Power Play - Anne McCaffrey [35]
“Come on, you people have only been here a couple hundred years,” de Peugh said.
“Yessir, that’s right, we have,” Seamus put in. “By the time we came, our ancestors back on Earth on the Inuit side had taken to outside ways and didn’t listen to the animals no more. And you know what? Them animals got extinct—at least as far as men knew, for they never came near ’em no more. Except for the polar bears, that is.” Seamus grinned. “They just turned the huntin’ round the other way. You boys manage to snag a polar bear, I want to warn you for your own good, be real polite to the one you take or his kinfolk will take exception.”
“Your turn, Seamus,” Sinead said.
After there was a rabbit apiece, duly dressed and skinned, she motioned for them to move on.
“How about all your little friends in there wanting to die?” de Peugh asked.
“There are more folks in Kilcoole than just us ones,” Liam said.
In two more hours, the trail led to a kidney-shaped lake, clear as crystal and full of lily pads. The curlies became restive.
“Whoa, boy,” Clotworthy said, leaning forward and patting the curly’s neck to reassure it.
“Darby’s a mare,” Liam offered.
“Girl, then. What’s wrong with her?”
“They want to go swimming,” Sinead said, hopping down from her mount. “And unless you want to go, too, I’d suggest you dismount and remove her tack. You others do the same.” Liam and Seamus already had their saddles and bridles off.
Minkus and Mooney, who had been walking, decided to join the horses. The freeze of the previous night had cooled the water only slightly. The day had been sunny and warm after the snowfall, and the lake, like most Petaybean waterways, was partially fed by hot springs.
Sinead was hot and tired, too. She wasn’t naturally cranky, but she was at a loss how to impress on these oafish offworlders the seriousness of the relationship between the species on Petaybee. She had heard in stories and songs how it had been on Earth before her great-great-grandparents left; how the animals were no different from made things, how the world was something you walked on and nothing more. Maybe it was because Petaybee was alive that the relationship between hunter and hunted was a special, privileged one; maybe it was not like that on old Earth; maybe it wasn’t like that anywhere else in the universe, except . . .
The old songs and stories her ancestors’ ancestors had handed down as curiosities long after they had any meaning in their day-to-day lives reflected that once the animals were thought of as sisters and brothers, just as they were on Petaybee; that once they talked with people even more easily than they did now. Maybe this new batch of crazies had the right idea. Maybe you had to pretend that living things were something to be worshiped, instead of doing as Petaybee and its inhabitants had always done and having a bit of friendly give-and-take. But maybe it took religious awe to get bozos like these blokes to respect anything.
She waded in after the men and horses and plunged her hands, then her head, into the lake’s waters, surface diving, opening her eyes to see the swaying stems of the lilies. The curlies’ feet churned up mud, but soon they, too, were swimming—curlies were good swimmers. The mud settled and she could see their hooves working away underwater. Then, as if by agreement, all six of them dived at once.
Lily roots were a great delicacy for curlies, one of their favorite foods, and she could feel their gaiety as they closed off their noses, lowered their extra eyelids, and dove like seals for the bottom, their tails streaming out behind them like mermaid’s hair as their lips and teeth pried loose the lily roots. Once the roots were captured, the curlies turned snouts up, pumped with their front legs, and were back on the surface, munching their catch.
The men were all in the lake now, as well. Sinead climbed out, dried herself, and dressed. Seamus had emerged before her, and Liam followed shortly after. The curlies