuel could have easily stood inside it, if one could fit down the tiny entrance tunnel. Fitted over the opening at the top of the stump were strips of mica, allowing rainbows of bright sunlight to flood the room and highlight bolt after bolt of brightly colored cloth tucked carefully into shelves high up the walls.

   Blackhollow closed the door to the tunnel behind her. She didn't mind if the webjumpers had the run of the place when she was not there, but they tended to get underfoot while working.

   "Now then, first things first," she said to herself, taking the roll of birch bark from under her arm and kneeling down by a large wooden chest. She uncapped the cover of the tiny container, and tipped the contents into her small paw, holding them gingerly. Two silken orbs . . . webjumper egg sacs. To be specific, she hoped, two egg sacs from a volcanic webjumper native to the other side of the mountains that rimmed the western side of Felriver, whose silk was said to be notoriously strong so as to withstand the extremes of the geothermal heat in the area. Upon hatching, the young would eat each other until only the few strongest survived, and those she would introduce to the rest of the menagerie once they were big enough to fend for themselves against their larger cousins. Their silk would hopefully make cloth strong enough to act as sails for the water creatures' boats, or at the very least, cut down on their repair times.

   She opened the lid to the dirt-lined box, placed the egg sacs in opposite corners, and flipped open two windows inside it. These too were lined with mica, and though the inside of the box was not lit, sunlight shining through it would be enough for her to see movement when the eggs hatched. She shut and latched the lid, and, knees popping as she stood, placed the box on a table where it would get the most light and warmth.

   Wiping her paws on her fur, she looked briefly around the work space, taking a mental inventory of how various projects stood in stages of completion. She was definitely going to need more cat tail and p***y willow tops, that was for sure. She was also short on marigold, butternut husks, and blackberries for dying cloth, and though blackberries were well out of season, she thought she knew a spot where she might find some dried ones from last year that the birds might not have located. She checked the rain barrels and they were filled to the brim; no surprise there, after last night's storm, but it was good that Spring had not clogged the collection funnels again as he was prone to doing.

   Turning and entering the kitchen area, Blackhollow opened and shut cupboards as she checked her food supplies. She had plenty of everything, so that was of no concern. Even so, some fresh greens for a salad sounded good. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food, and she realized she had not even eaten that day with everything that had happened. She took a double handful of shelled and blanched acorns and munched on them as she looked over the rest of the shop, noting that she needed some new vine to repair a drying line, and that one of her racks had a split beam; she'd need to find a nice, straight sapling to fix that. Some beeswax to soften the leather that covered the downing tub (which she groaned at the thought of . . . filling the tub with cat tail and p***y willow fluff was probably the part of her craft she hated the most), and she could really use some more fur for trim for winter cloaks - never too soon to start thinking about such things. She'd have to remember to talk to one of the priestesses in charge of Parting to get on a waiting list.

   Involuntarily, her eyes went up to the wall, where a piebald squirrel tail hung, wreathed with dry flowers. Yes, she thought, and some fresh flowers for Bitleaf. She sighed as her mind went back to the day that her mate stumbled into the workshop from the tunnel where his experimental webjumpers lived . . . webjumpers that though poisonous to anything smaller than a Groustik, produced a silk that shimmered like the morning dew. Bitleaf had already made one piece of amazing cloth from their silk, a purple headscarf for Blackhollow, and was working on collecting enough silk for a second piece to be gifted to the Grove.

   Blackhollow remembered racing to Bitleaf's side, and seeing the bite on his forearm, already swelling and turning black under his fur. She had laid him down on the bed, and though he tried to speak, already his lungs were shutting down from the neurotoxin that coursed through his body. Within a handspan of the sun, he had died.

   It wasn't until the next day that Blackhollow was able to move from the bedside to go out to ask an Avvi to fly to Skybirch and summon the Death Cart. When it came, she lay her deceased mate on a blanket and pulled him up the tunnel, where the waiting Bukind priestesses sang songs of passing as a Beorr helper lifted the body onto the cart, and she stood weeping by the stump as the sound of the bells faded into the forest. Ten suns later, her spirit still feeling as hollow as her name, the Death Cart came again, this time bearing her mate skinned, tanned, and cleaned - normally he would have also been butchered and dried, but with the poisoning that was not possible - so she could take what she wanted to remember him by before the rest of him was parted out for supplies to other creatures. Blackhollow took only his tail in memory.

   Since then she'd greeted the Death Cart several times in Highcanyon, as it left her requested leather and furs, and sometimes teeth and bones for making tools. But the bells never failed to bring a chill to her heart, and she still could not look up at the tail without remembering the day she met the cart to say goodbye to her mate.

   Blackhollow set her jaw and got back to business. She lifted two carrying bags and a backpack from carved hooks on the wall, gave one last look around the workshop to see if she was forgetting anything, and stepped back through the dark tunnel toward the forest again.

   Pausing to peek around the disguised bark door, she looked and listened to the woodlands. The Avvi were singing loudly in the trees, and she could hear light rustling from the other creatures of the area, all signs that told her that it was safe to exit. Not that she really had any reason to think it wouldn't be - actually her greater concern was that some civilized animal would stumble upon her hiding spot completely by accident - but with the Delk that she saw earlier just an hour's gallop away, she didn't want to take any chances.

   "Hiiiiiii, Black! Hiiiiiii, Black!" a voice screeched over her head, and she jumped, whacking her noggin on the top of the door sill. What was it with everyone surprising her today?

   "Good afternoon, Biekah!" she called through a tight smile, stepping out into the sunlight and shielding her eyes with one paw to look up at the top of the stump. One of the Avvis, an irridescent Grapple, waved at her with the claws on the crook of his wing. His other wing flashed out to clutch a motley-fluffed smaller Avvi that was acting a mite too interested in pecking at Spring. "Out with one of your chicks today?"

   "Yah, yah," Biekah whistled, and shoved his youngling off the stump rather than continue to rein him in. With a couple of wingbeats he joined Blackhollow on the forest floor, and delivered a sharp peck to his chick's head before continuing. "Chick learn hunt, learn wait, learn RESPONSIBILITY!" he screamed. The young chick blinked a couple of times at the Skirra, completely unfazed by his father's scolding.

   "Can-nee!" the chick peeped.

   Biekah rapped the chick on the head again. "No candy, go get bug. No, not big bug on stump, find nudder bug!" He shoved the chick under a bush with his wingclaws before turning back toward Blackhollow, shaking his head and clucking his tongue mournfully. "Feathers, chick get more dumb each hatch, swear. But! See you, see 'Loren, see lotta Huuel, see Coonai. Big day here?"

   "You could say that . . . my tree in Highcanyon got blown over in the sto- wait. Coonai?"

   "Yah, you no see?"

   "No . . . ." Blackhollow said with concern. She usually didn't miss anyone passing through her little niche of the forest. "When was this?"

   "Oh eight, nine feathers go," Biekah said, holding up one of his wings. Avvi measured the passage of the day by the time it took for the sun to move one wing feather. About two and a half hand spans then . . . about the time she would have been meeting the Huuel and bringing them to Aloren. No wonder Spring hadn't warned her.

   "Well, at least they were just passing through. You haven't seen any Delk though, have you?"

   "Delk? Why Delk come here? Peck their heads, smelly things."

   "Just had to be sure; Aloren and I saw some this morning, and I wanted to be sure they hadn't followed us.

   "Ug, ug, nope. No Delk. You want see Coonai now?"

   Blackhollow's jaw dropped. "It's still here?"

    "Yah, she no far. Spring do good, jump her, she fall and hurt hand. She whine a lot. Even more than stupid chick. HEY! Come here, dumb-head. We take Black to Coonai." Biekah scowled at his offspring as it waddled out of the bush, its beak crammed with more grubs than he could possibly swallow.

   "Coo-ee!" the chick tried to squeak around the grubs. The adult Grapple groaned loudly, and didn't even bother to peck the youngster, instead hopping through the underbrush toward where he had last seen the Coonai.

