Now, a tamer of any real skill, a Master tamer, does not usually "tame" an animal at all. That is, they do not domesticate an animal and then train it to do their bidding. They do not need to. A true tamer is one who has the ability to converse with a beast in some form or another and then convince the creature to do something. They befriend, allay, and make deals with the creature, usually coming to some mutually beneficial agreement. Because the creature then acts of its own will, it does not require domestication, training, or a whip. (This is why only lesser tamers carry a whip and Master tamers do not � a Master tamer has no use for one.)
Edwyn was such a tamer, and it also speaks well of him that he was the only one of my party to survive the former adventure virtually unscathed. I had no doubt that he would soon return with The Great-Weasel Cockatrice-Killer of the North, or something like that, so I made my own preparations as speedy as possible.
He set out to the forested hills surrounding my estate where most of the animals already knew him by name. I gather that there in the woods he met his friend, Longhowler the wolf, who I had not met personally but often heard from my window late at night. She had a stirring singing voice if I've ever heard one. Edwyn explained what he was looking for and Longhowler thought she might be able to help. She spoke of a weasel who had successfully avoided becoming her lunch on several occasions, and as far as she knew, was still holed up in his rocky fortress on top of the hill. Longhowler volunteered to accompany Edwyn to the spot until Edwyn explained that they would not be eating the weasel once located, at which point the wolf found other business to attend to. To those who question the practice of befriending such a beast as a wolf, Edwyn assures that, "they are not all teeth and claws, once you get to know them."
After getting directions from his friend, Edwyn made his way to the hill and hiked to the boulder-crowned summit. There he followed the signs such as an expert tracker does, and quickly found a likely cleft in the rocks. It was a cool, dark, unpretentious little hole that led from its outer wall of stone into the soft earth. Virtually impregnable to predators, it was a hole any weasel with a sense of self-preservation would love to call home.
"Hi there!" Edwyn called into the hole in the best weasel-speak he could manage. "Is anyone home?"
There was no reply. So Edwyn repeated his greeting, several times.
Finally, he heard two voices within the hole. They seemed to be bickering. One voice said something like "Go back to sleep, Honey, I'll handle this."
"If it's the wolf, I hope she eats you this time." Said the other voice.
The first voice muttered as it approached, and a small, brown nose emerged in the darkness. "What? What do you want?" said the same voice impatiently.
"My name is Edwyn and I am looking for a weasel. Do you know if I might find any around here?"
"None here," said the nose and disappeared back into its burrow.
"Are you sure? Who's that in there with you?" Edwyn called into the darkness.
"Just my wife." The voice echoed from within.
"She's not a weasel either, eh?"
"Nope."
"Very well, I'll look somewhere else." Edwyn said, knowing the creatures curiosity would get the better of it. He started to walk away.
"Wait! What for?" The nose reappeared, and this time brought some whiskers with it.
"I've a Cockatrice to slay, and I need a weasel to do it, but if there aren't any around here than I'm afraid I haven't any time to chat. Farewell."
"A Cockatrice!" The whole creature to which the nose and whiskers were attached now jumped out of the hole, neck arched and brown fur bristling. "Where? Er, I mean, of course you need a weasel. Hold on a minute. There might be one here after all."
Edwyn turned to face the typical looking weasel � long necked, flat headed, long tailed, slender bodied; with five claws per paw, and short sleek fur, lighter on his underside and darker above. "Excellent. Where is a good journey from here, I hope you don't mind traveling. Now, do you think you'd be any good at killing a Cockatrice?"
"Oh, I'm an expert. I know all the tricks. But why should I help you?"
"Because it's the right thing to do, of course."
"Of course, but it'll cost you. What's in it for me?"
"I don't suppose you'd be at all interested in the spoils? I hear this beast has an unimaginable treasure hoard. Gold, silver, gems, and so forth. How would you like some of that?" That may sound like an odd offer. Since weasels do not have money or an economy as such, you might think a weasel would be interested in something more practical, like food or a better place to live, ect. But in weasel society much of ones status is based on the amount of peculiar, pretty, or otherwise interesting trinkets one has hoarded away in the bottom of ones hole. And as this weasel seemed to already be well off in both food and housing, offering some of the loot was a safe bet.
The weasel became confused. "What do you mean? Why would my grandmother want to eat your flower garden? And what's that got to do with anything anyway?"
Apparently much of the weasel language is based entirely on intonation. Edwyn had slightly mispronounced his former statement, which changed its meaning greatly. He apologized and tried his offer again, this time getting it right.
"Well," the weasel rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "I do like shiny things. I'll do it. But I have a few demands. First, in addition to my share of the shiny things, I'll need a nice comfy pouch to ride in. You don't expect me to walk all that way, do you? Second, you must gather some rue for me, just in case. Third�hm� that's all I got."
"Easily done� your wife doesn't mind you leaving like this?"
"Of course not! Besides, I'm in charge around here." The weasel looked back to his hole, almost fearfully. "Now let's hurry up and get out of here."
"Well spoken! Climb on and we'll get moving." Edwyn offered his hand to the weasel, who hopped on and climbed up his arm to perch on his shoulder. "Watch your claws � they're rather sharp." Edwyn said warily.
"Flattery will get you nothing. You've still got to pay me," said the weasel.
