5. The road (III)

They travelled until the last remnant of twilight was extinguished and it was no longer possible for him, or even the dogs, to make out the cat's pale fur just a few yards ahead. Sensing that they were lagging behind, she halted and let them approach. She seemed lost in thought for a moment, but then made her decision:

“Well, we'll have to stop here.”

There was no shelter, and no question of a fire this time. They stepped off the causeway onto the softer grass bordering the lake and sat down, the dogs a little restlessly at first until exhaustion got the better of them and they stretched out, yawning and shifting about in search of the least uncomfortable position. Oren lay down on his back, knees raised, head turned to the waterside, where the occasional rising and rolling of unseen fish produced the only sound other than the dogs' gentle and regular respiration. As his lids began to close he felt Lucinda settle at his side.

“Tomorrow you'll sleep in a proper bed,” he heard, though he could not say if it was her voice speaking to him or his own thoughts as he fell into the embrace of sleep.

He awoke shivering in a foggy dawn, caressing the ear of Wawet, who was gazing up at him beatifically from where she lay nestled against him. The other two dogs were huddled around him as well; their mingled odors were not a bit pleasant but they were bearable at least in the open air. There was no sign of Lucinda, at first. It was only after Marta had risen from the pile, shaking herself off and attempting to set an example of canine aloofness, that the cheetah appeared out of the mist, walking towards them along the shore, a sizable carp gripped between her teeth. The dogs licked their chops in excitement but held back until she let her catch slide onto the ground at their feet; then they rushed at it greedily and ripped it apart in an instant, snarling as they fought for the tastiest morsels. Lucinda shook her head, but her disapproval quickly gave way to resignation.

“Their table manners are frightening,” she said, “but I suppose they can plead hunger. I can catch one for you as well, if you're interested.”

He might well have been, had it not been for the sight of Marta crunching up the bloody remains of the carp's forlorn head, slobbering and spraying bits of half-chewed fish as she bared her teeth at an encroaching Pharos. Lucinda drew the correct interpretation from his silence.

“No, well, I can't say I blame you. I daresay you'll survive; I have, and believe me I've gone many a day without a meal. We should get going, as soon as our friends are finished with their carnage.”

The dogs ignored her. They wolfed down every visible speck, bones and all, then avidly licked the bent-down grass where the carp had been butchered. Finally they pitched their bodies forward onto the spot, grunting and writhing on their backs. Lucinda was already walking away. Oren followed, glancing back to see the dogs at last rising heavily to their feet, intoxicated by their own gluttony. Marta snapped viciously at Wawet once more for the road, then cantered ahead to catch up.

The day's journey was without event. Though Oren glanced across now and then, no other travellers appeared on the far shore. They were approaching the end of the lake now, and the reeds had spread out into a great expanse on both sides of the causeway. A solitary white egret, standing motionless in the marsh, was the only witness to their passage. At midday Lucinda allowed them to rest and relieve their thirst. Marta took a long drink, then waded quietly out, froze, and lunged. She lowered her snout into the water and produced a wriggling brown crayfish. She brought it ashore, dropped it onto the causeway, held it down with one paw, and dispatched her prize in three noisy gulps, spitting out fragments of shell. At this Pharos and Wawet charged noisily into the water, hunting and thrashing frantically to no avail.

“Idiots,” Marta snapped at them, “you'll scare away everything that breathes. Get out.”

After the other dogs had sheepishly retreated to the causeway, Marta stepped into the marsh, cocked her head, leaned slowly to one side, and pounced again. She devoured her new prize with an icy glare of contempt towards the others, who were salivating a safe distance away, then returned for a third and a fourth after that. At last she let them back into the waters to try again. They had learned their lesson, and this time stalked the shallows patiently until they saw what they were looking for. Pharos struck, missed, then lunged desperately and hit the mark; he stepped cockily onto the causeway, let the crayfish drop, then yelped painfully as it nipped his paw. He seized it with fury, flung it hard on the ground, then scooped it up and crunched down hard, severing the creature in the middle and swallowing it with a grimace. He limped off a few yards to be by himself, trying to preserve the remaining shreds of his dignity.

Wawet, in the meantime, had emerged, wet and miserable and smelling even worse than usual. His efforts had only managed to muddy the water thoroughly, precluding further hunting for the present. He shook himself off, nosed up a broken fragment of carapace that Marta had discarded, licked out the scent with his pink tongue, then sat down alone, awkward and morose. Oren took pity on him, walked over, and laid a consoling hand on the dog's head; Wawet looked up gratefully and wagged his tail.

They walked on, mostly in silence, until late afternoon, when Oren looked behind him and saw that the dogs had stopped a few yards behind, Marta and Wawet resting on their haunches, Pharos standing alone a little off to one side. As Lucinda showed no sign of slowing, he caught up to her and asked what was wrong.

“It's as far as they go,” was her only explanation. As she did not break stride Oren walked alongside her for a few seconds, then jogged back.

“You're not coming?” he asked.

Wawet and Pharos avoided his glance, but Marta stared back at him and shook her head.

He stood there for a moment, reluctant to leave them, until the cat called his name. He caressed the brow of each dog in turn, and said “thank you,” though he couldn't have said for what.

When he had rejoined Lucinda again he looked back. The dogs remained in the same position, watching him, until they were swallowed by the horizon.

May 14, 2007

Copyright © 2007 Chris Kearin. All rights reserved.