   Blackhollow followed, her thoughts dark. What would a Coonai be doing out here? There were no outposts in this part of the woods, and the main road was a good quarter of a day away. It was too early for there to be any forage, and . . . she simply could not think of a reason for the Coonai to be there at all.

   This was bad.

   Biekah suddenly took wing, flying to a tree branch not far away. "Yah, still here," he called back to Blackhollow. A clod of dirt shot through the air from behind a bush, knocking the Grapple off the branch with a loud squawk.

    "GO AWAY!" a shrill voice screamed from the depths of the bush. Oh no . . . Blackhollow thought to herself, dropping her face into her paws. A cub. What else could go wrong today? The Skirra growled, set her shoulders, and balled her paws into fists before storming through the undergrowth to face the interloper.

    She promptly found herself sputtering and cursing through a well-aimed pawful of mud.

    "OH! Oh, ohmygoodness, Sister Blackhollow, I'm sorry! I had no idea it was you! I am SO sorry, here, let me get that for-" Blackhollow felt the Coonai's paw brush dirt from her cheek, and she shrugged the other creature away, cutting her off with a sharp bark.

    "Back off!" she snarled, finally getting the last grit out of her eyes, allowing her to glare daggers at the young Coonai standing before her. It wasn't a cub, but a young female almost of mating age; tall, but still a little round with baby fat, with long red head-fur pulled into a tight braid that was now being wrung nervously in the Coonai's paws. Blackhollow recognized her immediately.

    "Delmari," she said, as much an accusation as a statement. It was the eldest cub of the Del family, the same family of Coonai who had offered her shelter that very morning after her home back in Highcanyon was destroyed. Blackhollow had nothing against Delmari herself - she actually seemed to be a very responsible and, more importantly, unobtrusive young girl - but she was still a Del: a family whose matriarch was well known as the nosiest busybody in town. "Delmari, what in the Greenmother's name are you doing here?"

    "I-I-I . . . um . . . ." Delmari stammered, "Well, after you left, Muma said that someone from town should go with you to make sure that you would be okay, and -"

    "Follow me, you mean," Blackhollow growled.

    Delmari swallowed heavily, giving Blackhollow a wary nod. "Everyone else said no, that if we didn't leave you alone you'd string everyone in town up by their tails and - oh, that was rude, I -"

    Blackhollow waved her paw dismissively, actually trying to hide a small, wry grin. At least the rest of the town knew their place was nowhere near her. "It's all right, continue."

    "O-okay . . . so, Muma was mad that no one in town would do what she said, and-"

    "I can see that happening."

    "And . . . um, Sister Blackhollow, I'm sorry but . . . I . . . I hurt my hand, bad . . . ." Delmari held out her right paw, and Blackhollow was a little taken aback to see that there was indeed a very serious gash across the pawpad. The Skirra took the young girl's paw and looked at it carefully, as the Coonai's eyes welled up with tears.

    Blackhollow growled, and her shoulders slumped. There was no helping it, the girl needed to get the paw patched up, and outside was no place to do it right. She would have to take the Coonai back to her hidden workshop.

    "I'm really sorry, Siste-"

    "Blackhollow. Not Sister Blackhollow, just Blackhollow. Come on, we'll get you fixed."

    Delmari heaved a sigh of relief, her breath hiccuping through quiet sobs. "Thank you," she whispered, getting to her feet. She startled with a small squeak as Biekah hopped out of the bush, his chick not far behind.

    "Coonai hurt? Hurt? Need help?" he croaked, tilting his head to one side and the other as he looked at Delmari's paw, clucking his tongue in sympathy.

     "No, I don't think so for right now," Blackhollow answered, "but could you stay within earshot of the workshop for a bit in case I need anything?"

    "Yah, no problem, yah. Good hunting there, good for dumbheads. We stay."

    Delmari's brow wrinkled in offense, and she almost opened her mouth before Blackhollow hissed at her in a whisper, "He means his chick, not us." The Coonai nodded in understanding, though she still looked very confused at the father Avvi insulting his offspring.

    "All right," Blackhollow said, removing the shimmering purple scarf from her head, "put this on. No, not like that, like this." The Skirra stopped the girl from tying the scarf around her head like a cap, and instead, wrapped it tightly across her eyes as a blindfold.

    "But, why?" Delmari asked, stumbling along as Blackhollow led her blindly through the woods. "Why am I blindfolded?"

    "Why do you think I would hang the town up by its tail if they followed me out here?

    "Because you don't want people to know- oh," the Coonai trailed off, understanding. After that she followed in silence. She didn't see Blackhollow nod in approval at the girl's acceptance of her workshop remaining a secret. Well, at least this is one Del who respects others and their privacy, Blackhollow thought to herself, her estimation of Delmari rising considerably.

    They walked together, the Skirra leading the Coonai the short distance back to the stump. Spring raced out to meet them, but Blackhollow waved him off silently with a gentle pat and a shove. Delmari never even knew he was there. "Now, listen to me carefully," Blackhollow instructed. "I want you to put your paws on my shoulders. Walk very close to me, and keep your tail straight up and do not swing it. We will be walking through a short tunnel and then we will be in my workshop. You don't have to worry about tripping but you do have to do exactly what I said. Do you understand?"

    "Yes, Sist- I mean, Blackhollow. Paws on shoulders, stay close, tail up and still. I understand."

    "Good. You may also want to keep your head down close to mine, the ceiling is pretty low. It was never meant for Coonai." Blackhollow made one last quick check of the Coonai's blindfold, and as Delmari put her paws on the Skirra's shoulders, opened the door to the workshop tunnel.

    The pair entered, and Blackhollow quickly reached around the Coonai to close the door, pitching them into darkness. She elected not to light a candle; she knew the way perfectly well, and she didn't want to take the chance of the bright light allowing Delmari to see through her blindfold, especially now that she was surrounded by dozens of webjumpers. Many of her pets were still eating, while others waved their legs idly in a well-fed stupor. To Blackhollow it was quiet and peaceful in the tunnel, but she felt Delmari's paws tighten their grip and the puff of fur from the Coonai's alarm.

    "What's that sound?" Delmari squeaked in fear.

    "Nothing to worry about," Blackhollow answered, walking forward confidently and making the Coonai stumble to catch up. "Just keep following, keep your head down, and keep your tail up. The tunnel isn't long."

    "Head down, tail up, head down, tail up . . . " Delmari whispered to herself over and over, walking so close to Blackhollow that she was practically riding on the other animal's back. Blackhollow snorted quietly to herself. The Coonai was so scared that she probably had her eyes screwed shut so tight right now and didn't even need a blindfold. They walked briskly down the curving tunnel without incident; had the webjumpers not just been fed, Blackhollow likely would have had a very panicked Coonai on her paws from getting poked by curious legs. But they stayed in their silk-lined nests, and before long the Skirra was pushing the door to the workshop open, guiding Delmari through, and closing it behind them.

    "Okay, don't touch anything!" Blackhollow admonished as she stood on her toes to pull the blindfold from Delmari's eyes. "Take a seat by the table and I'll get the things to clean up your paw."

    As the scarf fell away, the Coonai gasped, staring in awe around the massive room in the hollow stump. She walked slowly toward the stool by the table, turning in circles as she took in all of the bolts of cloth, the tools of Blackhollow's trade, the soft rainbows on the walls from the mica windows above, and generations of Skirra collections carefully stored on shelves, hooks, and hangers of all types. She stumbled slightly as she tripped over her own ringed tail in her distraction, then sat on the stool, her head still craning around and her jaw hanging open. "Amazing . . ." she whispered. "I've never seen any place like this!"

    "And you never will again," Blackhollow scolded, dropping an armload of items on the table with a sharp clatter, "and you won't tell anyone what you have seen here. Got it?"

     Delmari shrunk back and the scolding, nodding her head quickly. "Yes, Si- Blackhollow."

