the small, strange creatures who walked upright, who lived within their puzzling nest of sticks, were not to be attacked, killed, or eaten. Moreover, they were to be literally protected.
Those who might prey upon them, those who might attack them, or kill them and eat them, were to be driven off, or killed. Moreover, the track of the string, which he showed her, and the region of the platform, and the flat places where the strange grasses grew, where the small creatures often came with their tools, and the clearing, and the village, were to be guarded with particular care. These things, as far as Brenner could tell, the female accepted, or, at least, did not question. To be sure, they must have made little sense to her. In the first weeks he did follow her upon occasion, usually in the morning, when she had arisen earlier and gone out to drink. On one of these occasions she had encountered a Pon near the string, and Brenner had tensed himself to interfere, if he had time. But the Pon had fled and she had merely looked after it. She could have brought it down easily, but had not done so. Brenner then, muchly relieved, had returned to the lair. You do not have to kill her, he had thought to himself. But he wondered if he could have brought himself to do so. But what can be the nature of such reservations, he asked himself. She is only an animal, a beast. If she interferes with the discharge of the fathership, if she threatens the pact, she must die. But he wondered if he could have injured her, regardless of what she might do. But I must be strong, thought Brenner. The children come first, and the fathership. He was terrified at the thought of returning to the loneliness, like an arctic wasteland, he had known before. He was horrified at the thought of injuring what he had come to love so much. But, he said to himself, remember that she is an animal, a beast, only that. If she threatens the pact, she must die. Do not make me choose between you and the fathership, he begged her silently, in his mind. But it did not seem likely that that decision would need be made. She had not pursued the Pon. She respects my will in this matter, he speculated. How problematical, and puzzling, and even unintelligible, my wishes in this matter must seem to her, he thought. He did not expect her, of course, to share the stewardship, the guardianship, which might seem even more absurd, or meaningless, to her. All he really asked of her was that she refrain from killing and eating Pon. And it seemed that she would refrain from such things, at least at this time. He did not know, of course, really, whether this was because of him, the result, say, of deference to his wishes, or of some natural disinclination, or indifference.
There were things that puzzled him about her, such as her occasional restlessness in the night, her movings about, the stirring of her limbs, doubtless in dreaming, roars, snarls, unusual noises, such things.
He learned from her to lift fish from streams, with a scoop of a paw. This was useful. It had not been in his beast memories.
To be sure, he did not care much for water.
It interested him that Rodriguez had been mistaken about such forms of life, regarding them as not indigenous to Abydos. This did not seem the sort of mistake which Rodriguez would have made.
Yet here she was.
He was pleased that she was here.
There was, of course, a lingering loneliness in Brenner, a longing for someone, or something, which might understand him, with whom he could truly communicate. This is not to say that there was not a profound companionship between the lovely female beast and himself. This was an unspoken thing, a primitive thing, deeper and, in its way, doubtless more profound than words. There were feelings here, and interdependencies, as ancient as the beauty of pair bonding itself, a bonding, a loving and needing, and wanting and caring, more permanent than, and exceeding, the casual couplings of heedless beasts. In its way it was the fundamental reality, primeval, and basic, compared to which linguisticisms must seem almost superficial accretions, save in so far as they might point to the deeper realities, and feelings, beyond them. How trivial, and meaningless, in themselves, are the words, ‘I