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Darwin's Legacy

Chapter 6 - Lost Souls

Dawn had tried her hardest to keep up with the chief's son Bear Cat and his companion Willow Tail but her but she was getting too old for running through the forest. She had only gotten as far as the mushroom grove that Snowdrop had described when she met them coming in the opposite direction.

"Snowdrop!" She cried when she saw that the two warriors were leading her apprentice by a rope fashioned in a loop around her neck. The young feline was naked, her fur was matted, and she shuffled along with her head down, not even looking up when Dawn called her name. What could have put her in such a state, Dawn wondered? Judging by the disapproving frowns on her escort Dawn was afraid that she knew what, but she had to try to salvage the situation. "Bear Cat, what are you doing? How can you dishonour our future priestess so?"

"She has violated the trust of the tribe by allowing herself to be violated. We are taking her back for trial."

"Bear Cat," she pulled him aside, out of earshot of Willow Tail, "You will be chief one day, and perhaps it is time you found out about priestesses and, uhm, violations."

"Take you paws off me." The chief's son shook her off and stood his ground. "Father has already told me about the depraved practices you engage in while wandering in the forest. It is only the respect that the remainder of the tribe has for you that he keeps silent about it, but there is a limit, and Snowdrop has crossed it." He rejoined Willow Tail and took the rope from him. With a harsh jerk on the line to get the lethargic Snowdrop started he began to jog back to the encampment.

"Bear Cat, stop and think. She is young, like you were once. I seem to recall a number of young felines coming to me to avoid pregnancy when you were that age. How bad can it be?" Suddenly a shadow fell over her, and a chill went through her. "Wait, you didn't kill the poor lad that was with her, did you?"

"No." Bear Cat called back over his shoulder as he widened the distance between them. "Two other dogs saved him and they fled back to their village."

Dawn froze in mid-step in the middle of the trail with a stunned look on her face.

"Dogs?"

* * * * * * * *

By the time she arrived back at the encampment, exhausted and with her fur damp with sweat, the trial was already in progress.

"Dawn, Snowdrop is on Trial!" One of the mated females informed her as she stumbled out of the woods. "They say she was lying with a dog!"

They must not have not mentioned my part in this, otherwise I would be on trial too, she thought. Dawn wondered why not. She did not wonder for long.

"White Owl". Dawn called to the chief where he sat presiding over the trial. "I am here. Do not judge her until I have had my say."

"You have no say in this matter." White Owl said coldly. His fur was as white as snow. That and his flat features resembled that of a snowy owl in winter, but his eyes were burning with a triumphant fire.

For generations the power in the tribe was shared between the chief, who led the hunt, defended the tribe and made war on their enemies, and the matrons, who ran everything else. While the chief was theoretically the supreme authority, he could be relieved of his title by a unanimous vote of the matrons on the council. Chiefs that often made decisions contrary to what the matrons wanted did not remain as chief very long, but tribes that changed chiefs too often did not last either. Therefore, in order to have stability, a tie-breaker was needed.

The balance of power rested on the priestesses. As celibate females they did not qualify as matrons, no matter what their age, but neither were they of the warrior class. They were presumed to be neutral and unbiased, speaking for the gods and the spirits of their ancestors. But most chiefs, and some of the senior matrons, knew better, that the priestess really functioned as a check against unrestricted authority, the chief's, the matron's, anybody's.

White Owl certainly knew it, and he had resented it for some time.

Most chiefs were very capable, physically imposing, ambitious, and virile. Males with those characteristics tend to change spouses often, usually opting for beautiful, healthy females just coming of age. This meant that a chief would have plenty of sons, some of which were sure to survive to adult hood and perhaps become chief themselves. It also meant that a chief rarely had a mate who was also a matron, although a number of resentful ex-spouses were usually counted among their ranks.

White Owl was an exception. His first and only mate, named Lilac, was considerably older than him, and had attained the rank of matron before he was selected as chief. There was some argument at the time over choosing someone for chief who had a spouse on the council, but most of the other matrons had believed that the male nature would dominate after he had a taste of power. They elected him on the assumption that Lilac would soon be a former spouse of the chief.

They were mistaken. Ten years had passed and the two were just as devoted to each other as they were on the day they were betrothed. The council could never vote to strip him of his title while his spouse was alive, and that should have given him a greater measure of power, if it were not for his spouse's sense of spirituality. Lilac tended to value the opinion of the spirits over that of her husband, and the spirits only communicated through the obstinate priestess that refused to bend to his will. But he could sense a shift in the balance power at the moment, and he was prepared to shove it all the way over to his advantage.

"And exactly why do I have no say in this matter?" Dawn asked forcefully as she tired to control her breathing and calm her heart. But White Owl's look of assurance made her afraid, and her heart raced all the more.

This .... creature ... that you have chosen to be out next priestess, was caught in the throes of passion with a canine. It is hard to imagine a more heinous crime, but in begging for his life she confessed her love for him. Love! Obviously she is under the influence of evil spirits, as is the one who named her."

Dawn had spent the return journey rehearsing arguments to save Snowdrop, and was caught off guard by the personal attack. Looking around, she noted the stern faces of the matrons and the resentful glare of Lilac. She suddenly realized that it was not Snowdrop who was on trial so much as her. Her jaw worked soundlessly ash she struggled to come up with a response.

"No witty remarks, Dawn?" The chief sneered. "No scathing comments? Your spirits have failed you it seems. I wonder how long ago? Every decision we have made in council since you named this creature as your heir is now in question, and perhaps those of the last few years also."