    "Good. Now give me your paw." Delmari held out her injured paw and Blackhollow pulled it closer, moving a tabletop mirror of polished metal to reflect bright sunlight on the cut. She dipped a piece of soft leather in a bowl of warm water, and began to clean the wound, causing fresh blood to flow. Delmari hissed in pain, and tears leaped to her eyes again, but she stayed still. There was much dirt and leaf litter in the injured paw, and the cleaning took quite a while. The pair remained silent the whole time.

    As she cleaned the cut, Blackhollow became less and less happy with what she saw. The cut was, as she expected, quite deep, and the paw pad surrounding it had torn unevenly. The young Coonai would not be able to use her paw for much of anything for at least several days if it was to knit properly. Finally the last of the dirt was out, and the Skirra lifted a sheet of what appeared to be a very thin cloth dyed a deep yellow. She soaked it in the water and wadded it up in her paw before packing it into the wound. This time the Coonai did cry out slightly.

    "Ow! What are you doing? What is that stuff?"

    "Webjumper silk, presoaked in strained herbs that help cuts to heal. The silk helps to clot the blood and stop the bleeding. It'll dissolve on its own."

    "Oh," Delmari said, leaning a little closer to watch the treatment progress. The kid's got guts, Blackhollow thought. At least she's not squeamish . . . her mother, Deltalia, would have fainted at a hangnail. The wound packed, Blackhollow finally picked up another long strip of soft leather with two laces cut at one end, and began wrapping it around Delmari's paw.

    Delmari screamed at the top of her lungs. Blackhollow jumped, thinking she had hurt the girl, until she noticed Delmari's eyes wide in terror in her dark mask, and her other paw raising to point behind the Skirra. Blackhollow whipped around, and came face to face with Spring.

    "Oh!" Blackhollow gasped a sigh of relief, patting the massive webjumper on one leg. "You startled us, you big goof. I should have shut your door when I came in."

    "Bu-bu-bu-but tha-tha-tha-"

    "'That' is Spring. This is his home too. Don't worry, he won't hurt you. You're much too big for him to eat."

    "Hi-his home too? He li-li-lives here?" Delmari tried to back away as Spring crawled closer to her, but Blackhollow had the Coonai's paw in a tight grip as she wrapped the bandage. The youngster whimpered as Spring reached out with his foremost legs and started feeling the Coonai's fur. "Wha-what do I do? Shoo! G-go on, um, Spring! Shoo!"

    "Just pet him," Blackhollow said calmly, taking the lacing for the bandage and starting to bind it tightly. "He likes being scratched between the abdomen and the thorax; where the fat part meets the middle part."

    "Okay," Delmari whispered, still terrified. She reached out a shaking paw and hesitantly began to scratch the webjumper where advised, and Spring raised himself up under her claws, drumming his front legs on her thigh."

    "Ah! What's he doing?"

    "That means he likes it."

    "R-really?" Delmari scratched a little faster, and Spring drummed his legs to match her scratching, making the Coonai giggle quietly in amazement. Blackhollow finished tying off the bandage just as Spring quickly climbed up into the Coonai's lap, soliciting another brief shriek as he tucked his eight legs underneath himself and settled into her fur. Delmari froze, staring at him, before trying again to pat him gently. Spring lay there motionless, and it wasn't long before the girl was grinning ear to ear, stroking his bristling fur.

    "He's nothing but a Pomat pup, isn't he?" Delmari laughed, amazed that she was sitting with a massive webjumper asleep in her lap. Blackhollow grunted in agreement, scowling slightly at the napping Spring. Big oaf, she mumbled to herself. What kind of a house guard was he if he melted for any critter who could give him a good scratch?

    The Skirra shook her head and began cleaning up. "You were telling me why you were here," she stated, prompting the rest of the story.

    "Yes, um, sorry," Delmari mumbled, looking at her bandaged paw and wiggling her claws with a faint gasp of pain. "Um, well, Muma was mad no one was going to go after you, because she wanted to send you some sweets to cheer you up."

    "Oh, I bet she did," Blackhollow sneered. "Just her way of keeping her nose in everyone else's business so she can gossip all the more."

    Delmari chuckled sheepishly. "You definitely know my Muma," she agreed. Blackhollow raised an eyebrow. No argument? She had expected the girl to defend her parent, not a blunt confirmation of her accusation. The Coonai continued. "So Muma put together a pack of raspberry sweets and told me to follow you so I could give it to you as a housewarming present."

    "Even though she knows I already had another home." It was a statement, not a question.

    "As I said, you know my Muma. She has to show that she is the kindest and most thoughtful Coonai in Highcanyon, and has to make sure that everyone knows it." Delmari's voice dripped with sarcasm, and she gave the Skirra a wry grin.

    Blackhollow was really beginning to like this girl.

    "I know you don't like people following you and bothering you, and I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have said I would do it, but my brothers were driving me absolutely nuts! I had to get out of the house and if I stayed in town my Muma would have made me take them with me. I'm sorry, Blackhollow . . . ." Delmari gave the Skirra a contrite head dip, and Blackhollow was a little surprised to find herself nodding in acceptance.

    "Well, I can understand wanting to get away from those brats."

    "You don't know the half of it," Delmari mumbled to herself, stroking Spring's fur as she sulked for a brief moment. "Anyway, by the time Muma got the sweets bundled and we had walked the long way through town so Muma could tell everyone that she was sending a care package to you -" she paused as Blackhollow chuckled at the image "- you were already gone from your old tree. I saw really big hoofprints, so I knew Aloren must have been by since he'd been at our place earlier, but didn't see you anywhere so I followed his tracks to see if you were with him. I tried to catch up but the pack was pretty big and I couldn't move very fast, and when I finally saw you both, Aloren wasn't moving. I put the pack down and climbed a tree to see what he was looking at . . . ." Delmari trailed off with a nervous gulp.

    "You saw the Delk," Blackhollow said quietly as she sorted through cabinets to put together a snack for the two of them.

    Delmari nodded. "I'd never seen Delk before . . . they were so big, and I was too scared to move! One of them looked right at me!"

    No wonder they didn't attack, Blackhollow concluded. Not only would there have been one witness, but there would have been two, one already up in a tree and out of their reach.

    "I couldn't even make myself climb down for about an hour, I was shaking so bad. By that time you and Aloren were long gone, so I had to follow his tracks again. I tried to hurry, but I didn't want to make any noise and with my arms full with the pack I couldn't travel through the treetops, so I just walked and walked and then I started seeing blood, but I didn't see any other tracks . . . ."

    "Aloren shed an antler, and we brought it with us."

    "Oh!" Delmari looked a little surprised at first, and then relieved. "It never occurred to me . . . that makes sense. It's that time of year." Blackhollow nodded, bringing two bowls of mixed nuts and dried fruit over to the table before going to fill two cups with rain water. Delmari continued. "I was really frightened because I thought one of you was hurt, and I was so far from home, and I had no idea where I was, and I was afraid to go back because I would have to pass where I saw the Delk again." She paused to take a deep breath to calm her rattled nerves. "And then after I had walked for what felt like forever, all of a sudden this huge webjumper leaped out of nowhere and landed on my head, and I tripped and fell down and that's when I cut my hand."

   "Oh really?" Blackhollow said, returning with the cups of water. Delmari took a deep drink as Blackhollow asked, "What did this webjumper look like?"

    "Ug, it was huge and brown and furry and all legs and -" Delmari stopped mid-sentence, and slowly her gaze fell to her lap to land on the still napping Spring. "It was him, wasn't it?"

    Blackhollow nodded, popping a handful of dried berries in her mouth. She chewed while the Coonai pondered for a moment, then spoke. "You must have walked too close to the stump, here. Spring is trained to jump on any animal that he doesn't know that trespasses. He jumped on Aloren, too."

    Delmari almost choked on the nut she had just bitten into. "He jumped on the Grove Master?"

