by Shen Shixi
Well, don’t waste your time waiting. Sweetie won’t be coming back, thought Flame. At the end of the day, they weren’t blood relatives. Flame was a limping jackal, a burden, a millstone. Why wouldn’t Sweetie abandon her? Flame imagined what had happened.
Sweetie had probably had a difficult half-day, and had only one snow rabbit to show for her troubles. She had thought about bringing it home to share with Flame, but having used up all her strength catching it, and having not eaten for two days, she would be so hungry that her eyes were turning yellow. Freshly caught snow rabbit would have set her drooling at the mouth.
She had probably thought that eating one leg would give her the strength to carry the rest of it back to Buddha Belly Cave. So she had torn off one leg on the way, and gobbled it down without taking the time to savour it. But there’s not much meat on a snow rabbit’s leg, barely enough to get stuck between your teeth. Sweetie’s belly was already numb with hunger. Tasting the morsel of rabbit would have set off that earth-rumbling feeling of starvation, made her stomach spasm, triggered her taste buds and set her mouth watering.
The more she ate, the hungrier she would become, the more voracious her appetite, and the more she would want to eat. She changed her plans: ‘Does it really make sense to take this snow rabbit back to Buddha Belly Cave? Half for Flame, half for me, I might as well eat my half now.’ And then there would only be half a snow rabbit left.
By this time it would be nightfall, the light was dim, the cold north wind was blowing, and the snow dust swirling about in the sky. She would see the next heavy snowfall coming, with snowflakes the size of goose feathers. Wolves of the highlands are used to the winter, their fur grows thicker, and they can withstand the snow. But when the icy wind cuts to the bone, a lone wolf in the snowy highlands will still shiver with cold. With half a snow rabbit in her belly, Sweetie’s hunger would vanish, she would feel more alive and in control, but she would not feel full or satisfied. If she ate some more, the fire of life would burn more vigorously. She would feel warmer. It would be like adding fuel to the fire.
Then Sweetie had probably decided to take just a quarter of the snow rabbit back to Buddha Belly Cave. It was her duty to look after her mother, but a quarter would be enough. By the time she had almost dragged the last quarter back to the cave, her feet would be beginning to drag. It was obvious that she had eaten most of it, had taken more than her share. She was heading for trouble: she would be told off, shouted at for being so thankless, so selfish, for not thinking of others. The snow falling fast now, the sky getting darker, the north wind howling; it looked as though the fearsome snowstorm was going to last most of the night.
There would be something else troubling Sweetie too. She didn’t know when this foul weather would end. Flame’s leg was broken, and the burden of life would be weighing down on her. She was still young and didn’t have much experience of life, and maybe her body wasn’t strong enough to cope with it all. When everything is covered with snow and ice, it is not easy to find food. It is hard enough to find food for oneself, and she now had to find food for an injured jackal too. They would probably both starve to death. Perhaps it would be better to find a place nearby and stay out of the snow? She could take the time to think through what to do next.
So, she would turn off into a secluded gully, and find a hollow tree to shelter in. If it carried on snowing for another two or three days, the quarter of a snow rabbit would be emergency rations to see her through! Deep down, she would feel guilty about the idea of not going back to Buddha Belly Cave.
This was how Flame imagined that Sweetie would gradually decide to turn her back on her. But in Flame’s mind, this was not a made-up scenario, it was the truth and it was happening right now. Flame was hurt. She was filled with regret. She should never have started this business. She shouldn’t have let the pretty little golden pup live, she should have given her the same kind of lethal bite that had seen off her brother. She would have had to deal with the problem of her swollen teats, but as milk only comes when it is suckled, that would have stopped by itself. Then she wouldn’t be in this terrible situation now. Her kindness had backfired.
What had made her act this way? She couldn’t get her head round it. What had she been thinking when she bit the bear’s ear? Was she thinking at all? What a stupid, deluded jackal she was! To hop on to a bear’s back and bite its ear was asking for trouble. She should never have done that. She should have pretended that she could not defend herself against the bear, and should have leapt back. She should have slipped back into a more relaxed pace of attack, then Sweetie would have given up.
