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. WHAT DO YOU SEE IN
YOUR DREAMS, THEN, SQUIRREL?
I DON'T KNOW. I DON'T SEE ANYTHING THAT I
CAN TELL YOU ABOUT FOR SURE. I JUST DON'T SEE
A DOG. OR A FOX, OR THE REST OF THEM. WHAT
ABOUT THE MAN?
RIEVE? HE'S NOSE-BLIND, LIKE ALL HIS KIND.
The squirrel sighed. I DON'T KNOW HOW I KNOW
THIS, PYTR, BEING A SQUIRREL AS I AM, BUT I HAVE
A FEELING THAT FRIENDS ARE COMING.
The long, eerie howl of a dog cascaded through the
night. The hackles rose on the back of Pytr's neck. A fox's
sharp yipping followed, and a falcon wailed high, then low.
The panther was silent, but Pytr knew he was near.
Pytr rose, back arched, tail swollen to nearly the width
of the squirrel's. Rieve was on his feet, his back to the fire.
His fear scent, sour and urgent, filled the room.
LET US HOPE, SQUIRREL, THAT THESE ARE
FRIENDS, INDEED. THOUGH IF THEY ARE, I WILL
TELL YOU NOW THAT YOU HAVE SOME VERY
STRANGE FRIENDS FOR A SQUIRREL.
Part of the squirrel agreed completely. Another part,
however, the part that dreamed memories he knew he
shouldn't have, laughed happily.
The falcon descended on a dropping air current and
caught the tree's bare branch neatly to perch. He spread his
wings, his dark eyes flashing, and screamed an imperious
challenge
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