no harm, but almost everything else in the plains did. Perhaps I could have protected it had I thought ahead. Would a shepherd with this kenning be able to protect his flock from predators, never lose a sheep, that kind of thing?
I held out my arms to either side, inviting the remaining bluetips to perch there if they wished. They did, but they looked nervous about it and minced awkwardly on my forearms, trying not to dig into my skin with their talons. They were right; it was a terrible idea.
“Go and be safe in the grass,” I told them. “Thank you for saying hello.”
They chirped, hopped into the grass near my feet, and waddled away. A grin spread across my face until I recalled that there should have been three of them walking around. My family should still be walking around, too. My primary talent so far was not thinking through the possible consequences of my actions. Even when I tried to think ahead, events never turned out the way I thought they would.
Perhaps calling something smaller would be better. Could I call insects? “Are there any bugs nearby?” I asked. I knew that there were, of course; I’d seen a few zipping around here and there. But after I made that general query, a dense cloud of buzzing, thrumming insects rose all around me, blocking out the sun. “Ahh! Silly question! Never mind! As you were!” The swarm of assorted flying creatures dropped back into the grasses to eat and be eaten, and I shuddered even though it wasn’t cold. If the smaller creatures of the world ever organized to wipe out the larger ones, they would most definitely win.
It would be useful to know what kind of animals there were in an area—and how many—without calling them individually with a demand to show themselves. Far less annoying to the animals as well. But did I possess that ability? If so, how would I access it? The information wasn’t readily available in my consciousness. I had to do something.
My thoughts before had focused on specific animals. What if instead I focused on an area?
I visualized myself in the middle of an area a hundred lengths square, focused my thoughts, and wondered how many creatures of any kind might exist in that space. My reward was an instant, staggering headache that made me clutch my head.
“Ahh. Okay, too much,” I said aloud. The sheer number of insects in such an area would be too many to count. I tried again: a smaller area, only fifty lengths square, and a query about mammals only. The images came quickly and were blessedly pain-free: A family of prairie voles to my right. Barley shrews behind me to my left. Ahead on my left, a ratcatcher sniffing out the voles but waiting for me to pass by. Nothing else.
I tried birds in the same area next. The bluetips and the stalk hawk were there, but also a pair of gharel hens bedded down for the day off to my right and about twenty tiny fly fishers that would flock at night, skimming the grass tips for insects. I repeated the process for snakes and lizards, then spiders, and didn’t ask about insects again.
There was so much hidden on the plains that I could uncover now. Of great use to me would be discovering a source of water: these animals must be drinking something.
Focusing on the stalk hawk, which was still filling its belly on the bluetip, I asked it, “Where can I find water near here?” It screeched at me, annoyed at being interrupted, but they were fast eaters and I imagined it had eaten quite enough already. “Please show me where,” I said. Another screech, and the stalk hawk took wing, circled around me once, and flew to the northwest. I began to jog in that direction, and it wasn’t long before the stalk hawk swooped and climbed and swooped again at a point ahead of me. I saw nothing special there until I fell into a small pond that had been completely hidden by the tops of the grasses. It was not huge—the size of my bedroom at home—but it held plenty of water that I could boil to remove any plagues that might be living in it.
I smiled and thanked the stalk hawk. My water problem was solved, and I probably had enough dry food to last to Khul Bashab. Nothing would eat me on the way there. I would