    Blackhollow chuckled. "Webjumpers are a lot smarter than anyone gives them credit for, but he didn't know Aloren and wouldn't understand the concept of Grove Master or what decorated antlers meant or anything like that. It was just another critter as far as he was concerned."

    "But surely Spring listens to you . . . um, somehow. Didn't you try to stop him from jumping on the Grove Master?"

    "Of course not. Aloren still doesn't know where I live, and I didn't want him here. I don't want anybody here."

    Delmari blinked a couple of times, and hung her head. "I'm sorry, Blackhollow."

    The Skirra sighed. "There's nothing to be done about it now, so don't worry your head about it. But, there is something we have to discuss." The Coonai looked up at the Skirra with some trepidation. "Your paw is hurt bad, there's no questioning that. You're not going to be able to use it for several days, not to any real good, at least. And you most definitely cannot climb a tree like that. You're going to have to stay here until it is healed."

    "What? Stay here?" Delmari's eyes widened in shock, and for a moment Blackhollow thought even a hint of excitement before the look faded. "But why? I mean, I know there's Delk, but can't we just send a message to town for some of the Gerliers to come and walk me home?"

    "And tell the whole town where this place is? Of course not," Blackhollow admonished. "And the other large creatures of the area live here because they don't want to be near town for their own reasons, and those who do travel into town either won't be here for a long time or just left."

    "Oh," Delmari mumbled, and her face split into a massive smile. "Thank you so much for letting me stay with you!" she exclaimed.

    Now it was Blackhollow's turn to choke on her food. "What? You want to stay here? Are you sure you didn't hit your head when you fell? Why would you want to stay all the way out here with an old Skirra like me?"

    Delmari's eyes grew dark and angry. "You have no idea how miserable it is at our tree. Babies and kids everywhere, yelling and crying day and night, and it's always 'Delmari, watch your brothers. Delmari, clean up after your sisters. No, you can't do this. Go take this to your father' day and night. My brother Delseno gets to go to the smithy to help Papai, if you could call it helping. All he does is sit there and sulk and do nothing. I'd give anything to work in the smithy with Papai and actually do something other than wipe noses all day." Suddenly the Coonai cut herself off, her eyes wide as she realized what she was saying. "I'm sorry," she said in a small voice, "I didn't mean to -"

    "No, I understand," Blackhollow chuckled. "I'd need to vent too if I had to put up with that."

    Delmari gave Blackhollow a meek smile. "Thanks for letting me stay."

    "Hmmph. Don't thank me yet. I have a lot of work to do around here to make this my permanent home, and I'm going to need help. Gimpy paw or not, you're going to be tired by the end of the days."

    "Oh, of course! Anything I can do -"

    "And, there are other things. You may not like it here."

    "I already know I love it here! All the tools and cloth and even Spring! I -"

    Blackhollow cut her off with a raised paw. "Follow me." The Skirra hopped down from her stool. The Coonai stood carefully, eased the sleeping Spring to the floor, and followed close behind as Blackhollow went to the door that they had come in originally. "Okay," Blackhollow said, "open it."

    Delmari looked down at her questioningly. "No blindfold? Are you sure?"

    Blackhollow gave her a firm nod, and gestured to the door lever. With a small shrug, Delmari opened the door, and froze at the sight of the tunnel, covered floor to ceiling with web jumper silk and writhing with the legs of dozens upon dozens of webjumpers.

    "If you're going to stay here, you're going to have to walk through that tunnel several times a day. Those 'jumpers are not tame like Spring is. They're not dangerous, but they won't hesitate to bite you if you startle or hurt one, so you have to be careful. They're quiet now because I just fed them. You have to -"

    "That's how you do it," Delmari whispered.

    This time, it was Blackhollow's turn to freeze in shock. "What did you just say?"

    "That's how you do it." Delmari eased the door close with a quiet click as the latch fell back into place. "That's how you make cloth. You use webjumper silk." A small, incredulous smile was spreading across her lips.

    "Now see here! I don't know what you are thinking, but -"

    "No, I know I'm right! That jumper silk that you said was soaked in herbs and you put in my hand? That was woven, like the grass mats that Old Shishi makes."

    "Shishi isn't even old. I don't know why you townies insist on calling her that."

    "I'm right, aren't I?"

    "Don't you question me, missy!"

    "Teach me."

    Blackhollow's jaw dropped. "What did you say?"

    Delmari swallowed hard, realizing she had just overstepped her bounds, or more likely, jumped right over them and off a cliff. Still, she straightened her back until she towered over the elderly Skirra, folded her paws in front of herself, and looked Blackhollow steadily in the eye. "I would be honored if you would take me as your apprentice," she said, only a slight quaver in her voice.

    Blackhollow's ears flushed red with anger, and her tail began thrashing up and down in her rage. She sputtered and spat, unable to even get out the words to tell the young Coonai what an insolent whelp she was being, how did she even dare to ask a question like that, and if she was younger, Blackhollow would think nothing of taking a switch to her hide and driving her back to Highcanyon herself, Delk be damned.

    Delmari stood quietly, unmoving.

    An unholy shriek was all Blackhollow could manage, and she whirled around, storming away from Delmari, looking around for something to throw at the Coonai's head. She grabbed one of the water cups from the table, and went to turn to hurl it when her eyes passed over the piebald tail of Bitleaf, hanging quietly on the wall surrounded by dried flowers.

    She could almost hear her husband's voice in her head. You have to teach someone someday, and soon. If you die before then, all this dies with you.

    And Bitleaf would have been right. They had never had kits; there was no one else in Felriver who knew how to do what Bitleaf had taught her, and she wasn't getting any younger. Quite the opposite, in fact, as her joints and shedding fur told her every day.

    She slowly lowered the cup to the table, and looked out of the corner of her eye at Delmari. The young Coonai remained stock still, staring forward to where the Skirra had been standing before stomping off to the other side of the room. There was a very slight tremble in the tip of her ringed tail that belayed her fear, but still, Delmari stood strong.

    She had guts, Blackhollow found herself thinking again.

    More slowly this time, Blackhollow walked back to stand before the Coonai, glaring up at her, a slight snarl on her lips. She raised a paw, and jabbed her claw into Demari's chestfur sharply.

    "You have one week to prove yourself."

    Delmari almost screamed in delight, but bit her lip and limited her excitement to a slight bouncing on the tips of her toes. "Thank you, Blackhollow. You won't regret this," she gasped through her ecstatic grin.

    "I better not," Blackhollow growled, throwing open the door to the tunnel and stomping her way toward the outside.

Part 3: Evening

 

     Blackhollow had almost reached the outside door when she heard Delmari striking the flint to light a candle. She almost growled an admonition, but thought better of it; the girl had to learn her way around the workshop, and at least she wasn't cowering at the lower door asking for help to make it past the webjumpers again. So Blackhollow stood at the top of the tunnel, waiting with an impatiently tapping foot as Delmari made her way slowly to the surface. The young Coonai took her time, running her claws along the webjumper silk that lined the walls, and holding the candle high to take an only slightly timid look at the denizens inside the assorted nooks and cavities. Her time with Spring had done a world of good for her bravery, it seemed. As she approached, Delmari opened her mouth to ask a question, but seeing the look on Blackhollow's face, quickly snapped her jaw shut and with a slight head dip, blew out the flame.

     The Skirra gave a curt nod that could not be seen in the darkness, and opened the door to the woods, making sure to take the net stick from where she had leaned it against the wall. Blackhollow and Delmari stepped outside, blinking against the sun, which had just began to begin its slow descent in the west.

     "Biekah!" Blackhollow called, rapping the net stick against the stump. "Are you still around?" The pair waited for a couple of moments before rustling could be heard in the nearby underbrush, and shortly the father Grapple and his young charge came hopping into sight.

     "Yah, yah, I stay around like I say, Black. Coonai all better? How paw?" Biekah tilted his head left and right as Delmari held up the bandaged injury for his inspection. The Grapple chirruped deep in his gullet in approval. "Nice wrap. That cut need work though. Paw like wing, it get a rip, need to fix self so will still work, right right?"

