Packright
Part One
“What are we going to do about Littlefire?”
Rainsong frowned at Nightfall’s words. “Do about him? You make him sound like a problem – like a hive of yellow-stripes set outside the Holt.”
**A hive of yellow-stripes I can understand!** Strongbow sent angrily. **That cub of Egg’s...**
“You’ve made your feelings perfectly clear, Strongbow,” Redlance said cooly. He had assembled Nightfall, Rainsong and Strongbow together in his den to discuss their newest tribemate. So far, however, the meeting had been less than productive.
“Let’s speak plainly here,” Nightfall said calmly. “Littlefire has been a disruptive influence on this tribe since the moment he arrived. I know he doesn’t mean to. I know it’s simply his nature. But the death-sleep season is upon us, and we’re well behind in our harvest. Our storeholes are only half-filled. But he does not contribute to the tribe – he will not join the hunt, he cannot be left to gather plants on his own. It seems a day doesn’t go by when he wanders off and one of us has to go looking for him. We’re a small tribe – every member must contribute for the tribe to flourish.”
“What do you suggest we do, lifemate?” Redlance asked.
“Sit down with Littlefire. Try to make him understand our point of view.”
**It’s a fool’s errand trying to make that half-wit understand anything.**
“Strongbow,” Redlance warned. “You’re not helping.”
**I still don’t understand why can’t Rainsong just... heal him.**
Rainsong sighed wearily. “I can’t ‘heal him’ if he’s not injured or ill. And he’s not.”
**He’s mad, isn’t he?**
“He’s not mad! He’s just... different. You have to understand, Strongbow. Littlefire... his mind is healthy. And his body is healthy. It’s... it’s the connection between head, hand and heart that’s... out of step with ours.”
**Exactly. He’s mad.**
“Is Timmain mad? Is Aurek? Is Ekuar?”
**Sometimes I wonder!**
“You cannot simply find fault in anyone who sees the world in a different way, Strongbow. Think of how disoriented Timmain was in those first moments when she became an elf when we won the Palace War – remember how strange she seemed when she visited us all those years ago when Sunstream took the Palace to Blue Mountain. Littlefire is like that all the time – always living in a slightly different world from ours. It’s just the way he is. It’s the way his parents’ Recognition made him.”
**Recognition was meant to guard against such... aberrations.**
“He is not an aberration ,” Rainsong insisted. “And I cannot ‘heal’ him, Strongbow, anymore than I can remake his soul. Instead of focusing on the difficulties he poses, we should concentrate on the gifts he has to offer us.”
**What gifts? The gift of finding it entrancing to sit and stare at moonlight for the better part of the night? Or feeling the ‘life-force’ of animals so intensely that you weep to swat a fly? He’d do better to settle in Sorrow’s End. We have no use for his talents in a Wolfrider tribe!**
“You are needlessly harsh, Strongbow,” Nightfall said. “But I cannot disagree. I don’t know if Littlefire belongs here. I don’t know if he’s even happy here. It seems he’d be much happier in Sorrow’s End, or back with his parents in the Great Holt.”
“I don’t think he’s unhappy here,” Rainsong said. “He wants to learn about our way. He’s been to Sorrow’s End already. He stayed with the Plainsrunner Elves for one season. And he spent a year in the Wild Hunt with his brothers. He even lived at Green Moon Bay for a while. It’s his way. He is... fascinated by the way different elves look at the world.”
“And we didn’t mind during the summer,” Nightfall said gently. “But now we need every pair of hands. Simply sitting and watching is not enough now. He has to participate in our tribe if he wants to stay. I do not think that is unreasonable.”
Redlance nodded reluctantly. “No. And I can’t deny he is a disruption to this tribe.”
