She knelt beside the pillow. It lay its muzzle on her hand. "W-what is it?" She looked back along its body, past the padded jacket. The Tine's haunches were twisted at an odd angle, one legged dangling near the fire. "Don't you know --" began Woodcarver. "This is part of Jaqueramaphan." She pushed a nose under the dangling leg, and raised it onto the pillow. There was loud talk between the guards and Johanna's servant. Through the door she saw members holding torches; they rested their forepaws on their fellows shoulders,
复件 (65) air max1, and held the lights high. No one tried to come in; there'd be no room. Johanna looked back at the injured Tine. Scriber? Then she recognized the jacket. The creature looked back at her, still wheezing its pain. "Can't you get a doctor!" Woodcarver was all around her. She answered, "I am a doctor, Johanna." She nodded at the dataset and continued softly, "At least, what passes for one here." Johanna wiped blood from the creature's neck. More kept oozing. "Well, can you save him?" "This fragment maybe, but --" One of Woodcarver went to the door and talked to the packs beyond. "My people are searching for the rest of him.... I think he is mostly murdered, Johanna. If there were others ... well, even fragments stick together." "Has he said anything?" It was another voice,
复件 (19) air max1, speaking Samnorsk. Scarbutt. His big ugly snout was stuck through the doorway. "No," said Woodcarver. "And his mind noise is a complete jumble." "Let me listen to him," said Scarbutt. "You stay back, you!" Johanna's voice was a scream; the creature in her arms twitched. "Johanna! This is Scriber's friend. Let him help." As the Scarbutt pack sidled into the room, Woodcarver climbed into the loft, giving him room. Johanna eased her arm from under the injured Tine and moved aside, ending up at the doorway herself. There were lots more packs outside than she had imagined, and they were standing closer than she had ever seen. Their torches glowed like soft fluorescents in the foggy dark. Her gaze snapped back to the fire pit. "I'm watching you,
复件 (41) air max!" Scarbutt's members clustered around the pillow. The big one lay its head next to the injured Tine's. For a moment the Tine continued its breathy whistling. Scarbutt gobbled at it. The reply was a steady warbling,
复件 (25) air max1, almost beautiful. From up in the loft, Woodcarver said something. She and Scarbutt talked back and forth. "Well?" said Johanna. "Ja -- the fragment -- is not a 'talker',
mbt footwear sale," came Woodcarver's voice. "Worse," said Scarbutt. "For now at least, I can't match his mind sounds. I'm not getting sense or image from him; I can't tell who murdered Scriber." Johanna stepped back into the room, and walked slowly to the pillow. Scarbutt moved aside, but did not leave the wounded Tine. She knelt between two of him and petted the long, bloodied neck. "Will Ja" -- she spoke the sound as best she could -- "live?" Scarbutt ran three noses down the length of the body. They pressed gently at the wounds. Ja twisted and whistled ... except when Scarbutt pressed his haunches. "I don't know. Most of this blood is just splatter, probably from the other members. But his spine is broken. Even if the fragment lives, he'll have only two usable legs." Johanna thought for a moment, trying to see things from a Tinish perspective. She didn't like the view. It might not make sense, but to her, this "Ja" was still Scriber -- at least in potential. To Scarbutt, the creature was a fragment, an organ from a fresh corpse. A damaged one at that. She looked at Scarbutt, at the big,
复件 (98) air max, killer member. "So what does your kind do with such ... garbage?" Three of his heads turned toward her, and she could see his hackles rise.
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