     Delmari nodded, and wiggled her fingers with a small wince. "Yes . . . I'm probably going to have to exercise it quite a bit so it doesn't scar up stiff. Thank you for your concern, Brother."

     "Name Biekah," the Grapple said, extending the fingers on the wrist of his wing for her to shake. Delmari grasped them in her good paw and gave her name as well, and looked down at the small, plump ball of fluff by its parent's side.

     "And who might this be?" she asked, extending her paw to the youngster, who promptly pecked it looking for food.

     "Dumb-head no have name yet. Grapple chick picks first name, we call it that 'til first molt. Then flock give adult name. Chick here no pick name yet. Is LAZY," Biekah admonished, giving the chick a little shove with his foot that sent the young Grapple stumbling slightly, but it continued to stare at the Coonai unfazed.

     "Can-ee!" it squeaked in demanding expectation.

     "Enough with candy!" Biekah screamed harshly in exasperation. "What with you and candy today? Candy, candy, no shut up about candy."

     "Um, I think I know," Delmari said with a small grin. "When I came here I was carrying a large bundle of candy for Blackhollow. I must have dropped it when Spring scared me and I ran away. Maybe he found it?"

      Biekah blinked a couple of times, and then looked down at his chick, who took a couple of steps backward and opened his little beak in a wide but sheepish grin. The father's stare grew into daggers as he realized that Delmari was probably right; the chick had found the candy and had probably eaten the entire bundle. "Selfish dumb-head! Those Black's candies! You eat Black's candies?"

     The chick ran and hid behind Delmari, peeking out from behind one of her furry legs. Delmari gave the downy head a little pat. "They weren't wrapped well, and they probably got covered with dirt and leaves . . . I doubt Blackhollow would have wanted them after that anyway." The Coonai turned her head and gave the chick a little wink, though she made sure Biekah could still see it, so he would know that there was no hard feelings for the chick's minor theft.

     The chick grinned broadly with his small beak, and hopped back in front of the Coonai, looking up at her. "Ma-wi?" it peeped. Delmari smiled and knelt down before him.

     "Yep, Delmari, that's my name," she replied.

     The chick repeated the name "Mawi, Mawi" over and over to himself to remember it. It then looked up at her again, leaning closer and whispering quietly, "Can-ee?"

     "No, no more candy today," Delmari laughed. "But I do need something to call you by . . . since you like candy so much, can I call you Candy?"

      "CAN-EE!" the chick shrieked, bouncing up and down. "Name Can-ee! Name Can-ee!"

     "No! No-no-no, Candy not name for chick, Candy what Coonai call you until you pick good name, dumb-head!" Biekah yelled, stomping his feet for attention. The chick stopped bouncing, set his wings, and turned toward his father with a steady look.

     "Can-ee. Pick name Can-ee. My name, my pick, my name Can-ee now," the chick said as clearly as possible. Biekah tried to glower at the chick, but the young Grapple stood firm. Finally the father sighed with a sag of his wings.

     "What I say? My name Fluff when chick, 'cuz like nest fluff. Guess dumb-head now Candy."

     Candy began bouncing again, cheeping his name to himself and dancing around a giggling Delmari. Blackhollow, who had been watching the exchange with withering patience, finally spoke up. "If the naming ceremony has now concluded, I need to hire your services, Biekah," she growled.

     Biekah snapped his head toward her, and gave a small chortle. "Sorry, sorry. What I do for you, Black?"

     "Delmari is in no shape to travel back home alone or without a large guard, and I don't want any of the townies coming out here to retrieve her. Could you take a message to her family in Highcanyon to tell them that she will be staying with me for about . . . say, seven suns? Her father is the smith there; you should have no problem finding their shop and home. I can provide for her so she will need nothing brought back. Could you do that this evening?"

     "Yah, that no problem, Black. Just take Candy home to his Muma, then fly. Message there in no time."

     "Excellent. What do you need for payment?"

     Biekah thought for a moment, then turned to the chick still dancing around the Coonai. "Candy! You big 'nuff now to pick name, you big 'nuff now to act like big Grapple. What your Papai take for pay for message to Highcanyon?"

     Candy stopped dancing, looked at his father, to Blackhollow, and then the Coonai, before opening his beak with a loud cry. "CAN-"

     Biekah promptly pecked the small, down-covered head. Candy cut off his excited shout, and thought again, trying to hide scowling eyes from his parent. Finally he looked up at Delmari. "Pay fur," he said.

     Delmari looked confused. "Um, what do you mean, you want my fur? I'm sort of using it . . . ."

     Candy hopped over to her and with a quick yank, pulled a tuft of fur from her pelt. The Coonai yelped without thinking, but it didn't hurt; the chick had pulled out a clump of her winter shed. "Oh!" Delmari exclaimed, understanding. "You want some of my winter fur in payment!"

      Candy nodded, placing the fur tuft on the ground. "Yah. Make home good."

     Biekah gave the chick a quick grooming with his beak. "That good, good pay, good think, Candy. We take fur, bring message to smith in Highcanyon, yah?"

     "Agreed," both Delmari and Blackhollow stated, quickly pulling out large clumps of the Coonai's winter fur. The four animals picked up what they could each carry and set out the short distance to the tree that held Biekah's nest, and the mammals placed their armloads at the base for Candy to relay upward. The chick scrambled up the tree with his wingclaws and feet with the first mouthful as the father made his goodbyes, and took wing toward Highcanyon.

     "There! Now that we've dealt with that," Blackhollow said, turning toward Delmari as she brushed the last few bits of loose fur from her paws, "we have a lot to do today and only a few more pawspans of sunlight to do it in." The black Skirra ticked off the chores on her claws. "We have to return this stick to the river -"

     "Why?" Delmari asked, and was met by a scowl for interrupting. She dipped her head with a quiet, "Yes'Si."

     Blackhollow nodded and continued, beginning to walk with Delmari following. "On the way we have to pick up my pack; I had to leave it for a bit after I got back, but it has some things in it from the tree in Highcanyon and I don't want it staying out overnight. We have to check the fish stock . . . are you good at catching fish?"

     Delmari blinked, then nodded eagerly. "Oh, yes, I love fishing."

     "Good, because I hate it. You can have that job then while you are here. On the way back we need to pick up as many cattail heads as we can carry. Tomorrow we'll go looking for pussywillows and some plants for dyes. Also on the way back we need to swing by the lowland - that's a bit of a sinkhole near the riverside - to pick up some greens so we can have a salad for dinner tonight."

     "Can I bring back a fish for dinner?"

     It was Blackhollow's turn to think. She hadn't considered that Delmari was omnivorous, and that would create a lot more waste than she ever produced in the form of bones, carapaces, and other detritus that she couldn't have piled up around the workshop, or it would attract attention. "Not tonight. We'll work out how we'll handle full meals for you in the morning."

     "Yes'Si."

     They reached the clearing where the Skirra had helped Aloren preserve his antler decorations. There was still some dried blood on the leaves, and she kicked them about to scatter them in the dirt as she made her way to her pack. Stuffing a few items back in that had fallen out, she handed it to the Coonai, who was sniffing the air, her nose wrinkled, and a disgusted look on her face.

     "Ug, what is that stench?" Delmari hissed, smacking her lips as if she had a foul taste in her mouth.

     "That, young girl, is the fish, and one of your chores." Blackhollow ignored the horrified look Delmari gave her, walking toward the riverbank while pushing branches out of her way with the stick in her paw. "The webjumpers have to eat, and we have to keep unwanted animals from hanging around here. We pull some fish from the river and let them rot on the riverbank. They stink, keeping visitors far away, and they attract flies, which we feed to the webjumpers." The pair reached the broad, sandy shore of the Rockwallow, littered with the reeking corpses of fish. As the day was cooling, the fat flies which had droned lazily above the bodies earlier now crawled over scales and bones, laying their eggs.

