other was unlike any head she had ever seen. To further confuse her, the second heads had long black hair and from some of the hair hung feathers. She had only ever seen feathers on birds, yet these strange creatures were plainly not birds.
Instinct caused her to flatten so that only her eyes and ears and nose were above the ledge. Instinct, too, caused a low snarl to issue from her throat—a snarl they were too far off to hear. But they were coming closer.
The strange beings came toward the aspens. Their hooves made heavy thuds in the earth. They stopped, and a bewildering thing happened—one of the creatures broke apart. The part that was on top, including a strange head with the black hair and a feather, separated from the part of the creature that looked like an elk.
The female realized that each of these strange beings was actually two creatures. The things with the black hair and feathers were on top of the elklike animals. Her tail twitched and she started to snarl again, but stopped. Something warned her not to let these creatures suspect she was there.
The one that had swung down was studying the ground. It came along with the others following and stopped at the bottom of the boulder-strewn slope. It had found the carcass of the doe and there was an excited exchange of noises between the creature on the ground and the creatures on the elklike animals.
They all looked up toward the ledge.
Chapter Two
The female sensed great danger. A growl started to rumble from her chest, but she stopped it and waited to see what the strange creatures would do. They were jabbering at each other like chipmunks, making noises new to her. The creature on the ground took a few steps up the slope but stopped at a sound from another of the creatures on one of the elklike animals. It seemed to her that the creature reluctantly turned back and climbed on the animal it had been riding, and together the whole strange group moved off into the woods toward the setting sun.
For the longest time she lay listening. She was fearful they would come back, and did not know why she was fearful. The only other time she had ever felt this way was when her mother was killed by the hunger-crazed wolves.
But the creatures did not return. Gradually the normal sounds of the forest returned, and she relaxed. Two of her kittens played with her tail, while two others wrestled and hissed. The big dark male paced back and forth and stared down at the alien world below. He was odd, the dark one. She had never had a kitten quite like him. For one thing, he always looked her in the eye when he came up to her. The others rarely did; they were too interested in her teats or her tail or her ears. For another thing, he was not only bigger but more muscular than the rest. By the time he was two months old, he had the build of a male of six months or more.
By then she weaned them from her milk. Their teeth were too sharp and it hurt when they sucked. Their claws, too, which they liked to flex when they nursed, pricked her belly uncomfortably. She started to bring her small kills to the den. The first was a rabbit. She plopped it down and five of the six were so startled they scrambled back in fear. Not the dark one. He walked up to the rabbit and sniffed and then sank his teeth into the rabbit’s throat and sucked what little blood remained.
Another moon passed, and the kittens ate whatever she brought. They always fought over the meat and it was always the dark one who got the most. He brooked no disputes. One time when the second biggest male tried to wrest a piece of grouse away, the dark one cuffed him so hard he was nearly sent tumbling from the ledge.
At last came the day the female looked forward to, the day when she took them from the den for their first excursion in the outside world. Five of the six were scared and hugged her like a second pelt. The dark one walked at her side with the assurance of a yearling. He studied her every movement and imitated her with perfect ease. That night she licked him until he tired of being licked and moved off to curl up and sleep.
It was not long after that she came back one evening with a raccoon in her mouth. She leaped onto the ledge and found four of the six huddled in fright at the rear of the den. The dark one stood in front of the others, teeth bared, ready to defend the others. Belatedly, she realized that one of the females was missing. She sniffed and a snarl was torn from her throat.
The bobcat had been there.
She followed the scent up the mountain to a thicket. The missing female, or what was left, lay at the edge. From then on she was alert for the bobcat’s presence, but he stayed away. He knew what she would do to him if she caught him.
Seven moons went by. Early one afternoon, she decided it was time for their first hunt. They were used to going short distances but not long treks, and several balked at entering the aspens. Not the dark one. He showed no fear of anything. She led them into the forest to a certain log. There she crouched. They followed her example, but they were still kittens and did not stay motionless, save for the dark one.
A short way off stood a tall tree. High in its branches was the conical nest of a gray squirrel that liked to come out at this time of day and forage. She had seen him many times. This day was no exception.
The dark one saw the squirrel right away. The rest were lax. One played with a pinecone. Two others pawed each other. A low hiss from her brought them close to the log where they peered over as she was doing.
The squirrel was perched on a limb, chattering noisily. Not at them but at the surrounding woods. It dropped onto all fours and scampered down the trunk, its bushy tail arched over its back.
Her kittens were riveted.
The squirrel was almost to the bottom. It moved in jerky spurts, stopping often.
Out of habit the female coiled and then let the tension drain from her. This was to be their kill if they were smart enough to sense what to do. Four of the litter, to her disappointment, didn’t. They had never been this close to another living animal, and they were uncertain.
Not the dark one. He craned his neck over the log as the squirrel ran from cone to cone. Its antics brought it near the log. With a snarl, the dark one launched himself up and over. The squirrel raced for the tree. The dark one went after it, but that snarl had a high cost; the squirrel reached the tree first and was up the trunk in a flash, leaving the dark one thwarted and growling at the base. She was proud of him nonetheless. No kitten of hers ever went after prey its first time out.
It did not surprise her that he made the first kill not long after. A snake made the mistake of slithering onto the ledge during the hottest part of the day, no doubt to sun itself. It was only a bull snake, but it was thick and long and when the dark kitten leaped on it, the snaked bit and coiled and fought furiously for its life. The other kittens sprang to help, but it was the dark one that bit down on the head and ended the struggle.
The female had eaten snake a few times, but she was not fond of it. There was too little meat. She watched to see what the dark one would do—he sniffed the snake and walked off.
The rest of the kittens had a new toy. For days they played with the body, batting it around and pretending to stalk it and kill it. Finally the stink was more than she cared to endure and she carried it in her mouth down among the boulders and left it.
The days and nights rolled on, the moon waxed and waned. The kittens grew stronger and more sure of themselves as she showed them more of their world and taught them its dangers and delights. They tried to catch frogs at the lake. One of the kittens fell in and thrashed wildly until she plucked it out by the scruff of its neck. They swatted at fish in the stream. They chased birds and they chased chipmunks and they chased rabbits. One day they came on a turtle. It pulled into its shell and for the rest of the morning the kittens batted at the shell to make it roll end over end.
At night they lay on the ledge and listened to the baying of wolves and the fierce roar of the lords of the mountains. Occasionally they heard the far-off shriek of their own kind.
The leaves were starting to change color when she led them down through the aspens and across the meadow into the heavy timber. The thick canopy dappled the fallen leaves and pine needles with shadow, and maybe that was why she didn’t see the snake when she passed a cluster of rocks. The kitten behind her saw it, and snarled and sprang. But it wasn’t a bull snake. This one was a rattler. She heard the buzz of its tail and whirled, but by then the snake had sunk its fangs into the kitten’s neck and went on striking. The dark one killed it. With a growl almost as loud as hers, the dark one did something she had never seen a kitten its size do; it crushed the rattlesnake’s head with a swipe of a forepaw.