**We’re aren’t thinking about casting him out into the snow, for Freefoot’s sake!** Strongbow sent. **We’re not the only tribe of elves. Let’s just tell him it’s time to leave.**
“I’ve never driven anyone out of this tribe yet, Strongbow. Not even when Skot decided to spend three winters back to back one tree over. Remember how you growled then? Remember when the Yellow Creek Pack settled nearby? You said the mountain could not hold both Wolfriders and Go-Backs. But the two tribes live side by side happily.”
**Then let the Yellow Creeks deal with Littlefire!**
“Littlefire just needs guidance,” Rainsong said. “He’s a very bright cub. He’s helped me several times with gathering my plants. I’ll admit, I need to watch him closely, but–”
Strongbow snorted. **Bah. An errant child with powers of gliding, a sending that no one can withstand, and a mind that can’t understand anything less than sending. I say his parents take him back. We are a tribe of Wolfriders. We always have been. This tribe was founded as a bastion of the Way. He is not the Way. It’s a simple as that.**
Redlance smiled wryly. “I shudder to think what Vaya might do if she overheard us.”
“Send Sust and Skot to ‘settle’ us, I’m sure,” Nightfall quipped.
Redlance sighed. “This isn’t something I can simply order. We need to have a general council.”
“With Littlefire?” Rainsong asked.
“Of course.”
She bit her lip. “He won’t like that. You know he’s not comfortable in groups larger than three.”
Redlance nodded. “I know. But... the entire tribe deserves to all have a voice. I cannot feel comfortable deciding Littlefire’s place in the tribe without him. It’s not the Wolfrider way to hold councils in secret. Several small councils, scattered over several nights – it will spread rumours and strife between tribemates. No. But perhaps... if we held council out in the open, give Littlefire a lot of space, so he won’t feel threatened. Perhaps we can show him that there’s nothing to be feared from a group. If we can only gain his trust...”
“It isn’t a matter of trust, Redlance,” Rainsong said. “It’s... overwhelming for him. Too many elves, all around him – it feels smothering to him.”
Strongbow growled audibly. Nightfall frowned. At length Redlance sighed. “Open council and open sendings is the Way. And this Holt is built upon the Way. If Littlefire wants to stay here, then he must learn to accept our ways.”
“When will we hold council?” Nightfall asked.
“Now,” Redlance said.
“And then I mix the pigment with the liquid,” Kit continued. “Usually I use the eggs of small birds. Once I tried using melted wax – it didn’t work. Water will do in a pinch, of course, but I find the colours stick to the leather best when I use egg as the binding liquid. Littlefire, are you listening?”
“Hmm...” the Glider murmured, his nose still pressed firmly against Kit’s bound hair.
Kit smiled. The other tribemembers were always unnerved by Littlefire’s ways – one moment distant and shunning even eye contact, the next physically intimate in a way usually reserved for lovemates and close family. But Kit found his almost child-like manner charming.
Then again, perhaps it was because she hoped their relationship might become... somewhat more intimate.
“What are you doing?”
“I like your scent. Like old leather.”
“I hope that’s a good thing,” she said archly. But Littlefire was immune to the subtle inflections in voices, and he simply replied, “Yes. Comforting. Warm.”
“I thought I was showing you how I mix my paints?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Littlefire nodded repeatedly. “Yes – paints. Paints with water or egg – egg works better. But they smell strange. I like them better when they dry. Smoother. Not so... sharp.”
Amazing, how his senses were as heightened as hers, but different. It was as if he had the blood of another forest predator in his veins. “First I started with simple pictures,” she continued. “But then I tried more abstract images. Before long I had my own symbols that stood for words. So soon I could tell my stories in words painted onto the leather.” She dipped her brush into the pot of black paint and began to paint designs on the tanned hide. Littlefire abandoned his in-depth inspection of her hair to stare at the symbols blossoming on the leather.
“What does it say?”