If she hadn’t bitten the bear’s ear, then she wouldn’t be the wretched one lying here in Buddha Belly Cave; it would be Sweetie instead. She wouldn’t be a lame jackal with an injured leg, she wouldn’t have to think about moving out – all her worries and potential threats would vanish into thin air. She wouldn’t need to feel any guilt, or emotional torment, after all she had not led the attack on the bear. It was Sweetie who had acted on impulse and who had leapt at the bear. If Sweetie wanted to show she could attack a bear, to cause a sensation, to be a hero, only for it all to end in tragedy, then that was her own doing. No one else was to blame. If you take on opponents that are stronger than yourself, then you are bound to expose your weaknesses, cause yourself injury and suffer defeat.
But hindsight is easy. At that juncture between life and death, she had somehow lost all sense and had bitten the bear’s ear, and landed herself in this mess. One small stupid mistake had changed her life forever. It’s like the saying: ‘Act in haste, repent at leisure.’ But she couldn’t turn back time, and there was no point in feeling sorry for herself. Better to grit her teeth, swallow the pain, and get on with it.
Flame lay curled up at the back of Buddha Belly Cave, the cold piercing her bones. Her belly was empty; she was dizzy with hunger and she could not stand up. She would starve to death, she was sure of it.
Suddenly, she heard a faint crunching sound in the muffled stillness of the mountains, the sound of something running through the snow, coming closer, as though it would come bursting into Buddha Belly Cave. Flame struggled to get to the mouth of the cave, the snowflakes falling this way and that in the dusky sky. Then, finally, she saw what was making the noise – there was Sweetie, coming home! No, she wasn’t dreaming! It was Sweetie, and she had half a yellow muntjac with her!
There was a thick layer of snow on Sweetie’s back, and her eyebrows, eyelashes, cheeks and whiskers were frosted with ice crystals. She strode into Buddha Belly Cave, and flopped to the floor, exhausted. Flame saw that Sweetie’s belly was as sunken and empty as when she had left the cave earlier. So she had caught the prey, but not stopped to fill her own aching hole before hauling the food straight back to Buddha Belly Cave.
A feeling of warmth surged through Flame’s heart. Sweetie hadn’t forgotten her kindness in raising her. She had risked this heavy snow to find food for her. Flame felt an enormous sense of comfort. It hadn’t all been in vain. She crawled over to Sweetie’s side, and brushed the snow off her back. Silly little thing! Why rush back in such heavy snow? You should have found a hollow space and sheltered for a while, until the snow was lighter. A little longer wouldn’t have mattered. What’s more, since you had some prey, you should have torn off a leg and eaten it, filled your belly, then you’d have easily had the strength to come through the mountains, and wouldn’t have felt the cold so much.
But there was something niggling Flame. This was the first time Sweetie had gone hunting on her own, so how had she managed to catch a yellow muntjac? These creatures are twice the size of a snow rabbit and have a very sharp sense of smell and of hearing. The moment the grass trembles in the breeze, they run off and hide in the dense undergrowth. To spot a yellow muntjac in the snow and chase after it is difficult enough. They are members of the elk family, have long thin legs, slim graceful bodies, and can run like the wind. They are very difficult for a single jackal or a single wolf to catch. It usua
lly takes a pair of jackals or a pack of wolves to catch a yellow muntjac.
There was something else bothering Flame too. Why was there only half a yellow muntjac? Sweetie’s belly was clinging to her spine, she clearly hadn’t eaten, so where was the other half? Had she been lucky, and picked up another hunter’s leftovers? But that was unlikely. In all the ice and snow out there, it was not easy to find food, and no animal would abandon something as good as this. What’s more, the muntjac’s belly had teeth marks on it, and although the blood had congealed in the cold air, it was still a bright red colour. This animal had not been dead long.
Jackals are very sensitive to smell, and they use smell to investigate and collect evidence. The half muntjac was already a piece of frozen meat, and its smell had been covered over by the ice. Flame licked the wound with her hot tongue, and as it thawed she realised that the smell by the teeth marks was not Sweetie’s scent, but a very distinctive smell, an off-putting smell, with something of the male fox to it.