Dawn could see where this was going now. He was hoping to use this incident to discredit her and wield more influence in the council. Well, if he thinks that I will lie down and die before my time he has another think coming, she vowed.

"It is evident that Snowdrop has made a terrible mistake ..." Dawn began, but the chief cut her off before she could get started.

"What is evident is that we need to solicit the other tribes for a new priestess immediately." He roared.

"Well, yes." She knew that she could never convince them to keep Snowdrop as priestess, but perhaps she could still save her from banishment. "But before I set out to search for another we should deal with the matter before us."

"We are dealing with the matter, not you." Lilac said, stepping forward to show that she was speaking for the matrons. "You will not be going to the other tribes. The spirits have ceased to guide you. We will send a delegation to find a new priestess, one that is more attentive of her duties, and suitably pious." The last comment was aimed directly at Dawn.

Dawn could read the disgust in Lilac's eyes. Obviously White owl had taken this opportunity to inform her of Dawn's past indiscretions. There are none so dangerous as the disillusioned, she reminded herself. She would find no sympathy there.

"What are you saying?" Dawn asked in the hush that followed.

"I am saying that you are relieved of your post as priestess. The council thanks you for your many years of service to the tribe, but you are old and should live out what few days remain to you without this burden." The matrons behind her nodded in unison, the decision was unanimous. White Owl had used the time between Bear Cat's return and Dawn's well.

"And what about Snowdrop? Is she to be banished?"

"There is a problem there." White Owl said seriously, but Dawn saw the way the corners of his mouth curled up and realized that the chief's revenge was not yet complete. "If we banish her she will simply run to join the dog that she was found with. He would never take her as mate, of course, and she will be forced to dishonour herself further in order to survive, like the whores that travel with the foxes, a slave to their whims."

"Is not that a little farfetched ..."

"Silence! You no longer have the right to speak in council." The chief roared. "Our decision is made. Snowdrop cannot be banished. It would only bring more shame on the tribe."

"Then what are you going to do?" Fear crept into her voice. "You cannot kill her!"

"You will see." The chief smiled in a disturbing way. "You will see."

* * * * * * * *

The larger fox caravans, like Silver Tip's, tended to visit the river valley in late summer or early autumn, when the crops were ripe. They took in supplies for the winter as well as metal, plastic and other goods in exchange for tools, weapons and gadgets of high quality. Smaller caravans, like the one lead by Patch, came though earlier in the season, hoping to skim off the best of the metal and plastics in exchange for services of a more personal nature.

Patch had been named late in life for the bald patch above his right eye. He had lost a section of fur and scalp to a feline's axe after selling spirits of considerably less potency than those advertised. The fur never grew back and the name stuck, along with the poor reputation. He tended to avoid the feline areas now out of a sense of self-preservation, so he was very suspicious when he was summoned to meet with one of the tribal leaders. He arrived early to check out the meeting place, with half of his guards surrounding him.

The crossroads selected for the meeting was clear, and the feline party showed up at the appointed hour with no attempt at subterfuge. It was led by a large white cat with a flat face who did not introduce himself. He did not need to, Patch recognized him as the one who had rearranged his scalp a dozen years before. The feline did not seem to remember him though. Patch pulled the cap he wore cocked to one side lower on his head to make sure the bald spot was well covered.

The big cat was flanked by an equally large warrior that bore a strong family resemblance, despite having dark brown fur. Following along behind them was another warrior who was leading a smaller, younger female by a rope looped about her waist.

Patch eyed her suspiciously. She stood silently as the delegation came to a halt, her eyes closed and her head cast down in shame. She was naked, and her fur was matted and dirty, but while very young she possessed the promise of great beauty. Such a one as she would be a great temptation to anyone who came upon her alone in the woods, he realized, and he quickly went over a roster of his clan to determine if any had been unaccounted for recently. He signalled his guards to be more alert.

"If you are thinking of accusing one of my crew with anything ..." He began, but the white cat cut him off.

"We are not accusing you of anything. We have come to trade. What will you give us for this female?"

"Eh? Trading one of your own?" Patch wondered what she could have done to offend her own people so. He stepped up to her for a closer look.

Other than being filthy she was in good shape. Her eyes, once he forced her to open them, were clear and her teeth were sound. She was just coming of age and still had the slimness of youth, yet she was well fed, so she was no waif. A whiff of the odour coming off her revealed her crime.

"She's not a virgin, is she?"

"Not after today." The dark-furred warrior answered. "But she claims that it was her first and only time."

"Let's find out. Mother!" Patch turned to the bushes that lined the intersection. An old vixen emerged. She shuffled over to where her son was waiting with the felines. "Mother is our seer and doctor." Patch explained. "She takes care of the whor ... ladies, in our caravan. She will be able to tell us how much experience this one has."

The warriors looked away as Patch's mother poked and prodded the young feline, but Patch's guard watched with interest. A new addition to the stable was a significant event.

"She tells the truth." The old female fox declared as she straightened up, pressing her paws against the small of her back to snap her vertebrae back in place. "She was a maiden until but a few hours ago, and by all signs she was gently treated."

"Once eh? We can work with that." Patch muttered. "Any chance that she will catch pregnant?" He asked his mother, but the white cat answered.

"None. It was not a feline." He said angrily.

"Look. I told you. None of my clan were anywhere near this part of the forest."