     Delmari looked a little green around her muzzle and covered her nose, but said nothing.

     "Now, how do we get the flies from here to the webjumpers in the tunnel? We catch them, and that is what this stick is for." Blackhollow walked over to a specific bush near one of the piles of fish, moved some branches, and showed Delmari where a hollow had been carved in the branching trunk. She fit the butt end of the stick into the hollow, so that the forked end hung out near the rotting bodies. The Skirra beckoned Delmari closer, and turned over a few leaves until she found the small webjumper she had left there earlier.

     "There are several kinds of webjumpers," Blackhollow explained as she nudged the multi-legged animal onto her arm. It was about the size of her paw, and striped with black and yellow in striking markings. "The ones in the tunnel are webjumpers that live on the ground and make burrows with their silk. Most of their web is not very sticky, because if it was, anything that passed by would just fill it with dirt, making it useless. That is why it is good for making cloth." The Skirra held up her arm, letting the striped webjumper climb around it in circles. "This kind of webjumper makes the big round webs that you would see covered with dew in the morning. The long strands that radiate out from the center are not sticky, and that is where the webjumper walks. The smaller strands that go around in a circle are the sticky ones that catch bugs. Not good silk for making cloth, but great for collecting flies for us." The Skirra eased the webjumper off her arm and with a claw, gave it a small nudge toward a hole drilled in the fork of the branch. The webjumper obligingly crawled in, turning around and staring out at them. "She will hide in there until the sun goes down, and then climb out and make her web when there's no Avvi flying around looking to eat her. We'll let her keep her web for a day to catch and eat her own food, and then we'll come back, take the stick and the web, use it to catch flies here, and bring them back to the webjumpers in the tunnel."

     "You called it a "she"," Delmari said, apparently having forgotten the stench of the dead fish as she looked at the hiding webjumper curiously. "How do you know it is a girl?"

     "Webjumper females generally live much longer than males do. The males usually only live long enough in a season to make sure the females can lay eggs, and then they die. Some females live a few years, lay one egg sack, and die right after, but others live many years and lay many egg sacks. This little lady here," Blackhollow waved at the webjumper with a claw, "has been with me for two seasons. Since she didn't die last year, I know she's a girl. But unfortunately this will be her last season with me, because these webjumpers don't live that long. Then I'll have to find another one and hope it's as happy to live in the bush as this one is, though with all the food they get here, it shouldn't be a problem."

     "What about Spring? You called Spring a "he". Is he gonna die this fall?"

     "No, that lazy galoot is actually a girl. She's about five seasons old and should be around for a good while to come. I just call her a "he" because . . . ." Blackhollow thought for a second and chuckled. "Actually I don't know why I call her a -" Suddenly, the Skirra cut off, grabbed the Coonai's arm, and shoved her into the bush, pushing the girl in front of her until they were behind a tree.

     Delmari had the sense to not yell or argue, but as soon as they were hidden, pressed her face close to Blackhollow's and whispered very quietly, "What was it?"

     "Yoteen," Blackhollow mouthed back, pointing across the river.

     The two peeked slowly from behind the trunk, keeping their heads as low to the ground as possible. On the far bank, a group of Yoteen could be seen trotting on their hind legs, heads held high as they looked around and sniffed the air. Four of them - no, five, as one came out from the woods for a moment before moving back into the undergrowth. Occasionally one would pause, perk his ears, and look around, or drop to all fours for a scent before moving on. The pack was definitely hunting; they were bristling with weapons, and they did not seem very focused on fast travel.

     Blackhollow narrowed her eyes. Then again, the weapons weren't very typical of food gathering. These Yoteen looked like they were looking for a battle.

     Across the river, one of the Yoteen paused and barked something, and the Skirra and Coonai gasped collectively as an answering yip came from their side of the river, and not very far off. Delmari looked at Blackhollow in panic, who held a claw to her lips, took the young girl's paw, and silently led her a short distance off to a fallen and half-hollowed log. Pushing aside some leaves, she revealed a narrow hole under the log, and the two quickly scrambled inside, pulling the leaves back in behind them. Faint light leaked through cracks in the bark, and Blackhollow was a little surprised to notice their hiding place was already occupied; an Ariice mother and her tiny family were already huddled in the darkness. The Skirra nodded at them, motioning for them all to remain silent, just as footfalls were heard outside. The Skirra eased herself over to one of the cracks and looked out.

     Two Yoteen stood in the clearing where she and Aloren had rested. The smaller of the two had a tattered ear that hung lopsided against his cheek, but the other was perked as he scanned the forest. The other was the largest Yoteen Blackhollow had ever seen, easily the size of most Huuel. There was no doubt that the large one was the pack leader; he was covered with adornments, including a wide collar of Bukind - no, Delk - tails, under which a drape of hareet pelts covered his chest and back, fringed with still more tails of all fashion of creatures, ranging from Skirra to Foss, and even Yoteen and Huuel. A belt slung around his hips carried a pair of clawgloves, and daggers were strapped in their sheaths to each foreleg. This large one was looking at the ground, pushing the leaves around with one toe.

      The smaller Yoteen asked the larger one a question, unheard, but the big one's voice was deep and carried. "Bukind. Rested here a few hours ago. Who knows, maybe it's passed out up ahead." He lifted his head in a shrill yowl, and suddenly he was surrounded by eight or nine more Yoteen. "Fan out, there might be a hurt Bukind ahead. But be on guard; I smell Huuel as well."

      Blackhollow could see the shoulders of one of the newcomers shrug. "I could use some new weapons anyway." The pack chuckled, and the large one howled again; shortly, splashing was heard as the Yoteen from the other bank forded the river, and at least twenty were standing in the clearing, some of them griping loudly about the stench from the dead fish. The Skirra shook her head, wide eyed. She had never seen such a large pack of Yoteen in her life, and it was clear these were not mere traders. The large one barked out orders, splitting the pack into a fan of four groups, and they melted back into the wood, following the blood track of Aloren.

      It took at least two pawspans of the sun before Blackhollow allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief. She had no fear for the Grove Master; she knew that he and his Huuel guard had several hours head start and would have been traveling at a fair speed to try to get Aloren back to the Grove before his other antler dropped, much faster than the Yoteen were likely to assume an injured Bukind would be traveling. But still, she was greatly unsettled. It wasn't that she hadn't seen Yoteen packs passing along the river before - after all, the Rockwallow's bank did make for easy traveling - but never one so large or so ready for fighting.

      She felt a small paw on her flank, and looked down to the Ariice mother. "Do you think it is safe to move?" the tiny animal whispered.

      "Do you live close?" Blackhollow asked, keeping her voice to a bare breath as well.

      The Ariice nodded. "We're only a couple of rocks away."

      Blackhollow looked out the crack again, and then checked a few more that faced in different directions. "Looks clear," she whispered, "but let us go first. If you see us take to the trees, stay put."

      The Skirra was the first to slowly poke her nose out of the leaves, sniffing the air before easing her head out. She listened for several moments, but all she heard was the sounds of the forest returning to normal. She pulled her head back in, and said quietly to a wide-eyed Delmari, "Move quick, but don't make a sound. Go straight to the workshop and do not stop for anything. Do you understand?" The Coonai nodded, and with one last check, Blackhollow quietly pushed the leaves aside and the two females crept from the burrow. Once out in the setting sun, they took a quick look around before hugging the ground and fast-footing it back to the stump.