“I’m telling the howl of my father’s last bear-hunt,” she said. The symbols were all arranged into a long curving line. “See. Start here: ‘And Strongbow took his spear, not his own bow, and joined One-Eye and Chief Redlance. They traveled many nights through darkest forest, many night alert for bear.’” She set the brush down. “See. Eventually the lines of symbols will form the shape of a bear rearing back on its hind legs. When I first realized I wanted to create this language of symbols I spent some time with the howlkeepers at Green Moon Bay – well, they call them scribes there. And they had a written language too –“
“Uh-huh. They stole it from the trolls.”
“Right. Have you seen a paper written with their symbols? All straight lines. Left to right. Up and down. It’s so... restricting. Like a cage. I decided I’d make my own way of writing, one that suited the Wolfriders better.”
“I-I-I like the way the pirates do it. Straight lines. Simple.”
Kit turned to face him, and Littlefire averted his eyes.
“Perhaps this white-cold I’ll teach you to read my symbols.”
“I’d – I’d like that.”
She smiled. “So would I. I’d like to have a tribemate to share my writing with.”
He looked mildly horrified. “So... so –so – so no one else here can read your work?” he stammered at length.
“Rainsong can read a little,” she shrugged. “But the others – I don’t know. The symbols all blur together in their heads and they cannot tell them apart. ‘Bear’ looks too much like ‘mountain’ and ‘Swift’ looks too much like ‘Rayek.’ I suppose it’s all too much to take in.”
Littlefire laughed lightly. “I like that.”
“What? What do you like?”
He looked a little sheepish. “That other elves get everything blurred in their heads too. Some-sometimes I think I’m the only one.”
“Oh, we do, Littlefire. You see things sharply sometimes where we see only a blur.” She almost reached out to touch his shoulder, but checked herself.
“Sometimes... I wish I didn’t see some things...”
“What do you mean?” she watched him closely, wondering what sights might assault his heightened senses.
“I wish... I wish –” he jerked his head a little, and his nervous stammer returned. “I-I- I wish I didn’t see the way they look at me!”
“Who?” Kit asked, but she already knew who he meant. The ones who did not understand him – who had no desire to understand him. The ones who thought him some mistake of nature.
She nodded in sympathy. If Littlefire were lost but a little more in his own world, he might never notice how some elves looked at him.
How Kit’s own parents looked at him...
She tried to change the subject to something lighter. “You’ve visited all the tribes. Which did you like the best?”
He shrugged. “They’re all... different. Sorrow’s End was slow... quiet, gentle. But too bright. And too crowded. Green Moon Bay was... full of... sensations. But too loud. And much, much too crowded.” He jerked his head reflexively. Kit had learned it meant he was very uncomfortable. “Blue Mountain was nice. Very nice. Quiet, dark, peaceful. I like Two-Edge. And Aroree. They understand.”
“How about the Plainsrunners? Your grandsire’s there. You must have liked it up there on the Plainswaste.”
“Yes. So much... emptiness. But the Plainsrunners are loud. And they don’t like me. They don’t understand. Grandfather understands. So does Mardu. But the others don’t. But... I... I liked being with the Wild Hunt.” He smiled a little shyly. “With Uncle Teir. And Cheipar and Weatherbird. I make sense to them.” He laughed. “They make sense to me.”
“And what about Thorny Mountain?” Kit smiled gently. “How do we measure?”
Littlefire jerked his head again and closed his eyes tight. “I don’t know yet.”
“You’ve been here for a full season already.”
“I like... some times. Some... some elves.” He met her gaze for the briefest moment.
Kit smiled. “I like you too, Littlefire.”
He looked away.
She wanted to curse herself for her shyness. Why couldn’t she simply ask him? She was no shrinking maiden. But there was something about Littlefire... his painful shyness was contagious, and she could not bring herself to ask outright if he would be her lovemate.
She wasn’t even certain if he took lovemates. He had a great aversion to being touched by any but members of his immediate family. One poorly-timed hug from Spar felt like an assault, he had said. A tap on the shoulder from behind terrified him. For all she knew, he had never known joining and never cared to.
Littlefire was looking back at the leather canvas. “D-do I have a symbol?” he asked.
