Later, when Fabana had grown into a fine young bak’ret, she was tied up outside.
There were many exciting new sights, sounds and smells. She could see the sky again, and it was good. But some of the sensations were not so good. She smelled smoke and saw a campfire. That wakened a vivid and terrifying memory. She could almost hear her father’s screams again and see him thrashing on the ground, a living torch. She backed back from it to the other end of the rope and huddled, weeping in terror.
Fielder, the dog, addressed her in common speech. “What’s the big deal, Spotty?”
“Fire,” she said, shuddering. “We’re in danger! We have to get away!”
“Fire is our friend when it’s controlled. It brings light and heat. You’d know that if you came from civilized folk.” He turned to face away from her. “Faah! Hyenas are nothing but ignorant cowards--and they smell.”
She stared at him blankly, then when he laid back down, she curled up and shivered again. Never since the fire had she felt so alone. Thoughts turned to her home on the savanna. “Do you still think of me, Muti? I still think about you.” She sighed. “I wish you were here right now. No, I wish I were there. I wouldn’t wish this place on anyone. The dog hates me. Ed’s all right I guess, but he’s gone all the time and leaves me behind.”
“Do you always talk to yourself?” Fielder grumbled. “My Uncle started talking to himself when he got old. They took him out behind the tents with the bang stick and put him down.”
“Down where?”
“Killed him, you idiot. That’s what they do around here when you’re old and useless. Oh they called it ‘putting him out of his misery,’ but what they really meant was putting him out of Ed’s misery. He wasn’t miserable, just inconvenient to have around.”
“Oh gods!” Fabana curled up tightly, putting her paws over her eyes and ears and moaned. She tried to push out the realization by shoving it from her head. Of course, it did no good. “Maleh protect me! Roh’kash, deliver me! Chew through this rope, Great Mother! I want my Muti! I want to go home!”
“You are home. Get used to it. And stow that whining while I’m trying to nap!”
In the days to come, Fielder never grew to like her, though he came to tolerate her. When Ed had guests, which was not very often, they would always be pulled out back to see Fabana. Some would hide behind small boxes with eyes that flashed like lightening. Fabana hated the purple spots they left in her eyes, but came to bear the inconvenience them because the humans would usually kneel afterwards and rub her with words of endearment. She came to understand a few of those words with some degree of certainty. She attracted attention the way the dog never could, though the dog tried to put on a show and get some of the attention and extra treats that came her way. Frankly, Fielder was jealous of all the extra attention she got. And he racked up part of it into his prejudice against her and her race.
It was not always pleasant. Ed thought hyenas smelled too, and he would subject her to the indignity of a cold bath in an aluminum washtub that left her reeking of soap. Sometimes it would rain, and she would have to stoically endure it, tethered to that hated peg, while Fielder retreated to his warm, dry shelter. But far worse was the occasional sound of the free hyenas who would cry out in the night as they hunted. They awakened longings in her that could never be satisfied on the end of a rope. It was on those long, lonely nights that she first plotted her escape.