Gathering

Avery was still thinking like a human, wondering whether she could find a tool or a long pole to knock the flourpods down, when everyone around her began tightening their baskets against their backs with lengths of vine.

Then they extended their claws and climbed.

Of course.

Climbing came easily to cats. Even humans could manage it once they learned. These females combined human intelligence with feline bodies; getting up a tree was hardly a challenge for them.

Avery stood awkwardly beneath the branches for a moment, then followed their example.

She pulled at a nearby vine. It was far more flexible than anything she remembered from Earth, and tugging alone would not break it. Only after she brought out her claws did it separate from the tangle.

She tested the supple length between her hands.

It felt less like a plant than a piece of handmade rope. She ought to bring some home tonight. They needed just about everything.

She had barely finished securing the basket when she looked up and saw a male remove his hide clothing, drop to all fours, and turn into a leopard.

Avery stared.

Right. The males in this world could become actual animals.

She had nearly forgotten that part.

He was not enormous, as the shifters in stories so often were. He looked roughly the size of an ordinary leopard.

Before he noticed her watching, she looked away, flexed her claws, and chose a flourpod tree to begin her work.

Some distance away, Elowen quietly observed her. Seeing how unfamiliar Avery was with these preparations, she could not help smiling.

Avery had never climbed a tree before. She expected to make a fool of herself.

Instead, the instant her sharp claws caught the bark, something in her body took over.

She went up several yards with astonishing ease, then stopped and looked down.

Even her fear of heights had vanished. All she felt was a thrill deep in her bones.

Soon she reached the crown. This lightness, this ability to leap, this balance that a human would need years of training to develop—all of it belonged to the body naturally.

She moved onto a branch as easily as though she were stepping onto level ground.

There were not particularly many flourpods on this tree. To avoid waste, it would be best to harvest it thoroughly. Leaving scattered pods behind would only make extra work for whoever came next.

She started with those nearest her.

They were heavy. The shells alone were nearly half a finger's thickness, and each pod landed solidly in the basket.

After collecting only a few, she paused to look around.

Nobody was throwing them down.

Food was too precious to waste. Dropped from this height, the pods would split open on the ground.

Males generally found these rounded trunks harder to climb. Most were following Elowen nearby, searching for other edible plants.

The females in the trees worked around the outer branches first. Avery soon realized that was another way to save strength.

She would have liked to tackle the difficult parts first herself, but she already had several pods in her basket. The moment she straightened, their weight dragged at her back.

Well. That was inconvenient.

Looking around, she noticed that the upper branches grew at uneven angles. Where the branch in front of her met the trunk, they formed a shallow hollow.

She considered it, then loosened the vine at her waist. The pods from her basket fit neatly in the hollow, although there was only room for five or six before they would spill out.

Carefully, she picked the fruit within reach. Once she had enough, she returned to the trunk, put the stored pods back in her basket, and began climbing down.

Up was easy. Down was another matter.

The empty basket had scarcely registered against her back. Loaded with flourpods, it made the straps feel suddenly coarse, grinding painfully into her shoulders.

She placed every claw with care. Even her head seemed pinned in position by the weight. One wrong tilt might send the whole harvest tumbling out.

By the time she reached the ground, both her shoulders and her claws ached.

She immediately shrugged off the basket, rubbed her shoulders, and pulled together a heap of vines. Then she sat on the ground.

Her grandmother had loved woven things, especially anything made by hand.

As a child, Avery had been afraid that her grandmother might leave her, too. Hoping to please her, she had learned a little weaving and made her small gifts now and then.

The vines moved obediently through her fingers.

Before long, the outline of a large woven bag began to take shape.

"What are you making?"

A female came over to look.

Avery glanced up and noticed that she, too, was rubbing her shoulders.

Apparently, gathering was hard work for everyone.

"Oh! Are you weaving a basket? It doesn't quite look like one. You really are from Beastmeet. You even know how to make baskets! We buy ours in the city. Nobody here knows how to turn strips of leaves into something like that."

Surprise crossed the woman's face, but she quickly averted her eyes rather than watch Avery's hands too closely.

A basket cost two large pieces of meat. This was a skill someone could live on. It would not be right to steal it by watching.

"Something like that. Gathering this way is exhausting. I want to try something different."

Avery worked faster. Everyone else would have several basketfuls by the time she had barely started on her tree.

The female nodded knowingly.

Other people had tried finding new ways, too, but the trees were so tall that something always went wrong. This girl was young. After a few disappointments, she would realize their usual method was the dependable one.

She left, put her basket back on, and climbed her own tree.

By the time she came down again, Avery had only just finished weaving.

The woman looked from the single pile in front of Avery to the two piles in front of herself. Her mouth tilted slightly. An urge to compete stirred inside her.

Meanwhile, Avery found another length of vine, a little over thirty feet long, and hoped it would not break halfway through the job.

She climbed back up with the vine and her large woven bag.

Soon the bag was full. She tied the vine to the carrying loops she had deliberately woven into it, tested the weight twice, and began lowering it slowly beside the trunk.

The plants here really were extraordinary.

She had worried something might snap. Instead, the loaded bag descended steadily to the ground. Even the vine in her hands held firm.

She had left the mouth of the bag open. Once it touched down and the lifting force disappeared, its soft sides collapsed, letting the round flourpods roll out.

Anyone who had used a floppy shopping bag knew what happened when it tipped over.

Exactly as she had hoped.

This was not some masterful invention born of years of practice. It was simply something she understood from ordinary life.

From the crown of the tree, she shook the vine.

Unfortunately, a few pods remained caught inside.

She looked around. Everyone was busy. Each female had her own tree and was either climbing or working among the branches. The males had wandered farther away. There was nobody to help.

In the end, she had to haul the bag up again with the last few pods still inside.