"It was a dog. She was to be a priestess, but she fell in love with a dog. A beagle." The younger cat spit the last word out. The older cat, his father perhaps, gave the youth a stern glare for revealing too much information while bartering.

"A Dog eh? That's different." Over the years Patch's string of females had included most every species, even a few felines. The canines found them exotic, especially the dogs, who liked to abuse them when they came to visit at night. That was why it was hard to keep them, they wore out too fast. Not like those wolf bitches, he mused, but not many males enjoyed being dominated and humiliated like that. Noticing the big cat's impatient stare Patch concentrated on the trade being offered.

"I'll give you three crossbows and a quiver of bolts for each." He was overstocked on crossbows at the moment.

"Bah! Crossbows are useless. We need metal goods. Fishing hooks, knives, arrow heads, axes."

Just the items I'm short on, he cursed under his breath. Patch though about offering them some of his watered down liquor, but decided that would be pushing his luck.

"Twenty fishing hooks, five knives, ten arrow heads, and five ... no, four axes. That is all that I can spare for this skinny bit of quimm." She was easily worth three times as much, but Patch wanted to leave room to negotiate. So he was very surprised when the older cat accepted his offer.

"There is one condition, however." The feline added before Patch could shake his paw to seal the deal. "You must agree not to visit the canine village on the river west of here for the rest of this year. Any other canine village is fine, just not that one." Clever, Patch thought, if she somehow managed to survive a year whatever was left of her would be of no interest to the dog that had defiled her. But the thought planted the seed of a plan in his head.

Patch's mind raced behind steady eyes. It was the deal of a lifetime, especially if he could preserve her long enough to sell her for a profit. Avoiding that particular village was no problem. They had been chased out of there just a week ago when some big doberman with a stupid name had accused them of using loaded dice in the games wagon. He had been right, of course, but they had managed to get away without returning any of the canines' metal, and were not planning on returning anytime soon.

"Done." Patch declared and clasped the big cat's paw before he could add any other caveats. "Cover her up." He instructed his mother and them sent one of the guards back to the caravan to fetch the goods agreed upon. "Bring the iron ones, not the steel ones, mind you." He whispered to the runner before he sent him off.

While they waited for the guard to return the felines and foxes split into separate groups, leaving the would-be priestess standing alone in the middle of the intersection, wrapped in his mother's shawl.

"I've seen that look on your face before." Patch's mother commented. "Remember what happened the last time you started scheming on a grand scale." She tapped her forehead in the same place as he was missing fur.

"This is nothing like that, mother." He replied to her, but his eyes had a faraway look.

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that there is something special about this one. Why sell her off in bits to those unappreciative canines? She is still relatively intact and I know someone south of here that would be interested in her."

"You mean ...?" She grabbed her throat and stepped back away from him in fear.

"Yes. The King."

"It would not be wise to lie to him. He will know that she is not a virgin."

"We'll be truthful; one time hardly makes a difference." He shrugged. "Hell, her story will make him more interested in her. Keep her away from the others and don't let any of the crew lay a paw on her."

"She won't be earning her keep." His mother chided.

"Yes she will. We'll put her on display, the feline priestess that fell in love with a dog that abandoned her." He explained. "What breed did they say he was? A beagle? Isn't that the short, spotted type with the goofy face and long ears? That is not very convincing. Let's make him a husky prince, the heir to his father's northern fiefdom. The stupid dogs around here will lap that up."

"I hope you know what you are doing." The old vixen shook her head sadly, convinced that his scheme was doomed. "She looks so downhearted, like she could just curl up and die on the spot."

"Just what we want when we display her. After all, you can't fake that kind of emotion. You just keep her away from sharp objects, poisons and ropes in case she tries to end it all before I can turn a profit."

* * * * * * * *

Dawn had been stripped of her title, but she had not been confined to the encampment, so she sought out the craftiest of the hunters, one known as Shadow. He was said to have tracking skills only surpassed by the dogs, and he owed Dawn a favour. Two years before, she had saved his son's life by correctly diagnosing his illness and applying the proper medication.

"White Owl, his son and Willow Tail have taken Snowdrop away." She informed him. "Can you take me where they have gone?"

"Easily." Shadow drawled. "But if you intend to intervene, leave me out of it."

"Just get me close. There is no need for you to be seen." She assured him.

Shadow found their trail with no trouble and led her as swiftly as she could walk. Dawn could tell by his impatient frowns that they were falling farther behind rather than catching up. But they could not be taking Snowdrop far, not in her condition. She just hoped that Snowdrop would still be alive when she found her.

After an hour of hard walking Shadow slid up beside her.

"They are at the crossroads just around the bend." He pointed to a road up ahead that she could just see through the trees. "She is still alive and in no immediate danger."

"Thank you Shadow. Consider your debt to me paid." The warrior slipped away as silently as he had appeared.

Dawn crept forward until she could see the intersection of two roads, both used mainly by the fox caravans during the trading season. She spotted White Owl and the two young warriors first. The she saw Snowdrop, standing all alone in the middle of the intersection with a colourful cloth wrapped around her. Finally she spied the Fox and his entourage, and White Owl's intent became all too clear.

Dawn did not know whether to relieved or more alarmed. Since they had led her away with nothing more than a rope and their personal knives in their possession Dawn had expected to find Snowdrop either with her throat cut or swinging from a tree. But a slave to the foxes! She studied the leader through the leaves. He did not look like the type to use poor Snowdrop as a scullery maid.