Kit smiled. She dipped her brush in paint and drew his symbol on a scrap of bark on which she practiced her brush strokes. It was a curving line almost in the outline of an ear, or a single flame, surrounded by four smaller brush strokes.
“Littlefire,” she explained, pointing to the central flame, then the surrounding sparks.
He smiled, mesmerized by the picture.
“How did you get your name?” she asked him then. “It’s not a very Glider name – nor a Go-Back one, for that matter. Was it a nickname at first –like Coppersky?”
He laughed softly. “Papa Pike. And Skot! I-it was all their fault. When I-I was born, my eyes were already so dark–”
So intense, Kit corrected in her head. A deep brooding stormy blue-grey.
“A-and Papa Pike said they were eyes like the thunderclouds that bring skyfire. And Papa Skot laughed and said I was too – too tiny a thing to be a thunderstorm, or a bolt of skyfire. And he said something... about how I was a ‘little fire.’ And it stuck.”
“But what do your parents call you?” she asked.
“Son.”
For a moment she wondered if he had actually made a joke, and she nearly laughed. But she decided to opt for a gentle smile instead, lest she hurt his feelings.
“Or mite,” he added thoughtfully.
“That would be Vaya, I take it.” Though he must have been a very small child, she thought; when he straightened to full height instead of crouching nervously he was half a head taller than Strongbow.
“No, Father, too. He said I could fit in his hand when I was born.” He was silent a moment, lost in thought. “Turtle,” he added.
“Turtle?” Now she laughed. “Why ‘Turtle?’”
“Because I’m always hiding–”
“Hiding in your shell,” she finished with him. “That’s a wonderful howl. I’ll have to write it down.”
He blushed. “It’s... not important.”
“Yes, it is. All names are important. If our soulnames tell us who we are, then our tribe names tell others who we are. They... they clothe us. I love hearing the stories of names, especially the giving of new ones. Sometimes I wonder if I should take a new name... something to do with my howlkeeping. As Hummer became Songshaper, as Oakroot became Tanner. Kit... it’s such a cub’s name.”
“I like it,” Littlefire said. “I... I’d be a little sad if you changed it.”
She smiled. She opened her mouth to say that in that case she would keep it and wear it proudly, but her train of thought was interrupted by a sudden open sending from the chief. Littlefire winced and put his hands to his ears. “What –?” he frowned, unable to understand what was to him an overwhelming flood of sensation.
“A council. Now.” Kit’s brow furrowed. **Redlance,** she sent back. **I’m with Littlefire now. Should he come too?**
The reply came swiftly – a little too swiftly. **Yes.**
**He’s... a little... removed. If he can miss it–**
**He can’t,** came the clipped reply, and Kit had a sinking feeling in her stomach. She knew her parents had been complaining about Littlefire’s strange behaviour. Spar had hinted that it would not be long before the elders lost patience with him. Now it seemed the time had come for confrontation.
“We have to go to council,” she said gently.
“No,” Littlefire shook his head. “Can you just listen for me?”
“I’m sorry. Chief Redlance said he wants you there.”
Littlefire began to tug at a sidelock of hair in agitation. The action struck Kit as unsettling, even somewhat violent, but at length the repetitive motion calmed him. “If I have to,” he sighed miserably.
The autumn leaves we beginning to fall as the tribe met on the central platform linking the trees that formed the Holt. Redlance and Nightfall sat on a large knot in the tree trunk, overlooking the rest of the tribe perched on branches or sat on the flat wooden platform Redlance had long ago shaped.
At first the council began innocuously enough, as Redlance asked for an update on the filling of their storeholes for the coming winter. Moonshade beckoned Kit to come sit with her and Strongbow, but the howlkeeper shook her head and remained at Littlefire’s side. She could read the expressions of her tribemates. Rainsong frequently looked to the Glider with pity and concern, while Strongbow pointedly ignored Littlefire’s presence. Something was indeed brewing.
