Here, if the read the signs right, the cat had suddenly crouched and
begun to stalk. His shielded eyes strained against the blinding white,
up and down the stream, searching for any further sign. But all such
effort was defeated by the hard glare of the noon sun. Perhaps if he
made his eyes like a quiet pool, in which any movement would be as a
pebble dropping into glassy waters.....
Movement. His eyes shifted to the source. Again. The branches of a
leafless tree, no, the tree itself, moved under the weight of some large
animal, disturbing the snow-layered pines around it. At the edge of the
clearing, on the far side of the stream. A short distance in front of
it the snow had been mangled and stained, as by a recent kill.
He cut a swath straight towards it, risking much that the creature in
the tree was his own, self-named Avatar, proud hunter of the frozen
woodlands. He came to the stream, and lifting both his garments and the
startled cub, waded across. The shaking of branches had not ceased, and
now as he gained the far bank and set down the cub, a muffled growl was
added to it. He froze, spear lifted. But the sound had been neither
sudden, nor seemed in any way to correspond with his movements. And at
last, his eyes describing the scene, he lowered his spear with a surge
of pride and gratitude.
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