She had followed the chief without a clear plan in mind, just some vague notion that she would be able to save Snowdrop, somehow. But now she realized that there was no way that she could get her young protégé away from the fox, there were too many guards and she had nothing to trade. Still, having come this far she was reluctant to go back without at least trying to comfort her. Dawn cleared her throat and stepped out into the open.

Bear Cat spotted her first, and stepped forward to intercept her, but his father stopped him with a word. White Owl motioned her to approach. The foxes tensed too, but when they saw that it was an old female they relaxed. Perhaps they took her for the feline leader's mother.

"What do you want Dawn?" White Owl was more sanguine now that the whole tribe was not watching. He knew that he had won.

"Can I speak with Snowdrop before they take her?" Dawn asked, her head lowered in submission. "To say goodbye?"

"Go ahead." The chief responded magnanimously. "You have until they return with the goods in exchange for her." Then he turned his back to her and began discussing some changes he hoped to put through council with his son.

Dawn walked over to where Snowdrop was standing. The young cat must have heard her speaking with the chief, but she did not acknowledge Dawn's presence.

"Snowdrop? Snowdrop, kitten, are you okay?" Dawn waited for a response.

Snowdrop slowly opened her eyes, but she kept them directed at the ground as he spoke slowly.

"No. I am not okay. I am missing a piece of me that I did not even realize I had until today; my soul perhaps. Whatever it was, it is gone now, lost." For the first time since Darwin had been dragged off her, tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

"Kitten, do not cry." Dawn wrapped her arms around the younger feline and felt Snowdrop collapse against her, her chest wracked with sobs. "Did this dog mean so much to you?"

"He was my soul mate, the one who understood me and completed me. He had no ulterior motives. He didn't demand or pressure me into doing anything. He was just a kind and simple soul, and I loved him. But I will never see him again."

"I will not lie to you, dearest. You are in a bad predicament, and it is my fault. But do not despair. If you can be tough you can outlast this bondage. Do not surrender yourself, and one day maybe, this Darwin will find you and take you away from this."

"No." Snowdrop looked up fiercely. "I never want him to see what they are going to turn me into. You have to find a way of getting a message to him. Tell him that they have sent me to live with a tribe far to the north; an isolated tribe that only the chief knows how to find. Tell him that I'm sorry, but that I asked that he not look for me. Can you do that Dawn? Can you get the message to him?"

"I think I may know someone who can." Dawn furrowed her brow as she heard more creatures approaching. "Three foxes." She reported. "Two carrying a chest between them and the third with a harness and shackles. Oh, Snowdrop." The older cat cried, tears blurring her eyes too now. "I blame myself for this."

"Don't." Snowdrop said softly, unaware that she had slipped into canine speech patterns. "I went into this with my eyes open." She quickly described the dog Dawn seek out, and then rubbed her cheeks against Dawn's in a final, tearful goodbye.

Before Dawn could say anymore they were rudely pulled apart. The chief looked up from the chest that held the goods he had bartered for Snowdrop and with a wave of his big paw indicated that he was satisfied, they could take her away. Dawn took two steps to follow but she was shoved back by a pair of guards.

"If the old cuss gives you any trouble you can just kill her." The Chief called to the foxes as he passed the chest to Willow Tail and his son.

From behind the guards Snowdrop lifted a paw in farewell and mouthed the words: "Tell him".

Dawn shouted back, "I will, I promise." Fresh rears clouded her old eyes as she turned and fled into the woods. Perhaps that is why she did not see White Owl take the burden of the chest from his son and send him to follow her.

* * * * * * * *

Dawn stumbled through the woods toward the encampment, at the end of her strength. When she was out of earshot of the crossroads she began calling for Shadow in hopes that he would have stayed near out of curiosity. Before she had gone half a mile he appeared as if out of nowhere.

"What do you want now Dawn?" His tone was impatient.

"I need to ask one more favour of you." She said between gasps. "I need you to find a certain dog and pass a message to him."

Shadow's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Are you crazy? Go into the dog's town and talk to a dog? I may as well smear myself with feces and dance naked in their village square!"

"Well, if you do not think that you can do it ..."

"I did not say that I could not do it. I am probably the only one in this tribe that can do it, and come back alive. But my debt to you is paid, you said so yourself."

"I know. But I did not know what I would find back then. You must do this Shadow. If not as a favour for me then do it for Snowdrop's sake. She will never see her family, her tribe or the canine that she risked it all for. Do it for her." She tried to lock her eyes on those of Shadow and use some of the persuasive techniques that she had perfected while priestess, but he tore his eyes away, focusing on something behind her. So as to consider my proposal without undue influence, she supposed. She let him think in silence. A minute slowly passed.

"I will pass your message." He said finally, closing his eyes and hanging his head. "What is it?"

Dawn described the beagle and gave him the message.

"When do you think you can do it?" She asked.

"It will take some time. The dogs' guard will be up after that idiotic raid and I will need to observe their movements for a few days to determine how best to approach this Darwin." He frowned at the name. "Was that not the name of her lamb, the one she brought back after the storm?"

"Yes, it is."

"Was." Shadow corrected her. "It was declared possessed before you returned. They had already slit its throat and were preparing to roast it when we set out."

"They would eat an animal that they thought was possessed by evil spirits?"

"We do not often get lamb." Shadow shrugged. "Now you should get back and leave me be. It is not good to be seen with you."

Dawn thanked him for taking on the task of passing the message and left the tracker alone.

She was not gone a minute before the bushes behind where she had been standing parted and Bear Cat appeared.