Jackals have a very special skill. The memory part of their brain has a perfect map of smells. When they come across a smell, they automatically scan the map and locate it. They can immediately and accurately identify who or what it belongs to. This was the smell of a wolverine. There could be no doubt.
Flame looked at Sweetie’s body. There were a lot of scratch marks on her neck and back, and it looked as though a clump of fur had been bitten from her tail. She had clearly been in quite a fight, and the scent of the wolverine lingered in her fur. Although the word wolverine reminds us of wolves, they are two completely different animals that are not related in any way. Wolverines are a kind of badger, short-legged and heavy-set, similar in size to a jackal, but much more vicious. Their teeth are so sharp and so strong they can shatter the skull of a buffalo. They have thick fur, and their claws are long and sharp like a cat’s. They are renowned as the workaholics of the mountains. When they come into conflict with something, they will grab it and single-mindedly bite it to death, not giving up even when it is dead. For this reason it is feared by many animals that are stronger and bigger than itself. They will not cross its path. To snatch food from a wolverine demands unspeakable courage and experience.
Wolverines are clearly a kind of badger, but humans just cannot help themselves from associating the most vicious, most malicious and most ruthless things with the wolf. Hence the wolverine’s name. Little children are told stories about the ‘big, bad wolf’. And it gets worse! An aggressive person is called a ‘wolf’. ‘A wolf in sheep’s clothing’ is a person pretending to be something they are not. ‘A wolf at the door’ is a threatening visitor who has come to remove something you need. If you ‘let a wolf in the house’ you let the enemy into your life. The most poisonous flowers often have ‘wolf’ in their names: langdu (‘wolf-poison’) and wolfsbane. And what is the most dangerous mountain called? Wolf Mountain! All of these expressions give wolves a bad name.
Flame was wondering how Sweetie could have taken half a yellow muntjac from a wolverine’s mouth. When Sweetie had set out that morning, she was hoping to go to the Gamar grasslands, but she felt a bit lonely and weak, and was concerned that she had not yet honed her hunting skills. She had caught prey several times before, but each time she saw a snow rabbit, goral or wild pheasant bobbing about in the snow not far ahead of her, she would chase it for ages but it would still slip away from under her eyes. She did not stop all day. But she did not catch anything.
As the sky began to darken, and she saw the large snowfall was on its way, Sweetie was disheartened. She was just about to head back to Buddha Belly Cave, her head hanging and her spirit low, when she spotted the wolverine at the foot of the cliff. It seemed to be a strong adult one, with gleaming black fur. From the newly killed yellow muntjac between its teeth she could see it was an experienced hunter. It was still dripping blood, filling the air with that sickly sweet smell of blood.
Sweetie’s eyes were almost popping out of her head with excitement, and she was drooling at the mouth. The wolverine is a strange beast, one of a kind. It is impetuous and fears nothing. It did not even notice this lone wolf, just carried on weaving its way into the forest, holding the muntjac in its mouth. Sweetie was so hungry now that she pounced on the wolverine, aiming to snatch the muntjac from its mouth.
The two were soon locked in battle. The wolverine drew lines of blood as it dragged its claws on Sweetie’s neck, and almost bit Sweetie’s tail off. But Sweetie wasn’t going to give up. She attacked again, trying to snatch the muntjac. If she couldn’t get the muntjac, she would die of hunger in the snow, and Flame, who was lying injured in Buddha Belly Cave, would die too. But if she could get the muntjac, she would save two lives. Of course, she would have to fight for it. She would follow the muntjac wherever it went, and pounce as soon as the opportunity allowed, and fight for as long as it took. She vowed not to give up. She wanted that muntjac.
The struggle lasted over two hours. The snow fell, the snowflakes danced about in the bitter north wind, and the ground was white as far as the eye could see. The wolverine still had the muntjac, and its mood was as foul as this awful weather. Sweetie ran rings around it, turning this way and that, like a ghost. Running about but not running off, biting but not killing, she was an intense irritation to the wolverine.