“Now, One-Eye,” Redlance turned to the bearded elder. “How goes the progress with weapons? We’ve precious little metal left to us now, and we’ll need those blackstone arrowheads of yours if we hope to keep hunting through the white-cold.”
One-Eye shrugged. “Getting the blackstone’s easy enough. I’ve struck a good deal with Vorik and the Yellow Creek Pack to take the blackstone from their territory. But I can’t seem to figure out how to knap the stone right.”
“We’ve been spoiled for so long, my chief,” Clearbrook spoke up. “We’ve been trading with the trolls since Mantricker’s time, and we’ve let our stone-working skills lie dormant for too long.”
**My mother Trueflight was a fine knapper,** Strongbow sent. **I wish I had learned from her.**
“Have you tried any other stone?” Moonshade asked.
“Aye, I’ve made some fine arrowheads in flint and feldspar,” One-Eye said. “But the stone here is not strong enough to hold up in a hunt. The arrow is only good once, and then it’s lost. No, this Thorny Mountain flint works well for our butchering tools, and small knives, it’s just too fragile to knap into arrowheads. And by my eye, I cannot find the right way to knap the blackstone without shattering it.”
“Perhaps we should just call for the Palace,” Spar suggested idly. “Pay a visit to the trolls and get ourselves some real arrowheads.”
“I can do this!” One-Eye growled. “I just need more time to practice.”
“We do things differently here than in the Great Holt,” Redlance reminded his daughter gently. “And one of our rules is not to seek aid needlessly when we can find a way to muddle through ourselves. The Wolfrider way is to be self-sufficient, and that is what we strive to be.”
Spar rolled her eyes. Spending half her time in the Great Holt with her agemates as she did, she was viewed by the elders as an overgrown spoiled cub who could never learn to fend for herself without a great deal of handholding by equally spoiled elves.
Spar, for her part, was convinced the Eldertribe enjoyed being primitive and miserable.
Arrogance for arrogance, Kit though wryly. No wonder Littlefire preferred to distance himself from any tribal affliation.
“The white-cold promises to come early this year,” Nightfall spoke. “We can scent it on the wind.”
“Aye,” One-Eye said. “We can’t afford to be idle now, by the looks of our storeholes.”
“I’ve been watching the herds,” Woodlock spoke, “and they seemed to be moving south early too.”
“We need extra furs and leathers,” Moonshade said. “Our cold weather leathers are hardly fit to be worn.”
“I think it is time we redouble our efforts,” Redlance said thoughtfully. “Woodlock, I’m sorry but I’ll need you to leave your clay for now. We need your bow in the hunt.”
“Of course.”
“And Kit,”
“Yes?”
“Your howling hides will have to wait for now. We need you hunting too, and I’m afraid all the leathers will have to go to your mother for tanning.”
The beginnings of a scowl crossed her features. “But I can keep the hide I have now? I’ve already begun my howl–”
Redlance shook his head. “It will have to wait until we are all clothed for winter. We can wash off the paint or cut it away. That hide will make two new pairs of trousers for the tribe.”
Kit clenched her fists at her side to keep from losing her temper. “My chief, you would not command Pike to stop his howl in mid-song and then eat his own words to save energy. I’ve begun my story – the words are fixed down – I cannot just... uproot them–”
“The words will live in your head and heart a little longer, Kit,” Nightfall said gently.
“Such a face does not become you, daughter,” Moonshade smiled.
Kit glared at her. **And such honey does not become you, Mother,** she locksent, **when you know well what pain it causes me to destroy my own work.**
**You’re not destroying it – only postponing it –**
**The words are fixed down!** Kit snapped.
Though none could hear the silent argument between tanner and howlkeeper, they could easily guess, and Rainsong gently offered: “Kit, have you ever considered expanding your painting onto bark? You made such a lovely bark basket for me, so delicately painted–”
“Bark rots.”
“I’m sorry, Kit,” Redlance said. “But we have been too idle this summer. Once this work is done and we are caught up on our leathers and our stores, then you can resume your howl-painting.”