"You are correct; it is not good to see you with her." He chided Shadow as he stepped forward."

"I owed her a debt." Shadow said sourly as the larger feline loomed over him. "I had to bring her here. But I would have refused to pass the message if you had not signalled me to accept."

"And that is how you will pay the debt you owe my father for this traitorous act." The chief's son said smoothly. "You will find this Darwin and you will pass a message to him, but not the message Dawn has given you." He hunkered down beside Shadow and spoke emphatically. "When you find him, this is what you will say ..."

* * * * * * * *

Darwin's return to his village was not triumphant, but he was spared the indignity of a trial. The Canine Nation had a code of laws and local by-laws to cover most situations, but no one could figure out what to charge the hapless beagle with. 'Consorting with the enemy' was suggested, but it turned out only to apply when a declaration of war had been issued, which none had. So instead, the village leaders held an inquiry, where anyone who claimed to have knowledge of the subject could testify.

Darwin's uncle Mordicai, the head tracker, gave a straight forward account of his nephew's attempts to cover his tracks and an expert assessment as to how many times and for how long Darwin had been visiting the trysting place. He also provided damaging testimony as to the state of affairs when they discovered Darwin and his feline lover.

Crusher gave a more colourful and quite exaggerated tale of Darwin's actions beginning with the night in the pub when he first noticed a strange scent on the beagle. He lied about his suspicions and played up his efforts to confirm that Darwin was having intercourse with a cat, but he was unable to explain why he did not report those suspicions to the authorities. His detailed physical description of the feline was equally exaggerated, but drew the rapt and uninterrupted attention of the leaders.

Several other dogs testified as to Darwin's mysterious disappearances. Every excuse he made for being late on duty was gone over in light of the discovery. Every casual comment he had made since spring was examined to determine if he had become a subversive.

When it was Darwin's turn to testify he did not have much to say: "She was my friend, and in the end, I loved her."

"Whoo-hoo! Did he ever." Crusher interrupted. "You should have seen the way he was ..."

"That will be quite enough out of you, Crusher Doberman." The mayor droned, but made a mental note to pull the big fellow aside in the pub later, in an unofficial capacity as it were. "The Village council will retire to consider this matter. The, ah, miscreant shall remain in custody until our decision is rendered." And with that the village council rose and trod out of the main hall and into one of the meeting rooms attached to it.

"What do you think they will do to me, uncle?" Darwin asked nervously.

"It's hard to tell." Mordicai answered as a burst of laughter escaped from the meeting room. "They don't seem completely incensed by your actions. But it is a serious business to be sure. You saw how angry that warrior was; he was ready to kill you on the spot. Acts like that can start a war. Some form of punishment will be meted out."

"What about Snowdrop, what will her tribe do to her?"

"I don't know lad. The felines don't have written laws like we do." He was of the belief that they would kill her, burn her as a witch perhaps, but looking at Darwin's stricken face made him take pity his nephew. "They will probably just send her to live with relatives until she forgets all about you. That's what we do when a lass gets smitten."

"Smitten?"

"You know what I mean. Like your cousin Lucy last year." Mordicai shot a suspicious glance at Crusher, who was rumoured to be the cause of that particular departure.

"She wasn't smitten, she was pregna ..."

"Shush. The council is coming back."

The mayor strode back into the main hall at the head of the council and the group took their seats. They were trying to look serious but one or two were still giggling over whatever had been said in the meeting room. The mayor composed himself and delivered their verdict.

"You haven't broken any laws, Darwin Beagle, but your foolish infatuation has put this community in danger. Had you or your rescuers been killed or injured we would have been forced to avenge you, and that would have been bloody. As it is, some of those heathens may be out for a little revenge of their own so we will have to double the patrols and keep everyone close to the village for a time, especially you."

Darwin had been listening attentively and his brow drooped at the last pronouncement.

"We can't have you traipsing off into the woods seeking your ... stop giggling Sidney ... your paramour. And despite the danger you've put us all in we can't let them get a shot at you either. So until further notice you are confined to the limits of the village. You will not venture beyond the old walls, nor will you cross the bridge to the other side of the river. The guards that will be posted for extra security will see to it that you obey these restrictions. Now don't be sad Darwin." The mayor said in a kinder tone when he saw the junior tracker bury his head in his paws in grief. "By next spring you'll have forgotten all about this pus ... person, and you may take up your old duties again. I'm warning you Sidney, once more and you are off the council. Where was I? Oh yes. Duties. In the meantime," the mayor leaned over the dais to look down on Darwin, "you will sweep the streets. Report to the sanitation supervisor first thing tomorrow."

Three rapid bangs of his gavel silenced the hubbub that broke out long enough for the council to rise and exit the main hall.

"Pheew! Have you seen the streets after the herds go through town? Looks like you'll be drenched in something less sweet for the next little while Darwin ol' buddy." Crusher quipped as he slapped the smaller dog hard on the back. "See you at the pub, eh?"

"I doubt it." Darwin muttered to himself as the main hall emptied around him.

* * * * * * * *

For the next two weeks Darwin lived in a haze. He became semi-reclusive, getting up and going straight to his duties as street sweeper, and returning to his room at night immediately afterwards. He did not go to the pub. He did not go to services on the day of rest, and he did not respond to any of the questions, probes or jibes directed to him. The only time that he spoke was to ask travelers or peddlers passing through whether they had heard any news of a black feline with a white mark on her forehead. None had.

