Chapter 14

The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao The name that can be
named is not the eternal name The nameless is the beginning of heaven
and earth The named is the mother of ten-thousand things.

Ever desireless one can see the mystery Ever desiring one can see the
manifestations. These two spring from the same source but appear as
opposites And this seems to us darkness

Darkness within darkness The gateway to all mystery

---Lao Tsu

The first snows of December fell gently, blanketing the valley in a thin veil of white and quiet stillness. With most of the larger beasts gone, and others soon to follow, it was a time for the lesser creatures of the vales to once again show themselves and become a part of the living world. For at last the change had come, and the dangers grown less. The weather was mild and predictable. The cold was not yet piercing.

It was a time when young foxes, weary of caution and hiding, were free to forage among the brakes and hedges unafraid, leaving behind them tiny craters in the snow. Northern rabbits, now splotching white through their seasonal brown, could also be seen moving easily through the tree-ringed meadows, stuffing themselves to soft roundness in preparation for the cold and hungry days ahead. Only the sounds of late-migrating geese disturbed the stillness, passing over but not touching the thousand microcosms below, alone unto themselves.

It was but a brief respite. And through all their simple and wordless joys of freedom, the creatures that remained knew it must be used as a time of preparation---that the Cold World would soon be upon them. Kalus spent the gradually shortening days in tentative hope and lingering doubt, and wondered at the growing emotions inside him, brought alive and set in inevitable conflict, he imagined, by the girl. He had never felt life so close around him, and the feelings it brought were not without their measure of apprehension and uncertainty. So he cut and gathered wood, made and refined tools, smoked meat and packed it with wild salt in the depths of niches and fissures he had discovered in the mountainside above them. Then covered the hiding places with stones.

Every pelt, no matter how small, was saved and turned into winter clothing by the girl, who seemed to be more adept at such things than he. Sometimes Kamela would hunt with him, to help provide for the wolves, but always with a dull and hopeless look in her eyes that Kalus felt very deep in his heart. The long scar on her underside, which he had seen only once, while she slept, could tell him only a part of the tale. And of the rest she was closed even with Akar.

But most of all he thought of Skither, and wondered when he would return.

Sylviana lay propped on her elbows, her favorite fur half in and half out of the entrance of the smaller cave, looking down on the snow-dusted grasses with misting and faraway eyes. Her mood triggered by the scene, she was thinking of the fragile water domes she had toyed with as a child, all alone in the unused bedroom of her grandmother’s house. Christmas. Her mind conjured the room before her: the massive four-posted bed, the mahogany dresser crowned with photographs of aunts and uncles, the lace-curtained and frosting windows. And she remembered one in particular, a Nativity scene, her favorite. She remembered the way the tiny flakes would sift softly through the water and onto the roof of the manger, only to be swept away again as she lifted the glass dome and shook it. The water would swirl like a sudden wind, then the flakes settle slowly...

She was aware of movement on the plains below. Her eyes focused, and she saw Kalus walking back towards the mountain through the snow-covered grasses, turning his head from side to side, watching. Though he would never admit it, she knew he was worried over Skither’s extended absence, and about its bearing on their safety and their future. He stood at the edge of the gorge, looked up at her, then descended the steep half-path of stone and was swallowed up in shadow. Her mind returned fully to the present.

They had moved to the smaller enclosure as soon as Akar was able, expecting to be there only a short time; but the Mantis had not returned. Nearly six weeks had passed since his departure, and the girl, at least, had begun to think he never would. But if ever she mentioned the possibility to Kalus, he grew sullen and cold; and she had decided at length to put the thought from her mind, and let Nature run its course. Still, she couldn’t help wondering how it would be if the larger cave were truly theirs. She had grown very fond of, or at least accustomed to, the safety of the ‘mountain’---their word for the higher, tooth-shaped rise in the ridge of granite cliffs---and leaving it now for the uncertainty that lay beyond was not a thought she relished.

Kalus made his way up the slope to the Mantis’ ledge, paused for breath, then continued. Climbing ever closer up the path, he smiled at her with half his face, and reaching the parapet, passed by her and went inside. The pup, roused from its attentions to a small bone, wagged its tail and ran to greet him as always. Akar sat up gingerly on his two furs near the back of the enclosure. Kamela was off somewhere alone. The girl rose after a time, ducked her head and followed him in.

He sat cross-legged on the floor with the pup in his lap, thinking. She knew that look. Something (more than the ordinary) was troubling him. After a short silence she asked simply.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Skither should have been back by now. The weather is growing too cold, and still he doesn’t come.’ Sylviana said nothing. He looked at her. ‘I know. I feel it too. This place is too small for so many to live. If he doesn’t return soon I will try to find us another place.’ She hesitated. ‘What about the lower cave?’

‘Perhaps. But not yet.’ He set down the wolf pup and drew his legs together with his arms, sat gnawing at his knees and looking worried.

The girl moved behind him and began to massage his neck and shoulders. He reached up a hand as if make her stop, but instead took her by the wrist and turned to face her. His deep blue eyes studied her with an unreadable expression. Dropping to one knee in the way now familiar, she stroked his open forearm tentatively.

‘Are you angry with me?’

‘No.’ He shook his head, kissed the back of her hand. He drew back into his former attitude and remained silent for a time, occasionally rocking himself and staring at the floor. Finally, as with great effort, he said the words.

‘I’m confused.’

‘About what?’

‘The Mantis. And you.’