      Blackhollow reached the disguised door, holding it open for the terrified Delmari, then ducking inside and closing and latching it behind her. By the time she turned to head down the tunnel, she could see a faint light that said that Delmari had already found her way to the workshop. The Skirra bounded down the passage, and without missing a beat, jumped over a surprised Delmari's head onto a shelf, bouncing from side to side up the inside of the stump to rafter beams near the top. She easily balanced on her hindpaws as she drew leather curtains over the mica windows, clipping them into place on pegs. A few minutes later the interior of the stump was pitch black, but the Skirra confidently climbed down, and with only a little fumbling, managed to light a candle. Only then did the animals start to relax. Blackhollow walked around the large interior room lighting lamps as Delmari placed the Skirra's pack on the table, sitting heavily on the stool she had occupied earlier. She didn't stay long, and quickly got up to fetch two cups of water, looking to Blackhollow for approval as she filled them. The Skirra nodded, and waved her paw toward the food cupboard as well. Delmari poked through the cabinet, making some selections, as Blackhollow finished her task and began going through the pack, putting things away. She was just placing Bitleaf's painting on the shelf by his tail as Delmari set down two plates, a bowl of water for them to wash their paws, and two leather napkins for drying. Silently the two cleaned themselves, and began to eat.

      Blackhollow took one bite of the mixed nuts and dried fruit, and her eyes flew open. "This is good!" she exclaimed around a mouthful of food, taking a real look at what she had been served for the first time. "What did you do to it?"

      Delmari hung her head and gave the Skirra a sheepish grin. "I added a little honey to the water that I rinsed the nuts and fruit in, and just added some of the dried herbs from your cabinet is all."

      "Mmmmphmmm," Blackhollow mumbled in approval, stuffing a chunk of dried apple in her mouth. "From now on, you do dinner. I'll do breakfast and lunch."

      The Coonai grinned broadly, quickly dipping her head and eating a nut to hide her glee at hearing Blackhollow talk about more long-term plans. They ate in silence for a couple of moments, and finally Delmari asked quietly, "Did you recognize any of those Yoteen?'

      Blackhollow shook her head, her eyes dark. "No, I didn't. You?"

      "No, I don't think I've ever seen them near town before. I know none of them have traded with Papai, and he travels to a lot of the outposts and trades with many of the Yoteen packs there, since they're not allowed in Highcanyon proper." Yoteen had been exiled from the city dozens of seasons before after repeated problems with theft, unfair trades, and rumors of missing residents, but many of the more respectable packs made regular trade trips to outposts and met with city crafters there for bartering. "Papai would have definitely mentioned seeing a pack that big."

      Blackhollow grunted, still shoveling food into her mouth. "And none of their weapons looked like your father's work, either. I don't think they were from this area at all."

      "They had weapons?" Delmari knew Blackhollow wouldn't have even mentioned a simple knife or a hunting spear, since most carnivores carried something like that with them everywhere they traveled. "What kind of weapons?"

      Blackhollow remembered that Delmari would not have been able to see the Yoteen through the cracks in the log as she had. "Clawgloves, daggers, battle spears, jointblades, you name it. And their leader especially looked like be meant bad business. He had a huge collar around his shoulders of Delk tails."

      The Coonai's mouth dropped open, a small piece of nut falling to the table which she quickly swept off with her paw into her napkin. "Delk tails? You mean, they hunt Delk?"

      "Probably at least kill them, but I wouldn't say this makes the enemies of our enemies our friends. He also had a lot of other tails too: Foss, Huuel, Coonai, Skirra, Stiker, and yes, I said Coonai. I even think I saw a couple of Beorr tails in there. This pack is nothing to mess with, and we can only hope they don't stick around."

      Delmari's eyes were wide at the thought of a pack of Yoteen killing such creatures. Yoteen harassing and even killing smaller lone creatures was not unheard of and in bad years was even quite common, but she had never heard of a pack of Yoteen taking on, and apparently being successful against, the larger beasts of the area. Usually a pack would slink off with their tails between their legs when a Huuel band was even within sniffing distance, and none would dare tangle with a Delk.

      Blackhollow took a sip of water and putting the cup down, gave Delmari a serious look. "Things like this don't happen often around here, but it's a perfect example of why this workshop needs to remain hidden. Only a very few trusted creatures and some locals know it exists. If word got out about it, all sorts of rogues would descend on it faster than you could tree yourself to get to the cloth, because it is worth so much. And this stump is no defense against a determined Yoteen, or even anything smaller that could make its way down the tunnel. The webjumpers are only good for scaring when they are living, and a good stomp would make quick work of them."

      Delmari nodded solemnly. "I promise, I won't tell anyone, no matter what happens or whether or not you take me as an apprentice."

      Blackhollow grunted, and took a bite of honey-and-herb glazed berry, trying not to roll her eyes in bliss. "You keep making dinners like this and I won't let you go even if you can't weave a flower wreath, never mind cloth."

      The Coonai girl smiled. "I'll do my best," she said with a small chuckle. "If nothing else, I can repair some of your tools . . . I noticed some of them are damaged."

      "Hmm, true, true. And you'd know what to do, being your father's cub and all." They were interrupted by a light tapping coming from up near the ceiling. Delmari gasped in fear and dove under the table, but Blackhollow started her hop-and-climb up the side of the stump again, calling back quietly, "Don't worry, it's probably just Biekah." The Skirra unfastened a corner of one of the leather shades, and lifted the mica window a crack, instantly making shushing noises so Biekah knew to keep his voice down. The Grapple did so without question.

      "Back from Highcanyon. Father Coonai say it all good, he happy 'Mari safe. Mother Coonai, she yell and stamp and say 'Mari bad girl for not helping with babies," he croaked quietly, shaking his head at the memory. Blackhollow groaned and Delmari sighed with exasperation. Biekah continued. "I say she be here for oh, seven, maybe ten suns. Mother Coonai say come home now but Father Coonai say you just send me if you want stuff."

      "Thank you, Papai," Delmari whispered softly with a smirk.

      Biekah kept his voice low; smart animals knew never to question another creature when it came to anything that might save their hide or feathers. "Why quiet? Why cover window so early?"

      "Biekah, while you were gone a large pack of Yoteen came through. Nasty ones. They took off after Aloren's track but they might still be in the area."

      "I go look. Get dark, prob'ly have fire now, easy find. I be back." The Grapple's beak disappeared from the crack between the mica window and the stump, and the whistle of wings could be heard briefly as he flew away. Blackhollow lowered the window and refastened the shade before climbing down.

      "We're going to have to make you a ladder so you can get up and down in here easily," she said, hopping from shelf to shelf until she was at floor level again. "Things are a bit smooth in here for Coonai claws."

      "That's a rather, um, permanent change, isn't it?" Delmari asked, trying to keep the hope out of her voice.

      Blackhollow folded her hands behind her back, looking up at the tail of her deceased husband. "I'm not young any more, and when I pass beyond the Veil, Bitleaf will never give me a moment's peace in eternity if I haven't passed on clothmaking to someone else. You're young, you're smart, you listen, you're quick on the uptake, and you're not afraid of the webjumpers any more. I know you're good with your paws because I have seen you helping your father, and you're a good cook. But most importantly, if it makes that busybody of a mother of yours mad that you are here, then there is no way under the Greenmother's sun that I am giving you up without a fight."

      Delmari laughed out loud. "Thank you!" she exclaimed. "I'd hug you, but . . . ."

      "Yeah, I'm not much of one for hugging," Blackhollow scoffed, waving a paw in disdain. "Just keep making meals like that and we'll call it a hug given. If you're done eating, I could use a hand pulling out a bed mattress for you."

      "Oh, of course!" Delmari quickly dipped her paws in the washwater and dried them, then followed the Skirra to a darker storage alcove in a low-ceilinged part of the stump. Blackhollow moved a few piles of various things, handing the Coonai a couple of pillows and a blanket made of a pair of hareet skins, before hauling out a huge roll of stuffed furs.

      "Bitleaf and I had always planned on having a litter of our own, but he passed before that happened, unfortunately. This was made for a whole passel of Skirra pups, so it should fit you just fine. The ceiling over the bed might be a bit low for you, but it'll do until we can make you a proper place of your own."

