Wabi (6 page)

It was holed up in that cave, but it was not about to starve. Somehow, perhaps when I was off gathering more stones, it had managed to catch some small creature. I had heard something whimpering and then growling in weak but brave defiance from inside that cave. But the mojid had not yet eaten it. Greedy Eaters like to torture and play with their food before they kill it. I decided I could wait no longer. That is why I enlisted Segunk's help.

Segunk looked pleased as he stood in front of the cave mouth. There is always something self-satisfied about a skunk when it is about to confront a bigger creature that doesn't know what sort of surprise it has coming.

“I go in now?” Segunk chirped, balancing himself on his two front legs and hopping forward. “I go in now?”

“Go,” I hooted, nodding my head.

Segunk trotted to the cave mouth, slid through the piled branches, and looked into the darkness.

“Hello,” Segunk called out. “Here I am, little creature good to eat. Here I am.” He vanished into the cave.

Although I flew up to my pile of rocks to pick a good heavy one, I could still hear what was happening below. Segunk's little feet were picking their way in deeper and deeper. The sound of the Greedy Eater's breathing was growing heavier as it became more excited about a foolish little one actually entering his lair.

Then I heard the mojid's voice.

“I have you!” he snarled.

“Something else, something else I have,” Segunk chirruped.

“AH-GAH, AH-GAH.” The sound of the mojid's choking coughs as he tried to escape those stinging fumes echoed loudly.

“AH-GAH, AH-GAH.” The mojid came stumbling out of the cave. He rubbed his yellow eyes that were so blinded, he could not see anything. Including my nice heavy stone.

The sound was very satisfying. It was a combination of a thonk and a splat.

I dropped down to land by the creature's body just as Segunk came strolling out of the cave. Almost all of his spray had been absorbed by the monster, so the little creature that came stumbling out of the cave behind Segunk was sneezing from the smell but wasn't completely blinded.

It was the one I had heard whimpering and growling. I sat there as it came up to me. I suppose I should have flown off, but for some reason I did not understand, I stayed.

It was a wolf cub. It trotted up to me, sneezed one more time, and then looked right into my eyes. Then it whined and licked my beak with its tongue.

Segunk was quietly making his way back down into the meadow. But the wolf cub showed no signs of wanting to go anywhere. It nuzzled me with its nose.

Strange,
I thought. Then I leaned forward to preen the hair on the back of its neck with my beak.

DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH food a wolf cub eats?

Too much, that is how much.

I probably should not have fed him. But he looked so starved that it just seemed like the right thing to do. It was made especially clear when, as I was preening his fur with my beak (now, why did I do that?), he looked up at me and whimpered something in a soft little voice.

Because of that strange gift of understanding that my great-grandmother told me she and I shared, I knew what his whimpers meant.

I turned my head around to look back at the dead mojid. The wolf pup—Malsumsis, as he called himself—turned his body to follow my gaze. The mojid's smell had been sickeningly sweet before being struck by Segunk's spray. Malsumsis wrinkled up his nose. Now it was totally disgusting. Not good food at all. I wondered if even the turkey buzzards that were now circling overhead would eat it.

Malsumsis turned back to me. His eyes looked up into mine and he whined again.

Then he leaned against me with his shoulder.

He almost knocked me over. I looked bigger than him and I was certainly much stronger, but owls are not heavy creatures. Our bones are hollow and our feathers, though bulky, are light. That is why we are able to ride the wind as we do. Even though this wolf puppy was half my size and underfed, he was heavier than me.

I hopped back and examined him. His coat, except where I had preened it, was scruffy. Ribs showed along his sides. He had gone without food for longer than the brief time he'd been held in that cave by the Greedy Eater. This was strange. I'd watched wolf packs many times in the past. I always enjoyed the way they played with their little ones, fed them and cared for them. It wasn't just the mothers and fathers of the cubs that took care of them, but all of the adults of their pack.

Then it came to me. It had been a long time since I'd heard the night singing of the wolf pack that ranged the woods above the waterfall. At least two full moons had come and gone. Had this little one belonged to the Upriver Pack?

“Where are your parents? Your pack?”

He lowered his head till his nose touched the ground.

I waited, rocking from side to side, but he said nothing.

Finally, I broke the silence. “Wait here,” I hooted. “I'll be back.”

It was a good night for hunting. It didn't take long at all for me to come back with a nice fat bunny. It would have been a full night's food for me, but Malsumsis made short work of it, then licked his chops and asked for more.

Two bunnies, six mice, and four voles later, he was finally full . . . and I was exhausted. The sun would soon rise. It was time for me to rest.

I opened my wings to take flight. I had just enough energy left to fly back to my roosting place on the other side of the valley.

The wolf cub cocked his head as I did so. Somehow, I could read what he was thinking.
Are you coming back?

I had helped enough. His little belly was as round and taut as one of the drums the humans struck with sticks when they sang and danced. It was time for him to be on his own.

“I am going,” I hooted. “Travel well.”

I glanced down once as I flapped my wings to gather height. Malsumsis was watching me intently.

Without wings there is no way he can follow me.
That is what I assumed as I soared over the treetops, leaving him far behind. I reached my nice hidden roosting place, settled in, and slept soundly all through that day.

What woke me up was not the welcome return of darkness. It was a little voice whimpering from the base of my tree.

Strangely, I was not upset as I looked down. I felt something like pleasure when I saw the wolf cub there, sitting back on his haunches and smiling up. Although he did not have wings, he did have a nose. I should have remembered that no creature has a stronger sense of smell than a wolf. He could have found me even if I had gone four times as far.

I shrugged my shoulders. Then I spread my wings and hopped off the limb. It was going to be a long night.

