Wolves & Sheepdogs

Part 3

That streambed, or miniature waterfall, or whatever he wanted to call it, was dusty at the moment, and the sky looked free of clouds. Probably, it wasn't going to rain anytime soon. Probably, it wasn't the best spot for him to try. Probably, hungry and thirsty as he was, waiting until morning wouldn't do him any good. The rest might make him feel more energetic, but would certainly be more than counteracted by the loss of strength from another eighteen or twenty hours without food and drink. He had passed a few small pools of water here and there since waking up yesterday morning, but Leslie hadn't yet found any standing or running water he was willing to risk his life on without hoping of getting back to the ship quickly to clear out any offensive microflora. A little bit of morning dew had been the best he could manage, sucked off hopefully reasonably clean leaves. Physical effort spent water, just by moving and breathing, and sooner or later, probably sooner, that would start to dehydrate him in a bad way. He was glad it wasn't harsher climate.

Leslie started for the base of the streambed, hoping to maybe even find a little bit of water waiting, so long as it wasn't filled with slime or anything too unpalatable to ignore. He had no way to purify it, but it should take him only an hour or so to climb, and, with a little luck, the Enterprise would pick him up on sensors fairly quickly once he was out of the canyon. He had no doubts Dr. McCoy could take care of whatever microorganisms he might pick up. Or might have already picked up.

The closer he got to the rock face, the more that streambed blended in. he wondered if he'd missed some number of similar opportunities yesterday. It didn't matter now, but second-guessing yourself was a part of human nature, he supposed. Reaching the wall, he still saw no evidence of recent rain, but there was a tiny trickle of water at the bottom, building into a shallow pool he could step over if he had to and jump the length of without difficulty. A tiny underground spring fed into it, judging by gentle ripples at the cliff end. He didn't look too closely at the things that definitely weren't tadpoles swimming in it, deciding a few microscopic hitchhikers were probably worth the short term risk.

Warm and mineral tasting, the water felt good going down, and if it didn't settle the hunger pangs in his stomach, at least it made them a little quieter. Standing up from the little pool, and contemplating his climb, he heard the first high pitched growl. Both his eyebrows went up, because he couldn't believe a dog that size could possibly make a pitch that high and sound menacing. He turned around slowly, and instead found himself face to face with something he had to describe as a metre-long weasel.

While he knew he shouldn't judge by Terran standards, especially considering the number of planets he'd visited, a weasel seemed like an odd choice to throw up as a high-end predator, especially next to the giant dog who'd spent the night almost keeping his feet warm. Still, now Leslie had some idea why he was still feeling uncomfortable when thinking it was the dog tracking him. Clearly, it wasn't. Equally clearly, he should not have been so quick to walk away from the other creature. There might have been some accidental protection there.

A ferret was basically a small weasel, and he knew a couple of kids in his pre-Academy days who'd kept them as pets. They certainly had sharp teeth, and it hurt if you got bitten, but he'd never really thought of them as a serious predator. Dangerous to small animals, yes, but nothing human-sized could consider them a serious threat, although the scratches and puncture wounds it could provide might need some antibiotics.

This, however, was something completely different and probably wasn't fair to call it weasel any more than it was fair to call the dog a dog, but it had the long, slinky body, the smooth fur, the short legs, and seemed to match up pretty well, physically, just scaled up. The teeth, well, he couldn't see them clearly, but also couldn't swear they weren't sharp or serrated. What he could see, Leslie could easily imagine tearing through a large chunk of flesh, and possibly ripping out an important artery in the process. The last thing he needed. He looked around for a better weapon than the now pathetic branch he'd been using as a walking stick, and found nothing save a few rocks, and none of them close enough that he could possibly reach it in time if the creature tried to jump him.