Because he would not work with anyone else he soon found himself doing the work of the other street sweepers, who gladly took on other assignments. This meant that Darwin had to start work at dawn and continue until after dark, but that suited him fine. The more work he had the easier it was to keep his mind off Snowdrop.

One evening just after the sun had disappeared below the horizon Darwin heard someone whisper his name from behind the compost heaps on the west side of town.

"Hsst. Hey, dog. Hsst Darwin. That you? Come over here."

Darwin ignored the summons. Half the village had tried to get him to talk about what it was like with a feline. The females in the village were especially curious. This did not sound like a female though. In fact it did not sound like anyone from around here. But Darwin's own sense of curiosity had died in the grove that day, so he tuned the voice out and continued sweeping.

A chunk of manure the size of his paw sailed though the air and caught him right between his shoulders. Now the intruder had his attention. An anger that had laid dormant for two weeks welled up inside the young beagle. Darwin unscrewed the handle from his push broom and advanced on the compost heap holding it like a club. But his anger melted away when he saw a cat's head rise up from behind the pile of offal.

"Hurry will you?" The stranger called. "This crap stinks. I thought that canines were supposed to have sensitive noses. How can you stand it?"

"I don't know. It smells kind of ... ripe, I suppose." Darwin answered, surprised by the fact that the feline had not attacked him immediately. He remembered telling Snowdrop about how the smell of fresh manure gave them the urge to roll in it. She had told him that cats detested the smell, and buried all their and their livestock's droppings in pits far from the encampment. The thought of her brought him back to the feline facing him from the other side of the compost heap.

"You didn't come to kill me, so why are you here?"

"I have a message for you, from the priestess that Snowdrop was training under."

"A message from Dawn?" Darwin's ears pricked up. Snowdrop had mentioned her, had said that the old cat could get pretty much anything she wanted from the tribal council.

Possibilities raced through his head. Maybe the old priestess had managed to free Snowdrop and they could be together again. But not here, he thought, the other dogs would be cruel to her. Maybe we can take a few sheep and start a flock in the wild country south of here. We can live out our time together happily enough without more than a trip a year to visit our respective families. We can trade wool for grain and .... Darwin realized that he was getting ahead of himself when the cat stepped out from behind the manure pile, his tail waving impatiently behind him.

"How is Snowdrop? Is she okay?" That was all that really mattered, he decided, even if I never get to see her again.

"No, she is not." The slim cat answered as he inched away from the odorous pile. "She has been banished from the tribe, and from feline society altogether."

"Banished? Wandering alone! Where is she? Take me to her!" Darwin took two steps toward the cat but the warrior stepped back and raised his paws defensively.

"Stay back!" They both froze for a moment, Darwin in mid-step, the cat with a ridge of fur standing up on his back. When it was clear that Darwin was not coming any closer the cat relaxed a degree, keeping his paws up but letting the fur settle down on his back.

"She is banished, but she does not wander alone. Our chief has sold her as a slave to a fox caravan that left these parts some two weeks ago."

Darwin dropped the broom handle. Suddenly he was finding it very hard to breathe. He slumped to the ground, propping himself up on one arm with the other paw to his chest as he struggled to draw air.

"Gone? A slave?" He managed to squeak out between gasps.

"It is worse than that." The feline said, dropping his paws and strolling casually around the prone canine. "He sold her to one of the lowest creatures to ever command a string of wagons. She is to be a whore for the dogs and coyotes and wolves of the highlands." He dropped into a crouch behind Darwin and brought his mouth close to the beagle's ear. "They play rough up there, and they do not like cats. She will suffer every humiliation imaginable, until there is nothing left of her worth abusing."

"Noooo!" Darwin wailed weakly. The cat looked around hurriedly to see if anyone had heard. He knew that he should leave, but Bear Cat had insisted on one last thing. Felling as dirty as the pile of offal he had been forced to hide behind, Shadow concluded his assignment.

"Yes. That is her fate, and one more thing Dawn asked me to mention ..." The cat leaned closer so that his lips were almost brushing the fur on Darwin's ear.

"Wha ...what?"

"She said to tell you that it is all your fault."

* * * * * * * *

The summer wore on. In the mountains chaos reigned as the wolves went to war. The turmoil spread to the plains where coyotes raided in larger and larger groups. Trading was dangerous, but lucrative, for those that were brave enough to chance it, smart enough to deal with it, and lucky enough to survive it.

Down in the valley the trade was not so good. Many more caravans than usual plied the roads as the leaders of the smaller wagon trains opted to avoid the highlands that year. With most of the pickings taken by the first few and the crops not due for another month they wandered from tribe to tribe and village to village, moving simply for the sake of moving. By the time the days began to be noticeably shorter again news of the world was the only commodity that the foxes had left to trade, and they were spending more time in the village pubs than they were in their own camps.

"Darwin! Darwin!" Crusher's powerful voice boomed out across the village square. A short way away, down one of the narrow streets leading to the square a sorry looking beagle continued sweeping as if he had not heard.

"Darwin! There you are! I've been looking all over for you."

Darwin did not reply or even pause in his task. He had not opened his mouth to speak since the night he got news of Snowdrop. The other dogs had noticed the way he withdrew into himself, but they did not know why. Most assumed that it was shame that made him so withdrawn and that he would eventually get over it. Only his uncle Mordicai worried that the condition may be permanent.

"Come to the pub with me Darwin. I have someone you should meet." The big doberman pulled at the smaller dog's arm, making him stumble. Darwin tried to shrug off crusher's paw, but the grip on his sleeve was too strong.

