“Hold still Kah’shee!”  Chuktik held the foot steady in one paw while he extracted the long black thorns with the other.  The ha’la’ai writhed in pain but refused to cry out while Chuktik worked.  He’s lucky he didn’t fall into the bush, he thought, plucking another free.  The ha’la’ai’s foot was bleeding in four places now and needed bandaging.  For now, Chuktik must cake it with mud, as much to seal the wounds as to draw the poison away.  It was clear the ha’la’ai wouldn’t be putting his boot back on anytime soon.

“This is what happens when you run without thinking,” Chuktik chided.  “And without your boots.”  Chuktik didn’t believe Kah’shee understood any of h...

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