And All Between Read Free

small cage of woven copper wire. He was still there. Startled by her sudden appearance, he gazed up at her anxiously, his soft dark eyes showing white rims of fear. Then, reassured, he sat up on his hind legs, his nose twitching, and put his soft front paws on her fingers where they clutched the wires of his cage. As soon as the door was opened, just as he had always done, he jumped out into her outstretched arms. Holding him tightly, she buried her face in the warm fur.
    “I’ll never, never, never,” she whispered fiercely into the warm softness. “I’d starve first. I’d starve a hundred times first.”
    “Teera,” it was her father who spoke now, and looking up, Teera saw that he was standing in the doorway of her chamber. Shutting her Spirit to his pity and regret, she let her grief turn into anger.
    “No!” she shouted. “No! I won’t let you. You don’t love me or you wouldn’t let them. You could make them change their minds if you wanted to. I know you could. You just don’t want to. You don’t want to because you’re—” She stopped, holding her breath, letting her anger build inside her like steam in a cooking pot, and then said something terrible. “—you’re a wissener,” she cried. “You are. You are. You’re an awful wissener!”
    But although she had called him by a term that meant heartless and unfeeling—one of the most insulting words she knew—her father failed to respond in kind, which made her more wildly angry than before. He should be angry at her for calling him such an awful name. He should shout back at her—justifying her anger and giving it fuel to feed on. Instead he was speaking to her gently.
    “Teera. Teera. Lovechild. It’s not of my doing. It was not my decision, and it would be wrong of me to try to change it. The food-warden spoke to me yesterday. The decision was made by the Council.”
    “But Oulaa Tarn still has her lapan,” Teera cried. “I saw it yesterday. And no one has told her she can’t keep him anymore.”
    “Yes,” Herd said, “and for the time being she will be allowed to keep him. But Oulaa is crippled and cannot run and play with the other children. It is for that reason only that the Council has made an exception in her case. Just as Haba has for so long been an exception, because you have no true brothers and sisters.”
    A tall man, with dark deep-set eyes, Herd Eld reached out with his arms and Spirit to his defiant daughter. “You must not grudge poor Oulaa her lapan,” he said. “She must wait alone in the cavern while my beautiful, strong Teera runs and plays—”
    Wrenching her shoulders out of her father’s grasp, Teera sank to her knees, closing her eyes and mind. Sheltering the soft warmth of her pet beneath her crouching body, she wailed with grief and anger. Sobbing and choking, she wailed louder and louder so that even her Spirit was deafened, and she could no longer pense her father’s grief and pity.
    Then Kanna was, again, in the doorway; there were voices, footsteps, and as Teera caught her breath for a louder wail, she heard her mother say, “Come away, Herd. Let her grieve alone. When she has wept awhile, she will see more clearly.”
    “I won’t,” Teera whispered. “I won’t see.” Rubbing her eyes fiercely with the back of her hand, she jumped to her feet, choking down her sobs. Quickly, she gathered up a few possessions—a lantern, a fur cape, a handful of favorite necklaces and bracelets. These she placed in a shoulder pack, arranging them carefully so as to leave a comfortable resting place for Haba. Then, catching up her pet, she placed him carefully inside, tying the top flap down over his head. With the pouch in place on her shoulders, she tiptoed quietly to the door of her chamber, and down the narrow passageway that led to the cavern.
    The sound of tense, anxious voices reached her ears as she crept silently past the beaten copper door-screen outside her parents’ nid-cave. She hurried on