"Darwin, listen to me. This fox at the pub, he has news of your playmate. The black cat? Remember?"

Darwin stopped sweeping and looked up at Crusher. His brown eyes were dark, deep pools of sorrow, but there was a glimmer of life down there still.

"Snowdrop?"

"Yes, that one. Was there more? Never mind. Come with me." Crusher pulled on Darwin's arm and the beagle dropped his broom and slowly shuffled along the lane behind the eager doberman.

Inside the pub it was dim and a haze of tobacco smoke hung in the air. Crusher led Darwin to a table by the empty fireplace where a fox sat sipping a beer and smoking a pipe.

"Here is the dog I was telling you about." Crusher said to the fox as he forced Darwin into a chair. "Tell him what you told me."

"This?" The fox said with surprise, pointing the stem of his pipe at Darwin. "This is the fog you told me about? Not much to look at is he? Hardly the handsome husky prince they describe."

"No, he isn't." Crusher admitted. "I have no idea what she saw in him. Just the first dog to come along I suspect. Ha! Come along! Get it?" He elbowed the somewhat annoyed fox.

"What are you two talking about?" Darwin asked, bewildered.

"Buy us a beer and I'll fill you in." The fox replied. Darwin signalled for a round and they waited in silence until the three mugs arrived. Crusher drained his in one long gulp. Darwin sipped at his; it was his first since that day in the grove. The fox took a deep draught of his.

"Ahhh, that hits the spot." He said as foam dripped from his snout. "Nothing like a cold beer on a hot day."

"Crusher said that you had news of Snowdrop."

"Snowdrop, is that her name? Fitting, if you imagine the flower with the same name, the way it droops with its head down when it emerges through the last of the spring snow."

"A black feline with a single white patch on her forehead, shaped like a raindrop?"

"Yes, that's the one. But they don't use the name Snowdrop."

Darwin was aware of the exotic appellations the vixens of the night used, Crusher and his pals had mentioned them in the pub often enough. They called themselves names like Flame, Fire-Eyes, Dusk and Ruby. He supposed that Snowdrop's owner must have given her a similar name, one suited to her new profession. He prepared for the worst.

"What ... what do they call her ... now that she is ... working with the caravan?"

"They don't call her anything. She is just 'The Priestess' when she is on display. I don't know what they call her when she is locked away."

"What do you mean 'on display'?" Darwin asked uneasily.

"Oh, this is the best part. Wait 'till you hear." Crusher injected. The fox frowned at him and continued.

"Patch, that is the name of the low-life that leads this particular caravan, has come up with a new way of making money with a warm female body. Instead of whoring this priestess out to anyone who has a bit of copper or steel to trade he puts her on display several times each night. He sends his scouts out to the next village to spread stories about the beautiful feline priestess that was sold into slavery by her father, the chief, after it was discovered that she was having an affair with a local canine prince. A tall, strong, young husky, they claim." The fox squinted at Darwin again and shrugged. "But that's patch for you; he lied to his mother the day he was born and he hasn't stopped since." He took another sip of his beer.

"It's a masterful bit of marketing though, I'm forced to admit. By the time he has his caravan set up outside of town there is already a crowd waiting to catch a glimpse of the beautiful priestess. That's when they tell them that she is not for hire, unlike his other females. Instead, he makes them pay a small fee just to look at her on a stage."

"She isn't a ... she doesn't ..." Darwin stammered.

"No lad, she doesn't." The fox said kindly. Darwin's relief was evident in his eyes, which had lost that far-away look. "Word is that no one is allowed to set a paw on her except for Patch's mother."

"How does this Patch make money just from showing her off?" Crushed inquired as he nudged Darwin's forgotten beer closer to his side of the table. "No one would pay as much just to look as they would for the whole thing."

"He makes up for it in volume, many dogs paying a little bit each. And it is not just the males, their bitches come to see the exotic priestess too. Even the pups are allowed in, although I disagree with that, considering how the show ends and all. They start with the stage draped in curtains while Patch tells a story about feline mating customs that I'm sure he made up. Then the curtains are pulled back to reveal 'The Priestess' standing there." The fox looked to the ceiling as he recalled the details of the show and his voice took on a wistful tone.

"She stands there, back straight, but with her eyes downcast and teary. It's obvious that she is distressed because she is separated from her lover. They have her dressed in a doeskin robe that is covered with feathers and bead work, the kind of crap we foxes make ourselves to sell to unsuspecting canines, but on her it looks perfect. It is cut short to show her legs and low to reveal her bosom. Knots on one shoulder and down the same side hold it together, and you can see an enticing strip of fur that runs from arm to hip there. Patch has set up torches and mirrors so that she is well illuminated and you can see the way her black fur shines. The flickering flames make that white spot on her head dance, but she just stands there, sad and silent, and the crowds stare at her in silence too, until the finale."

Darwin was leaning halfway across the table, rapt on the fox's tale. Crusher, who had heard it before, was drinking the beagle's beer while he was distracted. The fox looked back at the eager dog, frowned, and cleared his throat before continuing.

"Patch's mother is standing behind her the whole time, see?" He explained. "She has a cord in her paw that is connected to the cat, like a leash everyone presumes, because she is supposed to be a slave, right? But that is not what the cord is for." The fox looked uncomfortable, but he went on. "Patch begins to tell of how she met a husky prince, the heir to a northern kingdom, when her father took her on a trip to negotiate fishing rights. He tells how they fell in love, and how their love eventually became ... physical. Then he tells of them getting caught, of how angry her father was, of the war that it started, of the prince committing suicide in his despair."

