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and found a place near the fire. The lop-eared herder Shoman was there, along with Cherfan and some other weary clan members. Fessran basked on the far side of the fire. Ratha looked for Thakur and Orange-Eyes, but found neither. She settled herself and listened to the conversation between Fessran and Shoman.
    “Killing those bristlemanes may save us from having to cull a dappleback,” Shoman was saying.
    Fessran drew back her whiskers. “You may be able to eat bristlemane meat. If so, you may have it.”
    “You’re too fussy. Meat is meat,” Cherfan said and yawned, showing the ribbed roof of his mouth and the back of his tongue.
    “To you, perhaps.” Fessran lolled her tongue at him. “You can eat anything, you big shambleclaw.”
    Ratha stretched out her pads to the fire’s warmth and let the banter flow over her. This wasn’t the first time Fessran had teased Cherfan about his indiscriminate appetite. He seemed to take her teasing with patient humor, as he did everything else.
    “Have you seen Thakur and Orange-Eyes?” Ratha asked.
    “They’re on their way,” Cherfan answered. “Thakur said he’d find the mare so I could go and get warm.”
    “He may be awhile. That old mare has more spirit than I thought. Maybe you shouldn’t cull her, Cherfan,” Fessran remarked and began washing a muddy paw.
    “Ptahh! You only want younger meat, Firekeeper,” Cherfan teased in return. “She’d be as tough as a bristlemane and you know it.”
    Shoman looked sourly at Fessran. “You think you deserve better meat than bristlemane, don’t you, torchbearer. Well, I don’t. You and the other singed-whiskers let too many of the guard-fires die. That’s why the bristlemanes got through.”
    “Bury it, Shoman,” Cherfan growled as the Firekeeper stiffened and glared. “You’re about as helpful as a tick in the skin. Don’t pay any attention to him, Fessran. His tail’s been in a kink ever since Orange-Eyes came.”
    Ratha twitched her ears at the mention of the Un-Named One. She lifted her muzzle from her forepaws and said, “You seem to think well of him now, herder.”
    “I’ll admit I had my doubts about him, but he’s a hard worker and not easily frightened. He chewed up several of those belly-biters. I wish I’d seen that!” Cherfan looked at Ratha directly. “I think you made a good decision when you decided not to kill him at the dance-hunt, clan leader.”
    “I don’t—” Shoman began, but he was interrupted by a swat from Cherfan that knocked him over. “Oh, go fill your belly, flop-ears. Maybe your temper will improve.”
    Shoman retreated, his fur and his dignity visibly ruffled. Ratha heard him pad away and felt herself relaxing. Fessran, however, was sitting up, looking solemn. Presently Cherfan got up and stretched. “One last look at the herdbeasts and I’m off to my den. Too wet a night to sleep out. Remind flop-ears that he has the next watch.”
    Some of the herders left with him; others went back out to the meadow. One by one the Firekeepers also left until Ratha and Fessran were alone by the fire.
    “Firekeeper, if Shoman’s words are troubling you, don’t worry,” Ratha said. “I never listen to him.”
    “Maybe you should.” Fessran’s voice was flat.
    Ratha looked at her sharply. “What else could you have taught the fire-tenders? The Red Tongue is not an easy creature to care for. I don’t want to punish any Firekeeper for failing.”
    “Punishment would be useless,” said Fessran. “I scold them if they forget their training, but punishment is no cure for fear.”
    “I can see how difficult it is for them. The Red Tongue is often a vengeful creature.”
    “There is a difference between being careful and being timid. Your creature demands much from us who tend it.” Fessran gazed at the flame. “Sometimes I think it has senses, like ours, and it knows when someone is afraid of it. That is when it jumps out and burns our whiskers.”
    In the flickering