Kit lowered her head. Next to her, Littlefire seemed oblivious to the new development, engrossed in the whirls and knots in the bark of the tree branch.
“Littlefire,” Redlance said.
Littlefire did not look up.
“Littlefire,” Redlance repeated, more sharply. Littlefire jerked his head.
“I can hear you.”
“Please look at me.”
“I can’t.”
“I know you can. Please, Littlefire. I don’t enjoy talking to tribemates when their backs are half-turned to me.”
“But if I look at you I won’t be able to listen to you,” he said in his mouse’s voice.
Redlance sighed at length. “Littlefire, have you been listening to the council?”
“Yes, yes, yes.” He tugged at a lock of hair. “One-Eye can’t make arrowheads and you need clothes and you’re taking Kit’s stories from her.”
Redlance glanced at Rainsong. She made a gesture that said “be gentle.”
“Littlefire, we need to turn all our attentions to preparing for the white-cold. That means you have to help too. I know you like to sit by yourself, but we need you to contribute to the efforts.”
“I can’t hunt. You know that. I can’t.”
“I know you’re no hunter. But we’ve spoken of this before. Could you not fly with the pack, and carry a net? You could be very valuable in bringing prey down–”
“No!” Littlefire snapped. “No hunting. No blood. I can’t stand blood! Makes me sick! Sick!” he pulled at his hair again. “Raw meat... blood – no!”
“My chief, Littlefire cannot join the hunt in any way,” Rainsong said. “If he catches scent of the fresh blood – you know he cannot stand the smell. Why don’t you work with me, Littlefire? We can go collecting herbs and plants for the winter.”
Littlefire nodded eagerly. But Nightfall looked at Rainsong meaningfully. Rainsong cleared her throat. “But... if you could concentrate on your task a little more... the last time you picked the wrong plants–”
Littlefire looked down at the branch. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“We all know it’s hard for you to concentrate on one thing too long,” Woodlock said gently. “It’s in your nature, we understand. But...”
“But we’re a small tribe,” Redlance said. “And in order to survive, every tribemember has to do his part. I know it is hard for you,” he added hastily as Littlefire drew his knees up to his chest and Strongbow began to growl under his breath at the young elf’s defensive posture. “Perhaps you can help us – is there any task you think you would be well suited to?”
“I can help Kit with her howls,” Littlefire mumbled.
“We don’t need howls now,” Redlance said. “We need hands at the hunt or the tanning or the gathering. If you like, you could help Kit and Moonshade with the making of winter clothes.”
“No,” he said sullenly. He bent his head down and only Kit heard him mutter: “You took her hide away.”
“Smoking?” Nightfall asked. “You could smoke meat.”
Littlefire shook his head. “No, no, not... right.”
“What is right for you?” Nightfall asked. “Littlefire, if you wish to stay here you must contribute.”
“You want me to leave?”
“Of course not,” Redlance said.
Strongbow continued to growl to himself.
“But every tribemember must contribute,” he continued.
“This isn’t the Great Holt,” Nightfall added. “You cannot simply sit idle.”
Spar rolled her eyes. “Yes, we’re all idle and overfed slugs,” she muttered under her breath.
“Perhaps... perhaps the Great Holt is more suited to your nature,” Clearbrook said.
“You do want me to leave!”
“We want you to be happy,” Nightfall cajoled. “But if the ways of this tribe do not make you happy...”
“Why are you doing this?” Littlefire pleaded. “Why are you attacking me?”
“We are not attacking you,” Redlance said firmly.
One-Eye stood. “Look here, Littlefire. We all know you’re... different. You’re a Glider and you’ve got a lot of that Glider... quality in you. But you chose to come here and asked to be part of our tribe. And if you want packright, then you have to earn it. You can’t just sit back and watch us all and compare us to all the other tribes you’ve visited and then go back to your father and add us all into the Egg. I don’t know about the others but I for one don’t like being studied like ants by a curious cub.”
