thing they wanted to meet.
Satisfied at last that the webmaker was not about, they
pressed on.
It was nearing noon when they heard the scraping sound.
They slowed and then stopped. The sound was rough and fran-
tic, much too loud for the stillness of the swamp, almost a
thrashing. It came from their left where shadows lay across a
thicket of scrub with brilliant red flowers. With Garth leading,
they skirted the scrub right, following a ridge of solid ground
to a clearing of koa, moving silently, listening as the scraping
sound continued. Almost immediately they saw strands of the
clear webbing trailing earthward from the tops of the trees. The
strands shook as something tugged against them from within
the brush. It was apparent what had happened. Garth beckoned
to Wren, and they continued cautiously on.
Amid the koa, they stopped again. A series of snares had
been laid through the trees, one large and several small. One of
the smaller snares had been tripped, and the scraping sound
came from the creature it had entangled as it struggled to break
free. The creature was unlike anything either Wren or Garth
had ever seen. As large as a small hunting dog, it appeared to
be a cross between a porcupine and a cat, its barrel-shaped body
covered with black and tan ringed quills and supported by four
short, thick legs while its squarish head, hunched virtually neck-
less between its shoulders, narrowed abruptly into the blunt,
furry countenance of a feline. Wrinkled paws ended in powerful
clawed fingers that dug at the earth, and its stubby, quilled tail
whipped back and forth in a frantic effort to snap the lines of
webbing that had wrapped about it.
The effort was futile. The more it thrashed, the more the
webbing caught it up. Finally the creature paused, its head lifted,
and it saw them. Wren was astonished by the creature’s eyes.
They had lids and lashes and were colored a brilliant blue. They
were not the eyes of an animal; they were eyes like her own.
The creature’s body sagged, exhausted from its struggle. The
quills laid back sleekly, and the strange eyes blinked
“Pfftttt!” The creature spit-very like the cat it In part, at
least, resembled. “Don’t suppose you would consider helping
me,” the creature softly rasped. “After all, you share some-
arrgggh-responsibility for my predicament.”
Wren stared, then glanced hurriedly over at Garth, who for
once appeared as surprised as she was. How could this creature
talk? She turned back again. “What do you mean, I share some
responsibility?”
“Rrrowwwggg. I mean, you’re an Elf, aren’t you?”
“Well, no, as a matter of fact I’m not. I’m a . . .” She hesi-
tated. She had been about to say she was a Rover. But the truth
was she was at least part Elf. Wasn’t that how the creature had
identified her-by her Elven features? She frowned. How did it
know of Elves anyway?
“Who are you?” she asked.
The creature appraised her silently for a moment, blue eyes
unblinking. When he spoke, its voice was a low growl. “Stresa.”
“Stresa,” she repeated. “Is that your name?”
The creature nodded.
“My name is Wren. This is my friend Garth.”
“Hssttt. You are an Elf,” Stresa repeated, and the cat face
furrowed. “But you are not from Morrowindl.”
“No,” she responded. She put her hands on her hips, puz-
zled. “How did you know that?”
The blue eyes squinted slightly. “You don’t recognize me.
You don’t know what I am. Hrrrrowwl. If you lived on Morrow-
indl, you would.”
Wren nodded. “What are you, then?”
“A Splinterscat,” the creature answered. He growled deep in
its throat. “That is what we are called, the few of us who remain.
Part of this and part of that, but mostly something else alto-
gether. Puurrft.”
“And how is it that you know about Elves? Are there still
Elves living here?”
The Splinterscat regarded her coolly, patient within his
snare. “If you help me get free,” he replied, his rough voice a
low purr, “I will answer your questions.”
Wren hesitated, undecided.
“Fffppht! You had better hurry,” he advised. “Before the Wis-