Page 51 of Blacktail

“First is the language of the hunt. But I not learn it so good. I think this will make God mad, but God not mad. My god say I am of Him, that I am lost, not truly of the hunt. But I learn a little. Then He teach to me the language of the dead—in that, I talk better. One night my father comes to under-the-bed. God brings him. I speak to my father then. He tells to me I am his good puppy. He tells to me I strong now. He tells to me he am proud.”

“This god of yours…he is powerful, to summon the dead.”

“Oh yes, very powerful. Very wisdomful. Many winters I spend in the cage, hearing His secrets. Then one day, God tell to me is time to go out in the world and make His work. Not an easy thing. The two-legs have come to much fear me. My cage is very strong. I ask God how, but there is no answer—another test.”

“What did you do? The cages of men are strong, or so I am told.”

The two-legs wagged his head up and down. “Yes. For long time I chew on it but find no answer. Then one day I think to ask the little ones, the cockroach and mouse. They whisper to me of the paths of the fearing and humble. They tell to me that in their pride the two-legs cannot see such. I give them food, for thanking them. After that we are friend, and speak many night.”

“Really?” Blacktail asked. “I have never known them to be very talkative.”

The Hider looked amazed. “Them always talk. Them never stop. Some nights them talk so much I think to bite off my ears.”

Hearing this, Blacktail shot a suspicious eye at the Hider.

The man caught him looking. “Not really do it. Just think. After many-many of nights arguing all time about whether rotten corn or moldy bread is better taste, you maybe think, too.”

“Mrrr,” Blacktail said, settling back down. “Perhaps. If the bunnies on my hill had spent fewer nights bellowing out poems about how adorable Fluffy Miss So-and-So’s private parts were and more nights sleeping, they probably would have lived longer. I’ll say that much.”

The Hider wagged his head up and down. “Bunnies bad here, too. Especially in spring.”

“Yes, spring is the worst.”

“So, mices never speak to you?”

“Not really. Every now and then one begs for mercy.”

“Ah. I see. To you they food.” The Hider’s tone was faintly disapproving.

“They’re quite tasty,” Blacktail said. “They pop right in your mouth. The juices slide down your throat. You should try one sometime.”

“No,” the Hider said. He spoke respectfully, but his tone was cooler than it had been. “I no do. For a many of nights, mices are my only friends.”

“Ah,” Blacktail said. “I see.” He thought for a moment. “Um…I’ll leave the mice alone until I’m a bit farther south. Seeing as how they’re friends of yours.”

“Lord Hunter is very gracious.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“Still, even if they not speak to you, they speak of you muchly,” the Hider said.

“Me? Really?”

“Oh yes. First the mice, then later all the small things. They say you would come, from the north. ‘A hunter as has not been seen since the old age,’ they say, ‘And none may stand against him.’ They say you would come to me, hurting and in pain. I tell God. Him very excited. Him say I am to wait for you, yes. Feed you and give you aid. It still hurt?” the man asked, pointing to Blacktail’s leg.

“Not so much.”

“Is broken, I think.”

“It will heal,” Blacktail said, though he had his doubts. The fever was still high in him.

“My Lord Hunter is very strong,” the man said. “But I think maybe not. I think maybe this…”

“Fine. Fine,” Blacktail snapped. “But what would you have me do?”

“Maybe not you. Maybe I do. Among my prey are…wizards. Sort of. Wizards of the healing of beasts. Maybe I find one. I bring. It make your leg well.”

Blacktail was silent for a long time. “You would do this?”