Touchwit ate the rest of the fish gratefully. “If I had wings, I could find someone in the city. I swam across the River because of him.”
“Describe whom you’re seeking.”
“He’s a loner. I was supposed to meet him on a dock below an outdoor restaurant.”
“More facts please.”
Oh, visual facts. “He’s a male. Long and tall for a raccoon. He doesn’t have a family, or at least not one he spends much time with. He conceals his tracks.” Saying this, Touchwit considered that the Stranger didn’t have a home.
“Fascinating. A Raccoon without a territory,” the Gull said. “But I am not aware of the fellow. He must be a consummate Nightsider.”
The more accurate the Gull’s identifications, the more frustrated she felt. The Seagull couldn’t help her.
“But I’ll go ask my colleagues.”
New word: colleagues. She liked the sound of it.
“They’re riding out the storm on a field. The canvas cover on that sailboat is loose.” The Gull pointed with his pointed wing.
She looked in the direction he indicated – a cave to get out of the rain. She felt awe and gratitude for this laconic bird. Like him, she survived by scavenging, she in space, he in time. She thought of a silly saying: Colleagues who scavenge together, manage together.
***
A thump above her head. The rain had stopped drumming on the canvas. She pushed open the flap and poked her nose out to see a pair of naked, pink legs. How long had he been away? It was daylight now.
“Good morning. A high ceiling with a light westerly. It should clear in the late morning. Come out and see the cloud pattern. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you.” Why is it people who are wide awake and voluble don’t realize others need to wake up in stages? Daysiders are insufferably cheerful in the morning.
“Much happening in the world of Groundlings today,” the bird went on. “There are meetings beginning all over the city, going on into the day. Something big is going to happen. Creek Town Raccoon males have been slipping into the city for the last two days while your folk are asleep.”
Get to the point.
“Your loner is on the move.”
“Where’s he going?”
“A hilltop in view of the traffic bridge. He goes there sometimes.”
“Can you guide me there?”
“I can, but it will take you full on morning to get there. By then, he will have left. He goes there to join with other Raccoons.”
Why is meeting someone so complicated? Meeting in space does not intersect with meeting in time. Would that she had wings.
“Will you carry a message to him?”
“Herring Gulls don’t talk to Groundlings. I broke Custom to talk to you.”
“I’ll give you something to carry in your bill.”
“Describe it.”
“Better than that, I’ll make it.” Touchwit began pulling hair out of her tail.
“Why are you destroying your tail feathers? For us, they’re crucial for flight. We can’t do stall turns without them.” To demonstrate, the Gull spread his neat, squared-off tailfeathers.
“I’m sending a scent-message,” Touchwit explained. She wove the first swathe of her fur into the beginning of a ring. “Our tails are crucial too. Our personal scent glands are located just under them.”
“I wish I had your busy fingers. I wouldn’t have to drop a clam thirty feet onto a rock to open it, then have to pounce on it before other Colleagues get it.”
The ring was complete. She tied it with the three knots the Loner used on his Making.
She placed it in the seagull’s bill. “Pretend it’s a French fry.”
28
“Look! That’s him. That’s the one.”
“He looks badly hurt.”
“But the Champion wears his wounds proudly. Imagine! Vanquishing a Drooler.”
“No Raccoon has ever killed a Canine that big.”
“That wasn’t just any Drooler – it was the monster Droolzilla.”
“Actually, the Drooler was part Wolf. I heard it from Slickfur who heard it from Fleatail who got it directly from Sleek.”
