climbed one of the fenceposts carefully, so as not to tear anything. Cautiously, for the ground over here wasn’t as even as it had been in the rape field, Nita made her way into the center of the field, and opened her manual.
She said the two words in the Speech that would make the pages generate enough light to read by, though not enough to mess up her night vision. Normally she wouldn’t have needed the manual for this spell, which was more a matter of simple conversation than anything else; but she didn’t know the name she needed to call, and had to look it up. The manual’s index was straightforward as usual. “Canidae…” she said under her breath. “Here we go.”
The spell was a calling, but the kind that was a request, not a demand. She hoped there would be someone to respond. She recited the standard setup, the request for the Universe to hear. Then, “Ai mathrára,” she said in the Speech, “if any hear, let them speak to me,for there’s need.”
And then she put the book down and sat there in the quiet, and waited.
It seemed to take a long time before she heard the soft sound of something rustling in the grass, about a hundred yards away. Normally she’d never have heard it, except that her ears were sharpened by sitting in this total silence. The noise stopped.
“Mathrára,” she said then, very quietly, “if that’s you, then I’m here.”
Another rustling, another silence.
“You speak it with an accent,” said a voice in a series of short, soft barks, “but well enough. Let me see you.”
Nita saw the long, low, sharp-nosed shape come toward her. The dog-fox had a tail bigger and bushier and longer than she would have thought possible. Only the faintest firefly gleam from the manual’s pages silvered his fur, giving him enough of an outline to see, and glinted in his eyes.
“So,” the fox said.
“What accent?” Nita said, curious. As far as she knew, her accent in the Speech was quite good.
“We wouldn’t say mathrára here. Madrín rua, that would be it.” And Nita chuckled, for that meant “the little red dog” in the Speech.
“Local customs rule,” Nita said, smiling. “As usual. I have a warning for you, madrín rua. There’s a hunt coming through here in a few days.”
The fox yipped softly in surprise. “They are early for the season, then.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Nita said. “But if I were you, I’d spread the word to keep your people out of this area, and probably for about five or ten miles around on all sides. … And you might lay off the chickens.”
The fox laughed silently, a panting sound. “They’ve poisoned almost all the rats and trapped or shot the rabbits: what’s a body to eat? But for the moment...as you say. I am warned, wizard. Your errand’s done.” It looked at her with a thoughtful look.
“So then,” the fox said. “Go well, wizard.” And it whisked around and went bounding off through the pasture-grass without another word.
Nita shut her manual and sat there in the quiet for a while more, getting her breath back. Talking to animals differed in intensity the smarter the animal got, and the more or less used it was to human beings. Socialized pet animals like cats and dogs tended to have more fully humanized personalities, and could easily be made to understand you; but they also tended to be short-spoken. Possibly, Nita thought, because being domesticated and more or less confined to a daily routine, they had less to talk about. Wilder animals had more to say, but it was often more difficult to understand them, the message being colored with hostility or fear, or plain old bewilderment. The fox lived on the fringes of human life, knew human ways, but was wary, and so there was a cool tinge, a remoteness, about the way it came across.
At any rate, she’d fulfilled her own responsibilities for the evening. A wizard had a duty to prevent unnecessary pain, and foxhunting didn’t
She said the two words in the Speech that would make the pages generate enough light to read by, though not enough to mess up her night vision. Normally she wouldn’t have needed the manual for this spell, which was more a matter of simple conversation than anything else; but she didn’t know the name she needed to call, and had to look it up. The manual’s index was straightforward as usual. “Canidae…” she said under her breath. “Here we go.”
The spell was a calling, but the kind that was a request, not a demand. She hoped there would be someone to respond. She recited the standard setup, the request for the Universe to hear. Then, “Ai mathrára,” she said in the Speech, “if any hear, let them speak to me,for there’s need.”
And then she put the book down and sat there in the quiet, and waited.
It seemed to take a long time before she heard the soft sound of something rustling in the grass, about a hundred yards away. Normally she’d never have heard it, except that her ears were sharpened by sitting in this total silence. The noise stopped.
“Mathrára,” she said then, very quietly, “if that’s you, then I’m here.”
Another rustling, another silence.
“You speak it with an accent,” said a voice in a series of short, soft barks, “but well enough. Let me see you.”
Nita saw the long, low, sharp-nosed shape come toward her. The dog-fox had a tail bigger and bushier and longer than she would have thought possible. Only the faintest firefly gleam from the manual’s pages silvered his fur, giving him enough of an outline to see, and glinted in his eyes.
“So,” the fox said.
“What accent?” Nita said, curious. As far as she knew, her accent in the Speech was quite good.
“We wouldn’t say mathrára here. Madrín rua, that would be it.” And Nita chuckled, for that meant “the little red dog” in the Speech.
“Local customs rule,” Nita said, smiling. “As usual. I have a warning for you, madrín rua. There’s a hunt coming through here in a few days.”
The fox yipped softly in surprise. “They are early for the season, then.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Nita said. “But if I were you, I’d spread the word to keep your people out of this area, and probably for about five or ten miles around on all sides. … And you might lay off the chickens.”
The fox laughed silently, a panting sound. “They’ve poisoned almost all the rats and trapped or shot the rabbits: what’s a body to eat? But for the moment...as you say. I am warned, wizard. Your errand’s done.” It looked at her with a thoughtful look.
“So then,” the fox said. “Go well, wizard.” And it whisked around and went bounding off through the pasture-grass without another word.
Nita shut her manual and sat there in the quiet for a while more, getting her breath back. Talking to animals differed in intensity the smarter the animal got, and the more or less used it was to human beings. Socialized pet animals like cats and dogs tended to have more fully humanized personalities, and could easily be made to understand you; but they also tended to be short-spoken. Possibly, Nita thought, because being domesticated and more or less confined to a daily routine, they had less to talk about. Wilder animals had more to say, but it was often more difficult to understand them, the message being colored with hostility or fear, or plain old bewilderment. The fox lived on the fringes of human life, knew human ways, but was wary, and so there was a cool tinge, a remoteness, about the way it came across.
At any rate, she’d fulfilled her own responsibilities for the evening. A wizard had a duty to prevent unnecessary pain, and foxhunting didn’t
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