We are juicy leapers too far from the burrow, one of the hunters said. Known, visible, no place to hide. Hunted by those who could see from far above, even with no hills near; hunted by those who could scar the very sky with the speed and power of their passage. Leapers have teeth, one reminded.
But fall to the knife anyway, another said. As teeth to the knife are our knives to the weapons such sky-monsters might carry.
The nest guardian’s people will return, the singer said. If they are the same people as the ones we killed, then . . . it will be difficult to drum harmony.
A long way, and no travel camps between, one of the youngest said. It had been a hard journey both ways, and this one had had a thorn in the left foot, making most steps painful even after it was out. Perhaps they are not the same beings at all.
They are the same in some things, the singer said. No one argued with this. The singers, along with the surviving nest guardians, had examined the dead monsters carefully; the singer would have noted details that escaped a hunter in the battle. The difference, the singer went on, is mostly age, and the garments of the nest guardian. These creatures change with age, as all do. The long grass of their heads bleaches like grass in the coming of cold; the skin dapples and loosens. If they are like us, they become slower of movement.
This one’s skin is so hot, one of the hunters said.
I do not know about the others; they were all dead. But certainly this is a hotblooded creature, more like us than like the flaked skins. Has anyone seen it swim?
No. It does not swim, but it sprinkles itself with water daily . . . sometimes more than once, in the hottest weather.
Unclothed, another added, it has attached sacks here—the hunter rubbed the chest—and yet we have never seen anything in them, or any opening.
The singer tapped left toes. Yes, so had some of the dead ones, but those were not empty. I saw one slashed by a knife; it was the creature’s self inside, all part of its body. One of the nest guardians looked at many such, and noticed that the larger ones went with the kind with an extra hole between the legs.
Nest-ready! cried the one who was.
Perhaps. These are monsters, after all. The nest guardian thought perhaps it was a way of storing fat for the production of young.
We could ask this one, a hunter said.
The singer drummed again, this time with the right toes, disagreement. It would be intrusive to notice that a nest guardian has not completed the change. What if it became angry? Refused to talk with us?
Perhaps it talks with us only because it has no nestlings to instruct?
It is too quick of mind to mistake us for nestlings.
It is alone, said the one nearing nesting, in a quavering voice. It is alone, and its people have abandoned it.
The others drew near, drumming softly with left toes, with left fingers, soothing, reassuring . . . you are not alone; we are here, your people . . .
But I have no nest guardian for
The singer took over, drumming a stronger rhythm, and shifting to the traditional counterpoint of the nestchant. Here is safe nestmass, here is safe place, here your nestlings will be guarded. A powerful guardian is here, the singer continued, powerful against the new dangers, more powerful than those you knew before. The nest-ready shivered again, then slowly relaxed into the comforting hands of the others.
It will guard my nestlings? Half question, half statement.
Singers did not lie, but they created new truths with their songs, new ways for the People to drum agreement.
Guardians are wise, the singer said. This guardian is very old; this guardian nourishes our minds as well as those of the nestlings. This guardian will guard your nestlings; I will sing it so.
The nest-ready fell asleep, in the abrupt way of those carrying young, and the singer gestured to the others for silence.
They did not know what the monster called itself. The singer considered that so wise an old one would surely have a preferred name. It had been withheld out of courtesy, not grasping; this one, like all guardians, was generous to all needs. The singer was sure the guardian would agree to protect their nestlings. Almost sure. Unless its own people came back, when its duty to its own nestlings might take precedence.
