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5
THE DOGRALS
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A flurry of activity animated the entire village. “This celebration inaugurates your arrival, Mandagral, said Kita, Kiisu’s cub.”
Like an adopted orphan, she launched herself onto my lap. “May I call you Dradda?”
A shared smile bound us into a family.
Unannounced, the other cuddly furballs all competed for space next to her with itches, begging to be scratched. In turn, their mommeos made their way to familiarize me with Leopardmura.
Maternal to a fault, a sage feline pointed to the two twelve-year old coddlers, gliding their bodies across my shoulder blades.
“These tabbies belong to me. Call me Majara. Your paternal mākutu pleases them. The last Mandagral did not interest them.”
“Why?”
“The status of property held no attraction for them. Hell, he kept a pet dogral penned upwind from here!”
“Not to change the subject but...”
Glimpsing my southern exposure, she cringed her face.
“I fashion coverings. Should you want protection, say so. Sometimes the kittens flex their claws.”
With a hint in her voice, she winked at me.
“In every other respect, you appear fine to me.”
Like hypodermics, twenty pricks in my exposed skin wrinkled my face.
“Your offer pleases me, if not a few moments late.”
“Come and endear yourself to me after the festivities.”
“Without delay...”
A shout shattered the festivity. “The dograls! Scavengers!”
Blood drenched bristly hair flew, and yelps disrupted the serenity. Bekku sprung on a high rock. “Warriors of Leopardmura, mangle those filthy mongrels. Darting her attention to Katinas, the intuitive leader stepped into her personal space. “You’re with me.”
Without an invitation, my butcher hurled into the mortal combat. “Maul their four eyes out!”
All the Mandragora charged like a nest of enraged buzz stingers. Kedi sided with Poonai, ripping the snarling dograls to shreds. The bites all over Poonai’s body sent the starved hounds into an attack frenzy. In defense mode, she maneuvered against a boulder to channel her assailants head on.
Fearless, Bekku lunged into the fray, mutilating the fiery-four-eyed pack hunters. The starving horde’s courage abandoned them at the sight of Gnari’s and Katinas’ abrupt assault on their flanks. Hair prickled, and ears folded back.
Within minutes, wounded and defeated, the survivors retreated with the last chunks of the ostentaculas. Over twenty-five of the attacker’s dead carcasses lied in littered piles around Poonai.
Not wasting a second, I skidded to a stop at the gruesome battlefield. Poonai’s muscles trembled. Profuse tares and bite marks decorated her victory as she fought back the tears drowning her cheeks.
Like a blanket of hope, I bundled her to my chest. “Tough-stuff, I got you, no worries. The worst is over.” Disoriented, I gasped when she fell as limp as her fine blond hair. “Run Mandagral!”
My feet stirred up trail-dust as I rushed to cradle her by the fire.
“Will she survive?”
Without a word, Shunra, the village’s healer, examined her wounds. While the doctor hummed, bright sapphire-colored droplets gushed out of her tear ducts and splashed on Poonai. The injuries clotted and began to regenerate in seconds. The curationist’s innermost peace, a veritable glowing aura of contentment, radiated to Poonai’s rescuers.
“What did I tell you about playing with dograls?”
The insulted sufferer shot the doc a one-sided glance, masked by a pain-distorted frown.
An expectant disbelief silenced me for a moment.
“Did my eyes deceive me? The art of healing must enthrall you.”
“No effort exhausts me when I mend others, but I cannot reinvigorate myself. Here I stand, a hopeless romantic. Tell me, how might anyone perceive my heart, which bleeds in invisible hues?”
“From my vantage point, the mākutu of a life-giver is the most potent kind. The Mandragora perceive your love for them. Care comes in the whole spectrum, not just infrared and ultraviolet. So, what if they cannot detect all the colors? Your flame tempers them. Moreover, you give your patients solace. The magic you work in their eyes enchants them. Who else lets them move to the music and makes life worth living? What other rare mākutu energizes their primal instinct to thrive?”
Revived now, her heart reverberated.
“Darling Mandagral, I adore your deep perception.”
A satisfying movement calmed me when Poonai stretched and began to speak. “How am I supposed to hunt with those damned dograls on the loose?”
My firm grip on her shaking limbs calmed her.
“What you lack in stature, you compensate for with fierceness.”
“Come with me to track down those hair balls.”
“Hold on, you need some rest.”
“Forget sleep, I’ll doze off when I’m dead, Shunra, my devoted healer.”
The healer positioned her thumb and forefinger claws an inch from each other.
“Do not let stubbornness get the best of you. Heck, you came this close to crossing over to the Goddess’s gate.”
The Doc’s stubborn patient jumped upright and recoiled back in my cradled arms.
“Well, to admit my weakness goes against everything I believe, but you’re right.”
A dominant voice interrupted us from the back of the crowd. “Go on, throw me and Poonai to the dograls, and we will return, having doomed those foul scavengers to the gates of Sulfurian Minor... Sorry for my absent manners. Welcome, I’m Qattus and my sister occupies your arms. Otherwise, I would hug you. Give her to me and I will ensure she rests.”
The stench of death drifted in from the carnage, assaulting my nostrils.
“What about all those rotting corpses?”
“The pack will return and consume them and abandon their injured.”
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