Although wolverines live on the high plateau and can stand the winter, they still feel the cold in their bones. What’s more, the wolverine was hungry. Imagine having a muntjac between your teeth and not being able to eat it, knowing that this hungry young wolf might jump up at any moment and try to snatch it away. It just had to keep on walking, and forget how tiresome this was. Perhaps it was a mother wolverine with pups, whose den was nearby, hidden away in a hollow tree or a crack in the rock. The little pups would be crying out for their mother and for food, and she was hurrying home to feed them. But with Sweetie hanging around, it had grown anxious, didn’t know what to do.
The next time Sweetie charged at her, she bit into the muntjac’s neck, but this time the wolverine did not bare her teeth or show her claws. She just clung on to the back leg of the muntjac. A tug-of-war ensued: Sweetie pulling at the muntajc’s neck, the wolverine pulling at the muntjac’s leg. One powerful pull and the muntjac was torn in two at the belly. Sweetie had done it! She bit hold of the half-muntjac and ran as fast as she could.
Behind her came the frustrated roars of the wolverine, but it did not come chasing after her. The wolverine was enraged; half her prey had been snatched away; and she had missed her chance of fresh wolf-meat. But wolves and wolverines are similar in size, and she could not guarantee to win this battle. If she let this half-muntjac go, she could take the other half home for her pups. The wise choice here was compromise. When two strong animals meet in the wild, one will eat the other, or there will be some kind of compromise.
Flame understood that Sweetie had risked her life to get food for her. Her heart filled with warmth. Never had anything tasted quite so exquisite as this muntjac.
Two weeks later, Flame’s skin had healed over, and the broken leg was no longer giving her pain. With some effort, she could stand, but the damaged leg was shrivelled and deformed, about two centimetres shorter than the other. It looked like an ugly wizened tree branch. Her knee had stiffened up, and there was no way she could run. She walked with a limp and with little steps, and it was difficult to keep her balance. A strong wind would blow her over.
She would no longer be able to hunt, to fend for herself. She would have to rely on Sweetie to hunt on her own and to bring food for her.
Chapter 14
The snowline was creeping back up the mountain. Winter was on its way out. The sun was getting warmer every day, and spring would soon arrive in the Gamar grasslands. Tender green shoots were beginning to break through the earth below the patches of snow. Hibernating snakes stirred slowly into life in the ravines.
Late in the night, Flame was woken from a deep sleep by the faint sound of a wolf howling somewhere in the d
istance. She pricked up her ears.
‘Owoow owoow.’
Yes, it was the most irritating sound for a jackal. It was a wolf’s howl, reedy and coarse, unpleasant on the ear. Its eeriness seemed to echo in the air. It was the call of a male wolf looking for a mate. If you listened closely, you’d hear that it wasn’t just one wolf; there were similar howls coming from all directions. There were at least three wolves howling in three different places: a chorus of male wolves.
Flame lay by the entrance to Buddha Belly Cave, and raised her head to look at the bright stars twinkling in the jet-black sky. It was already the early hours of the morning, too early for the night animals to be thinking about dawn. It was only the bachelor wolves, desperate for a mate, roaming the night, and howling like spirits of the dark. It was not so long ago that Sweetie had sprayed her smell and rubbed her fur to create those lonely heart adverts, and there was no shortage of male wolves trying to weave their way into her web of love.
She looked round and glanced at Sweetie who was sleeping beside her. Her green eyes were opening and closing, and glistening in the night. She wasn’t asleep! She was listening to the wolves’ songs of love, and enjoying the sweet dreams of a young female. She was coming of age. She was looking for love.
When spring comes, the weather gets warmer and more food is available. Most animals can eat their fill and stay warm. It is then that their thoughts turn to love. Spring is the season when animals come on heat and mate, and early spring is the time to look for a mate.
If Sweetie had been her blood daughter – a jackal – Flame would have been so happy. Daughters grow up, move away, and set up their own home. This is as true for jackals and wolves as it is for humans. When a daughter grows up, she thinks about the future ahead of her. She has a certain allure – like the flowers or the moon – and, of course, a mother will be proud if her daughter stands out in this way.