Littlefire scowled.
“One-Eye,” Rainsong said gently.
“No. I’m sick of the way we are forced to coddle him. And I’m right sick of the way he always sits away from us, never helps out, and expects us to feed and shelter him. Littlefire, this is our Holt, and our Way. If you can’t accept it and be part of it then you don’t belong here.”
“This is a Wolfrider tribe,” Moonshade said pointedly. “I think we have all done our best to make you feel welcome–”
“Your best?” Littlefire snapped. “You’re always on attack. In my face. Right in front of me. All around me. Too close! Too loud! Too sharp!”
“What does that mean?” Moonshade demanded in exasperation.
“It means he’s afraid,” Kit shot back. “He can’t interact with so many elves at once. You all know that. He can’t concentrate on all the voices at once. It’s like... like you are all shouting in his ears and shoving him about. It’s an assault on his senses.”
“This is how we do things, Littlefire,” Clearbrook said. “The tribe is united. As one.”
“Too much, too many! Can’t you leave me alone?”
Redlance’s gentle smile hardened slightly. “If that’s what you want, then you can’t be happy here. Maybe it’s for the best –”
“You! You! You! You say what’s best! You leave me with nothing! No voice!”
“This is our tribe,” Moonshade muttered under her breath.
“We are trying, Littlefire,” Nightfall said. “If you could only... meet us halfway, and make an effort to be part of this tribe–”
“He can’t!” Kit snapped. “And it’s unfair to blame him for his nature.”
“Oh, I cannot stand this,” One-Eye said. “We all coddle him like a cub. But you’re not a cub, Littlefire. You’re a grown elf. And if you cannot abide by our rules and run with our pack, then you cannot stay here. I don’t think I’m being unreasonable,” he turned to the others for support. “It’s simply the Way. I’m sure in the Palace your.... qualities are appreciated. So why stay here with us when we’ll never understand you and you’ll never be able to contribute to the tribe?”
“This isn’t right,” Kit said. “You cannot simply order him away.”
“Wolves will swiftly rid themselves of the sick or unsound among them,” Moonshade said haughtily.
“He is not sick or unsound!” Kit snapped.
“But he is causing a disruption,” Redlance said softly. “And we cannot afford strife in the tribe, not with so much to be done.”
“So this is what the Eldertribe does?” Kit demanded. “Whenever there is a disagreement we just cast the offending elf out?”
“Kit,” Redlance warned. “We are not casting blame here. We have a problem we are trying to resolve.”
“Oh, I see plenty of blame being cast. And all on one set of shoulders.”
“Kit. Enough.”
“Wouldn’t you just be happier back at the Great Holt with your family?” Spar called across to Littlefire. But he had pulled his knees back to his chest and refused to look up. “Littlefire? Did you hear me? Littlefire?”
**Well, he’s off in the clouds again,** Strongbow sent. **This is what happens when we let Gliders in a Wolfrider tribe.**
“What is happening?” Rainsong demanded. “Is everything that is not Wolfrider now considered wrong?”
“Of course not,” Nightfall said. “But the fact remains we founded this Holt as a return to the Way. Sorrow’s End, the Great Holt, they are homes where all ways thrive. But this is a Wolfrider tribe. And we agreed long ago than anyone wishing to claim packright must abide by the Way.”
“We aren’t saying he should be left in the snow,” One-Eye said. “Just that this doesn’t look like the place for him. Where’s the cruelty about saying that? Just because we won’t indulge him–”
“I think we need to take a few moments,” Redlance said.
“I think this has to end,” Kit said.
“Littlefire?” Spar called. “Will you just look at me?”
**Impossible!** Strongbow snapped. **Cursed moss-brained Glider – unsound to the core. Wrong to the core. Make him understand or send him home. I’ll not have some mad creature in my Holt! If Rainsong cannot make him think and speak and act –**
“A little more like you?”