      "Ooof! Thank you!" Delmari said in a muffled voice as she gathered up the mattress, fumbling a bit under her full arms. Blackhollow wiggled the pillows out of her grasp to ease the load and allow her to see a bit, and the Coonai followed her over to another, larger cubby. Again the Skirra had to remove a collection of odds and ends that she had placed in it, but before long the storage area revealed itself to be a bedframe carved into the side of the stump and extending into a hollowed-out cavern in the ground. Delmari eagerly spread out and fluffed the mattress - more hareet skins stitched together and stuffed with feathers - and arranged the pillows and blanket as Blackhollow moved the storage items into the area vacated by the now used bedding. "I've never had my own bed before . . . I've always had to share it with siblings. This is wonderful!"

      "Well, you might have to share it again," Blackhollow said with a groan as Spring strode past on undulating legs. "It looks like your new best friend has given up night duty."

      Delmari pet the webjumper with a chuckle, and he drummed his front legs happily. "That's okay, I don't mind if he sleeps with me."

      Another soft tapping at the mica overhead told them that Biekah had returned, and the two females went back into the kitchen area. Climbing back to the rafters and opening the window again, she quickly asked, "Did you find them?"

      "Yah, yah, I see them and they is bad, bad news. You no joke. Many, many Yoteen, three fires, more steel than teeth. Bad news."

      "How far?"

      "Not near; it take many feathers before they back near. But still could do in morning. Black, need ask help. Saw Yoteen use clawgloves to climb tree, look for nests, look for chicks. My chicks stay in stump tonight?"

      "You can all stay in here tonight if you want," Blackhollow quickly said. She might not like company, but preserving life and limb was another matter entirely that all of the smaller creatures helped one another with whenever possible, especially against unknown trouble such as this Yoteen pack.

      "Nah, thank, just chicks. Me and mate stay outside, take turn sleep, watch for Yoteen come back."

      "Go fetch them then, we'll bring them in through the window so they don't try to eat the webjumpers in the tunnel. Delmari, douse all the lights except that lamp there, and go pull out another pile of blankets from the storage area and try to make something like a nest out of it. Then come back here and give me a hand."

      With a nod, the Coonai quickly trotted around the stump, blowing out lamps and candles. When all but one was doused, Blackhollow removed the shade completely from the window and slid the mica off to one side. Just as Delmari had finished making a large pile of blankets, little claws could be heard scrambling up the outside of the trunk, and Biekah was nudging the first of his chicks into Blackhollow's waiting arms. She awkwardly climbed partway down the stump with it under one arm, and then tossed it into Delmari's waiting paws. Two chicks, then three, then the fourth and last, that landed with an excited flapping of his little wings chirping "Mawi! Mawi!"

      "Hello, Candy!" Delmari whispered, placing a claw over her lips with a shush and herding the small flock to their waiting bed. There was a few peeps of excitement as they piled into the furs, but all four quickly fell asleep in the darkness as Avvi will do.

      Blackhollow was sliding the mica back into place and having a last whispered conversation with Biekah when she returned.

      "I come in morning for babies. Thank, Black. I owe big time."

      "We may need some messages back and forth to Highcanyon in the next few days, so consider it pre-paid," Blackhollow said with a wink.

      Biekah chortled quietly deep in his gullet. "Yah, good deal. See when sun up."

     "Good night, Biekah," Blackhollow whispered, and Delmari waved as the window was shut and the shade was reattached. The Skirra hopped back down and began cleaning up the evening's plates. Delmari started to help, but Blackhollow stopped her. "No, you go lay down, get some sleep and rest that paw of yours. I'll take care of this. You've had a busy day."

      Delmari almost made a joke about how her day was nothing compared to Blackhollow losing her home the night before, but did not quite feel that comfortable arguing with the old Skirra quite yet. Not to mention, she was very tired. So she nodded, and with a quiet "goodnight", made her way to her new bed.

      The Skirra quietly washed the dishes and stacked them to dry, then took a small candle stub, lit it with the flame from the lamp before blowing out the larger light, and went to check on her now very crowded home. Delmari was already sound asleep, curled into a tight ball with her tail draped over her nose, and Spring asleep on her hip. The nest prepared for the chicks was empty, and they were all piled around the sleeping Coonai. Candy opened his eyes briefly and blinked blearily at Blackhollow in the candlelight. Raising a claw to her lips, the Skirra blew out the candle, and made her way in the darkness toward her own bed, passing by the tail of her late husband. A few stray beams of moonlight snuck through gaps in the shades overhead, giving her just enough light to see by and illuminating the tail in a faint glow.

      "Well, Bitleaf, I hope you're happy now," she whispered with as much scolding in her voice as she could manage, but had to give the tail a faint smile before she herself turned in for the night.

Author's Note

I'm still learning the editor so any suggestions for basic readability would be greatly appreciated. I am also especially interested in whether or not the "accents" are mostly understandable to the readers in the cases of characters like Sharp and Biekah. This chapter is not intended to be terribly exciting, but if it is a complete and total snore, obviously I would like to hear about it. Thank you for your time and your critique!

Reviews

[Kate Whitaker]

The accents are fine, but trying to keep the types of animals straight is a little confusing. That's a given though, you're introducing new words for old concepts, and it will take time to gel with readers.
I enjoyed the story a lot. Kind of had a jungle book meets peter rabbit thing that was highly enjoyable.

[B.T. Lyons]

Thank you very, very much! Elsewhere that I had posted this I had also hosted a "Felriver Guide" that was a kind of a glossary/list sort of thing that was a reference for the characters, species, locations, etc. It's a fluid document that I update every time I post a new chapter. I intended to include it at the end of the book when it was finished, but your review has shown me that it might be beneficial to readers to have the work in progress posted here as well.

Again, thank you immensely!

[erik ewing]

this is so ambitious! major Kudos! I'm really looking forward to reading more (alas I'm at work and should be writing my own stuff) but when I get home tonight I'm all in:)

[easybreezy]

Sharp resembles a mashup of Hammy and the raccoon from Over the Hedge. I fell in love with him immediately. The chapter is so long though. People tend to get overwhelmed by long chapters on this site. In reality, this length is standard for a novel, but on here I try to stick to around 1700 words per chapter. The accents/fragmented words work well. I wasn't confused by it at all. The storyline is very inventive and your descriptions are detailed enough to keep me from imagining a human speaking. (I hope that makes sense! I know what I'm trying to say, just can't quite explain it correctly.) Anyway...great work! :)

[B.T. Lyons]

Yeah, I'd wondered about how long people would actually sit through a story. Where it's broken into Parts 1-3 is where I had originally separated it when I had posted it to another site where I knew from experience people had a pretty short attention span, but it was a site that was not specifically focused on writing. I'd wondered if I should do the same here, but since the different parts weren't really their own chapters and the site didn't provide an option for multi-part chapter submissions, decided to post it very near as it would appear in the finished work. I did leave the part markers in so that if people wanted to leave and come back there was some breakpoints built in; I'll take those out when it's published. I do wish that the site had a "bookmark" option for longer works, though.

Sharp was an absolute blast to write, and I'm glad you enjoyed him! He'll have his own story eventually, I'm happy to say, but it won't be for a while.

[easybreezy]

It doesn't bother me. If a story is good, I'll read it regardless. I hate posting short chapters because in the event I put my book on paper, I'd have no idea how to combine the chapters effectively. A book with 50 chapters would turn away most readers, even if they are only 5 pages long! LOL

[Rose Kavanagh]

Your writing is very fluid and professional and while I'm not completely sure I understood every detail, I am certainly intrigued about what is to come :)

[B.T. Lyons]

Knowing that it is a bit difficult for folks to follow is great feedback; it's so hard finding that balance between introducing new concepts and not being overwhelming, but not being too generic either, know what I mean?

I do have a Felriver Guide that is a work in progress (I add to it each time I work on the book, and it is intended to be included with the finished book as a sort of glossary) and I'm going to post it here right now and keep it updated. Hopefully it will help future readers.

Thank you so much for taking the time to review this!