"Then, as the torches start to burn down and the light grows dim, Patch shouts out 'Do you find it hard to believe that a canine prince would kill himself over a feline lover? Do you think that she is not beautiful enough in her robes and feathers? Maybe if you saw her as he did, on that fateful night when they joined in love, you would change your mind. Judge for yourself!' And then his mother pulls hard on the cord and all the knots on the priestess' robe come undone and she is left standing there, naked, as the last of the torches sputter and spark. It's almost too dark to see anything, but light enough to fire the imagination. After a few seconds where I swear no one as much as breathes, the curtains close and that is it."

"Damn." Crusher muttered.

"But no one touches her?" Darwin asked anxiously.

"No one touches her." The fox assured him.

Darwin sat back and let out a long breath. He reached for his beer and was puzzled to find it empty. He signalled for another round.

"And they come back, you were saying earlier." Crusher said.

"They come back?" Darwin was confused again.

"Yes. They come back for the second and third show." The fox explained. "The males anyway. Sometimes after paying for the company of one of the other females, sometimes before. Patch said that it has been great for business. Get's them all worked up. I don't know how long he will be able to keep it up though, what with her being pregnant and all."

Darwin sprayed a mouthful of beer all over the table, forcing the fox and Crusher to jump back. Before the fox could retreat Darwin lunged across the table and grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

"Pregnant! I thought you said that no one was allowed to touch her!" He shouted into the fox's face.

"No one has, not since she came to the caravan. Patch is not so stupid as to let like species breed with his females anyway, a pregnant whore is of no use to him. Village dogs, coyotes and wolves lay only with vixens and cats, feline warriors with canines and vixens. The occasional fox that visits can lie with anything but a vixen. That keeps any of them from getting pregnant. Everyone knows that."

"Then how did she become pregnant?" Darwin screamed as he shook the fox with arms made powerful from pushing a broom for sixteen hours straight, day in and day out.

"Isn't it obvious?" Crusher offered as he sipped his beer and enjoyed the show. "Cats can only breed with cats. She must of been keeping a warrior warm at night while she kindled your fire during the day. Maybe it was that big one that was trying to pull you apart in the grove? Wouldn't blame her if it was. Probably packing a lot under the loin cloth."

Darwin dropped the fox and looked at Crusher with horror. With a cry of agony he ran from the pub.

"Now what's gotten into him, I wonder? Oh well. Stay with me buddy." Crusher said as he picked the fox up and brushed him off. "I know a whole lot of dogs that would stand a round of beer to hear your describe that stage show again."

* * * * * * * *

Outside on the street Darwin looked around wildly. Since the last day with Snowdrop he felt like he had fallen into a raging river, all dark and tumultuous. He had been almost drowning in his river sorrow, only to find a floating log to climb on when the fox told him that Snowdrop was alright, or at least, unmolested. It had given him hope. Hope that one day he may find the caravan and steal her away. But the last comment had knocked the wind out of him again. It was as if he had reached the safety of the log just in time for the river to drop hundreds of feet over a precipice.

The river. The thought rang in his head. He must get to the river.

Darwin stumbled along the street, doubled over in pain from what Crusher had said. The others were right, his mind screamed, she was only using me to get information about the village. Of course she had someone of her own kind. Everything she told me about her life must have been a lie.

But if that is so, why did they send her away? Another part of his mind wondered. Darwin refused to consider the question. Thinking about it made his head ache even worse. He just wanted it all to end ... now.

They told me that I could not cross the bridge, he recalled, but they did not say that I couldn't go halfway and throw myself off.

Darwin ran up the steep approach to the bridge and when he came to the apex, he threw himself at the railing that he knew was hardly sturdy enough to lean on.

I'm free, he thought as his feet left the wooden surface.

"Hey there Darwin, hold on now." Darwin was jerked roughly back to reality, and the safety of the middle of the bridge, by an unseen paw. When he looked around he saw the concerned face of one of the Dobermans that had been assigned to guard to guard the bridge against feline raiders.

"You almost fell right off the bridge. Been drinking have you?" The doberman said, taking a whiff of Darwin's beer soaked shirt. "Well you best get home and sleep it off. You're not even supposed to be on this bridge." The big dog turned the beagle around firmly and nudged him in the direction of the village. "Get on now."

Darwin trudged back down the bridge to the street. His feet barely left the ground with each step and his head hung between his shoulders like a weight. He made his way slowly down the main street and through the square, turning to disappear up the street where his room was.

Behind him, two figures came out of the shadows by the village hall. It was his uncle, Mordicai the head tracker, and the mayor. They watched Darwin's progress silently until he turned and disappeared from sight. Then they relit their pipes and leaned back against the door of the hall, from where they had seen the whole scene that had played out a moment ago.

"Was he about to do what I think he was about to do?" Mordicai wondered.

"It looks like it." The mayor responded. "Young Darwin has not been himself since that day in the forest, has he?"

"No, and he looks worse than ever tonight." His uncle muttered. "Maybe I should have left him to the cats when we found him."

"Don't say that Mordicai!" the mayor said, shocked. "Those savages would have gutted him and left him on an ant hill to die!"

"Probably." Mordicai said sadly as he drew on his pipe. "But it would have been quicker and less painful than what he is suffering now."