The elves turned towards Littlefire. They had not thought him capable of hearing Strongbow’s sending, so withdrawn had he appeared. But now he was on his feet. Now he was looking Strongbow directly in the eyes.
“More like you? So I can hunt and howl and run with the pack? Loud! Smothering! Too sharp! Everything is an attack! Everything is a hunt! You’re hunting me! You’re all watching me – striking me with your stares – wolves chasing a lame deer!”
“Littlefire,” Redlance began.
“Wrong? You’re wrong!” he stabbed a finger at the Wolfriders. “You live your life too fast, too loud, too intense. You're vicious!”
“Vicious?” Moonshade demanded. “We have shown you nothing but compassion–”
“‘Recognition gone wrong!’ That’s what you think of me. Worse than a lame deer. Wrong! Wrong to the core! Well, you’re just as wrong to me! You’re just as sick! You need a healing, not me!”
“That’s enough,” Redlance said coldly.
“It is enough!” Littlefire raged. “I’ll call the Palace tomorrow. I’ll go, go, go! I can’t stand this air anymore!”
He leapt into the air and flew away without a backwards glance. “Littlefire!” Kit called, but the Glider had already disappeared into the canopy, bound for his distant den. She raced after him even as Moonshade called her name, and darted through the branches in search of Littlefire.
Nightfall sighed. Redlance shook his head. Strongbow growled audibly and reached for his longbow.
“Littlefire!” Kit climbed in through the door to Littlefire’s den. He had asked Redlance to shape it several trees away from the rest of the Holt. Often after Spar or Kit cooked his portion of meat, he would take his meal up to his den to eat alone. It was one of his many little habits that annoyed the other Wolfriders, who were so used to communal meals.
She found him already packing his meagre possessions into a worn leather bag.
“Littlefire, wait.” She sat down on the furs next to him.
“Can’t stay. Can’t stand the air. I’m going. Going.”
“They had no right to say the things they did. You don’t have to just leave because Strongbow and One-Eye don’t like you.”
“Time to go.” He continued to pack. “Go home.”
“Stop!” she reached out to stay his hand. Littlefire pulled away in sheer terror.
“I’m sorry,” Kit held up her hands. “I should have warned you. I’m sorry.”
Littlefire resumed his packing. “Littlefire, please stop,” she said, more softly.
“Why? No one wants me here.”
“I want you here!”
Littlefire looked up at Kit in amazement. Kit smiled softly and slowly reached to touch his cheek. When Littlefire did not draw back, Kit slid closer. She slipped her arms about him and hugged him tightly. To her surprise, Littlefire returned the embrace without hesitation.
And just then Strongbow caught up with his daughter.
“YOU!” he howled, his voice raw. He sprang inside the den and ripped Littlefire out of Kit’s arms. “Father!” Kit protested, but he had already shoved her away, against the wall of the den, focussing his wrath on the now-cowering Glider.
“Keep your hands off my daughter, you – you – abberation!”
“Stop it!” Littlefire raised his hands defensively.
“YOU! You call us wrong! You with your sickness that can’t be healed! Mad rot-brained – don’t you touch my daughter, you–”
**STOP!** Littlefire sent.
The force of his sending overwhelmed the archer. It was like a wolf-sending, like Timmain’s sendings – overwhelming in its primal clarity. An assault of emotion – of terror and defensive fury – threw Strongbow back against the wall. His hands rose to his ears and he shut his eyes tight, struggling to lock his mind to the sending. Littlefire darted past him and out of the den. Kit staggered to her feet and chased after him.
Strongbow, still dazed, reached up and caught her wrist. Kit shook his hand off without even stopping to glance at him.
Elfquest copyright 2014 Warp Graphics, Inc. Elfquest, its logos, characters, situations, all related indicia, and their distinctive likenesses are trademarks of Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Some dialogue taken from Elfquest comics. All such dialogue copyright 2014 Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Alternaverse characters and insanity copyright 2014 Jane Senese and Erin Roberts