Another outburst in the chimney! Brimstone pits and hell! These snarling explosions of petulance are becoming more frequent now that the sun is hitting the chimney top.
“Mom, tell Witless to stop pulling hairs out of my tail.”
“I need them for my Making.”
“Get them from your own tail.”
“That wouldn’t be right. The material has to come from something other than the maker.”
“Your material is taking up all the space in the den. Especially the grapevines.”
“Your Makings are very beautiful, darling – but Bandy has a point. Do you really need all these vines for your objects? I like the grass ones better. I don’t get caught in them.”
“The whole idea is to get caught in them.”
“Is that why you’re weaving my tail hair into the vines? I’m supposed to get caught in it?”
“A little bit of you. Yes.”
“What, pray tell, does my body hair have to do with your Making?”
“Your hair makes it more authentic. Like I said, the Making can’t be all me; it has to be a little bit me and a little bit something that’s not-me. That’s what gives it meaning.”
“What does this one mean?”
“I don’t know. I have to find out by making it.”
“It means I need more space,” Clutch says.
“What are you finding out from this one?” Bandit asks.
“I’m not sure. Something about a balance of the materials of the Making. If there’s balance in the composure of the materials, there’s probably a balance in the environment where the materials came from. What do you think?”
“I think that I find out about a balance by tiptoeing along one of those thick wires that hums under your feet.”
“You would! I find out about balance by fashioning Makings. It’s less scary.”
“But it’s more … authen – whatever you call it?”
“New word, Clutch. Auth-en-tic. It means being your whole true self.”
“I am my whole true self.”
“No, you’re not. Parts of you are out there in the River and the Forest. Or in the Sky with your Great Raccoon Ancestor. Or in Dad – wherever he is. You’re scattered all over the place.”
“I shall venture forth and find my missing pieces.”
“It’s not enough just to find them. You have to coax them to cohere in just the right way. I know what – I’ll create a Making for your quest. It might guide you.”
“What am I supposed to do? Wear it around my neck? I’ll trip over the stupid thing.”
“You just have to think of it.” Touchwit sounds hurt.
“I don’t think you should call Touchwit’s Makings ‘stupid’,” Slypaws says.
“At least, it gives her something to do with her hands. They are always fidgeting,” Clutch says.
“Think that she’s adding something to the world,” Slypaws says.
“She’s adding clutter to the world.”
“Clutch, until you find yourself, all your bits and pieces are going to be cluttering up the world. Your name is synonymous with clutter.”
“Touchwit has a glitch in her hand-eye coordination. She has a virus.”
“Maybe she’s got the mumbles.”
Time for Slypaws to intervene. This is getting personal.
“Clutch, love. You too, Bandit. Your sister might be bringing something entirely new to your eyes. Something that wasn’t there before. Isn’t that it, Touch?”
“That’s right. But it isn’t clutter like Clutch thinks. It isn’t useful or useless. It just is.”
No one spoke further. They were content to leave the issue there. However, a larger issue was finding its voice in Touchwit’s makings. The world was very big and the chimney was getting smaller by the hour. It could no longer accommodate the three cubs and their energies.