 

Luckily for both of us, that season had brought forth more rabbits than usual. As the narrow face of the moon became full, I fed my little friend and he grew. Each day Malsumsis slept faithfully at the foot of my tree and each night I went out in search of food for him. The moon thinned and filled again. Now he was hunting on his own, creeping up and pouncing on mice and voles in the meadow. Soon he'd be catching his own rabbits.

But even once he was able to get most of his food by himself, he did not leave me. Was it because I had saved his life? Or was it that he felt some strange liking for me? Those questions I cannot answer. All I knew was that wherever I flew, the little cub came trotting after me.

Then, one night when I woke, I heard a different sound from below.

I looked. Malsumsis was sitting there proudly, the carcass of a grouse resting at his feet. He had brought food for me.

I dropped down to the ground and plucked feathers from the grouse's chest as I held it firmly with one foot. Malsumsis sat back, watching me accept his gift. I dug my beak in.
Ah, still nice and warm
.

When I was finished, Malsumsis nuzzled me gently and lowered his head. I leaned forward and began to preen his hair.

A large shape came floating down out of the night and landed on a low branch just above us. Malsumsis looked up and growled. Even though he was still just a cub, he was ready to protect me.

“Be calm,” I hooted to him in a reassuring voice.

There was no need to worry about the one who had just joined us. It was, of course, my great-grandmother. Now that I was a full-grown owl, I no longer saw her every night. I still went to her whenever I needed guidance. But I had not even thought to ask her what to do about this wolf cub who now believed that he and I belonged to each other.

“Wabi, are you starting your own wolf pack?” Great-grandmother whootuled. I could hear the amusement in her voice.

I might have said no, but I didn't want to hurt the cub's feelings.

“Great-grandmother,” I said, “this is Malsumsis. He is my good friend.”

I didn't say anything about how I had saved him and then fed him. If I knew my great-grandmother, she'd been somewhere watching me all the time.

“Wabi,” she said, chuckling, “do you want to be a human?”

“No!” I said, clacking my beak in annoyance.

What a ridiculous question that was. Why would my grandmother ask it?

She looked down at me and nodded. “Do you know the story the humans tell of how the dog came to them?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

Just two seasons ago, while hiding in my favorite cedar near the village, I had overheard Dojihla telling some smaller children that very story.

“Sit down,” she had said. “All of you pay attention. Dog was once like the wolf. Then the human beings were created. All the animals were given a choice about how they would live. All the other animals wanted to either go their own ways or treat the humans as prey. They were as foolish as some of the boys in this village who think they are grown-ups even though they are still just silly boys. But not dog. Only dog chose to live with the humans. They promised to always be friends to the people—even those who were as stupid as those boys in our village that I just mentioned, like Wikadegwa and Onegig and Agwegajezid.”

After hearing her story, I began to pay more attention to the dogs. It was true. Those dogs seem to be the most loyal creatures in the world. Even when they were treated badly, they still stayed by the humans, guarding them and following them.

Some of those humans—the kinder ones—were very good to their dogs. Dojihla, despite the way she treated the big boys of her village, was one of those who treated her dogs very well. I liked watching the way she played with them, throwing things for them to catch and bring back, wrestling with them. It looked like fun as they romped about. But that did not mean I was envious. By taking care of a wolf cub, I was not acting like a human being raising a dog. Not one bit. I was not trying to imitate the humans.

Why would an owl ever want to be one of those pathetic, featherless beings?

I looked up at the branch. Great-grandmother was gone. I had been so lost in my thoughts that I had not even noticed her leaving.

Malsumsis nudged me with his nose.

Harruf?
he barked.

“Yes,” I agreed, nuzzling his neck with my beak before spreading my wings. “Let us go hunting.”

I WAS MISERABLE. I HAD never felt so unhappy or confused.

I sat on the branch of the cedar tree, peering out through its thick, protecting boughs that hid me from sight. My second eyelid was closed against the light of the sun. I have not mentioned it before, but that is yet another way that the Great Darkness made us owls better than human beings. We owls were given two eyelids for each eye. That second inner eyelid, which is filmy, can be closed to clean our eyes or protect them from getting hurt. It also cuts down the brightness of day when an owl cannot sleep at the normal time.

But I was more than watchful. I was ill at ease, confused, upset, and several other things I could not find words for. I felt as if I were being spun about by a whirlwind. What was happening to me?

Malsumsis sensed my disquiet. We had been hunting together with the usual success. Seasons had passed since he was a small starved pup, and my friend had grown into a huge wolf, bigger than any I had ever seen before. Even after he was grown, Malsumsis had stayed with me, as loyal as he would have been to his own pack that had disappeared. It was strange the way they had vanished. There was no sign of them anywhere in our valley. The last time he had seen his pack was when he fell into the river as a puppy and was washed by the swift current downstream, where the long, hard hands that pulled him out had been those of the mojid.

Each time we hunted, we also looked for signs of Malsumsis's family, but with no luck. What we did find in the way of family was more of my own. My sister had been staying in the far end of our valley, well away from my hunting grounds.

One night I was flying high, the soft warm wind under my wings, looking out across the night land that spread beneath me. I looked in the direction where the sun always disappeared below the horizon. First there was the forest stretching beyond in a carpet of dark green. Then there was the blue mountain and the hills circling around it like bear cubs following their mother.

Beyond that mountain were even higher mountains, and beyond them? I did not know. Once an owl has found his or her own hunting ground, that is where he stays. I knew, from having heard the humans talk, that there were other human villages off in the winter land direction, the summer land direction, and in the direction of the dawn. There were stories about those places. Some humans went there often. But none of the humans seemed to know anything about what lay beyond the night mountains. No one ever went that way. In the past, no one who dared to travel over those mountains had ever come back.