As I watched the kits’ interaction there in my courtyard, swigging tea, nibbling slices of iris bulb, and basking in the glow of Paren’s pampering, I was struck by the impression that though Question’s return to their midst had quickly realigned them around his leadership, Percent did not fade back into his previous wary quiet, but retained the weight of the alpha status he had grown into during the exile. He sat on the same level as Question, joking with him and probing at his tales of his live in the high forest with his mentor.

They were all very much taken by tales of weaponry and hunting, of course, and the idea that Question had shot and killed a bird on the wing, then cut it up to cook over a fire filled them with such enthusiasm that even Paren looked alarmed at their frantic jabbering and tussling around. But they would hang on every word of any story he related, and I must confess he had my full attention as well. My life of knowledge might be longer than his, but he was speaking of things far beyond my experience: making bows and frogskin bags, fishing for minnows with improvised spears and arrows tied to light cord so they could reel in any fish they shot, eating huckleberries in the high meadow between the valleys.

And encountering animals. This was the most interesting to me, of course, viewing them as new specimens of a new world, but to the other kits they were stories of monsters and threat and courage, and drove them to frenzied cheers as he told them of seeing bears and elk and marmots. And it was those stories that showed me most clearly the development of Percent: he openly questioned these reports. Or, as I saw it, he voiced the inevitable doubts of his fellows when told of a furred creature like Greater Than, but so large that just one of his saber-tipped hands was as large as the entire body of the biggest of us. Question answered openly with no rancor at being questioned. He could easily see the problem of believing his accounts, and his calm replies did much to convince us of the incredible. And with eight days of his return an event in the forest went directly to the core of those stories and of some other reports that had troubled me even more than his giant, horned monster anecdotes.

There were more males around the dining area than usual because At and his crew were installing several improvements we’d needed but been unable to accomplish in his absence. Happily including a sink, shower and general wash stand fed through tubes from the large reservoir made of a zinc bucket. Point, Semi, and Paren were sitting at the table watching, while Question and his mates busied around the activity. I wasn’t there at the time, but made my way around to the commons as soon as I heard the explosions.

I can’t really articulate the difference, but there was something about those sounds that carried the concept of sentient activity. Not like the snapping of falling limbs or other natural sounds. There was an intent behind these sudden, ominous reports.

I am sure that all eyes turned immediately to Point, and when I arrived he was already readying a group to investigate. At, Dollar, Underscore, Ampersand, and several other males had already chosen themselves as a team to respond to this unsettling and possibly threatening event. There was some milling around and chasing off to get weapons and instruments, but Point quickly took charge, checked equipment, and headed them in the direction of the sounds, followed closely by Question and a contingent of kits.

I deeply regret having only second-hand knowledge of what they very quickly found, guided in by the raw odor of fresh offal and an aggressive, biting, somehow sexy odor unlike anything we were familiar with. I would liked to have investigate, though Ampersand’s reports are typically precise and enlightening. But moreover, I would have liked just to see something so bizarre and massive for myself.

They approached with elaborate precautions, and it’s well they did because the sheer shocking enormity of what they found was followed up by two other equally remarkable events. They had no sooner committed themselves to approaching across a flat area of grass when At whistled a warning and they looked up to see Greater Than striding out of the trees toward them, Dash at his heels. Before they—and especially At—could digest that appearance it was rendered inconsequential when two huge animals erupted from the woods and tore across the grass at them, howling fiendishly and displaying slavering jaws with teeth the size of a tall male’s forearms!

They were much like the fox, but larger, more heavy-set and decidedly noisier. And they were a deep, oily black. They flew across the clearing towards the group, most of whom stood in shock. Not Greater Than, of course. He turned and ran to a point between the ones he’d rejected and the charge of these ravening creatures, and spun into the same defense posture I had seen against the fox: crouching with his tzurix butted in the ground and the serrated knife from the StagPak in his teeth. Dash instantly flanked him in a similar pose. And At and Question ran forward to stand beside them, bows drawn and waiting the arrival of these rough beasts against which they had almost no chance to survive. Point was right behind them, with a utility knife in his hand, and the kits swarmed forward screaming incoherent defiance. They waited, all of them seem to agree, less than ten seconds.

Then a piercing whistle came from the woods, a tone so high-pitched it was almost beyond our hearing. I’m told that you can’t hear it at all, but it’s as audible to dogs as it is to us. The dogs stopped, Point told me, as if they had run into a glass wall. They stood, chests heaving, drool dipping, teeth chopping, hungry throats issuing horrifying growls and roars, looking at their intended prey from a distance of not more than four body lengths. Then two more whistles sounded and they turned and ran off without a backward glance.

The little group of defenders stood motionless and silent for what must have seemed like a long time, shaken in twisted skeins of fear and relief, then Percent said in a conversational tone, “It appears I have soiled my fur,” and they all started laughing. Even—and everybody who told me this did so with the same incredulous headshake—Greater Than.