There is much lore and tell about a land thought long bygone, and most tales are so far askew as to make it's true existence no more than fairy stories and myth. But the documents that hold the true accounts are coveted with great reverence and secrecy, and in these scrolls lie the stories of truth; regarding such a land called Avarae, and those who dwell therein.

These chronicles are called Avaronthestre.

Avarae is not so much a location as it is a condition. Say, a state of existence just adjacent to the one you and I know. Those within know nothing or at the most, a very small amount of our plane of existence. Some tell of it in the same tones of myth and fable as we are sometimes known to speak of them. For, you see, very seldom few have ever seen Earth. Those are the Gray Folken, the Ministers of Chaos who pass between dimensions as you or I would pass between rooms.

It is they that know the secret of time, and the secret of death and birth. But, the Gray Folken are another story. You see, there are many stories in Avaronthestre. Some have to be told in certain order.

I shall relay the accounts herein as best a humble storyteller can, thereby also describing the emotional elements. Any story of worth will include emotion; for without, it is but an apathetic account of stark history- such as one might hear from a bored schoolteacher. Professor I am not- merely a follower of events and an interpreter of the glass. It shows me what I tell you, and let there be nothing lost betwixt the Numin and the page.

Aeyvi's Story~

The kit who was named Aeyvi on the day of her first hunt was not born of the plane of Avarae. Rather, she eventually found her way there, and remained purely by accident.

She was born to the pride of Dumakesh, of the royal city of Maral, of the plane of Felamaba'ath. Her people, the Ailurians, were an advanced race of bipedal felines. They had deeply rooted traditions and finely organized structure to their civilization. This is odd because, in spite of all their advancement and intellect, they remained quite feral, bloodthirsty, and sometimes cruel creatures. Their social structure allowed for this.

As I said, she earned her Ailurian name the day of her first hunt. She was no more than two years of age, and her prey was small. The manner in which she trapped the creature was such that her mother named her Aeyvi. In Ailurian, roughly translated: “she of cunning; she of deep guile.” Alas... the glass does not show me more detail on the method of her kill.

She lived almost in poverty in the habitat surrounding the royal city of Maral. Her pride lived in huts on the forest floor and in the trees. A typical Ailurian forest hut is built around a tree, and is continued further up the trunk in the forks made by boughs. These forest villages dotted the small jungle that encircled the walls of Maral.
Her existence was a simple one. Her memories of this time are few and faded. She does, however, remember the day she heard the Queen's speech.

Chapter 1

The day was swealtering with desert heat, and both she and her mother were panting as they scaled the passage-tree and mounted the great wall. Her elder brother, Ma'tau, leaped ahead with lashing tail. Rumor had circled that the Listeners of Bast had made a great alliance. With whom was a secret. The Queen, who was the Embodiment of Bast, rarely spoke to her subjects. They all assumed it could only be concerning the alliance.

The small family of three trotted gracefully on padded feet along the wall. They leapt in neat succession onto a flat roof, and made their way to the central gathering.
Much impatient yowling was heard among the crowd. The cats were hot and displeased, but curiosity was stronger than the desire for animal comfort. Still, the odd hiss rasped here and there, and an ear was batted or bitten if one got too close to another. The small family stopped and sat on a rooftop overlooking the circle. Little Aeyvi, four summers old, dangled her lower paws over the edge.

A wave of awed mewing and the rumble of reverent purring rose from the mass of cats as their deity incarnate strode into sight on the palace balcony. Aeyvi remembers looking upon the gorgeous robes and gleaming crown with envy.
The crown extended the Queen's ears and forehead wiskers in dazzling gold. Cradled between the ears was a great disc of highly-polished fire opal, split by a pupil of deepest jet. The Eye of Bast. Once Aeyvi looked into it, however, she felt her thoughts being judged, and quickly looked away.

“Children of Bast. Your Goddess Mother speaks.”
“We listen. We see. We feel. We smell.” was the unison response.
“The Listeners of Her Will have spoken with ancient beings. They come here from beyond the spheres.” She paused for damatic effect, and the crowd mewled in amazement.
“They have told us of great famine approaching. They offer us magic that will open doors in the sky, and we may travel to places of cool water and good hunting.”
Another pause, more excited murmuring.
“We will begin construction on the doors come winter, and we will send our scouts forth into the doors. Once we find a safe, good place, we will all go. Bast will lead us to paradise.”
Roars of approval met her declaration, and she raised her long, golden claws to the sun.“Your Goddess has spoken! Disperse, and good be the hunt.”

So began the alliance between the Ailurians and the Gray Folken. How such a race as the Ailurians could be respected and aided by the travellers of the void we mere humans will never fathom. The Gray see far, and their reasons are incomprehensible by such small minds as ours.

While the Gray supplied their knowledge of accessing the various planes, they did not inform the Ailurians of which precise planes to access. It seemed as though they were allowing for experimentation and failure. Word spread daily by eager gossipers that many of the Gray gates had been erected and traversed, opening on a variety of environs. Explorers reported vast deserts peopled by tan, hairless primates, endless oceans inhabited by a race of fish hominid, jungles filled with luminescent life, burnt wastelands where the undead reigned. More alliances were made through the Gray Gates, and Maral began its golden era.

When Aeyvi was eight, she was sent on an errand to the palace bazaar to fetch some of the other-worldly faire. The bazaar had become a place of wonder and excitement for many denizens of Maral. Ailurians traveled from lands across Necramala'at, the dry expanse, to see these strange new things, and take them home to awe their neighbors. It was common to find nobles browsing the merchandise alongside commoners, such was the allure.
The prices were dear, and Aeyvi's family was poor. But the only currency she needed were her own two nimble paws.

She wore a long cloak, and held a basket with what appeared to be hands wound with cloth. Her true hands were actually free to snag the odd fruit, meat morsel, or baubel of her choice. These items were discreetly deposited in various bags hung on her hidden belt. She had gotten very good at this task... and enjoyed the theivery greatly.
This particular day of her eighth year, she was sent to gather some of the exotic cheese and milk of the cetacean sea-cattle of the Fltssatha plane. It was exceedingly rich and went well with every dish. She innocently browsed a display of sweetmeats while her unseen hands seized skins of milk and parcels of cheese right from under the merchant's nose. Her misbegotten treasures secured, she moved on to an array of carved gems.
Her eyes fell upon a circlet of gleaming gold, the eye of Bast gazing warmly at her from its center. This was made from an opal of a color she had never seen. Blues and greens and milky periwinkle glowed in the bright desert sunlight. It was a mystic pool, and she lost herself in it for a time.

“What a gorgeous stone!” declared a male voice behind her. She started guiltily and made to leave, but a strong paw gripped her false wrist. Her heart leapt into her throat for a moment, fearing discovery.
She looked up at the great bobcat with caution. Her eyes were wide and innocent.
“My, my... what eyes the kit has. I'd say they were the sisters to yon pretty opal.”
Indeed, her eyes were a vibrant jungle green flecked with cerulean, and her pupils were ringed by a thick fringe of deepest azure. Her family shared this trait, and she rarely made eye contact with any outside parties... so she hadn't realized her own orbs were anything special.
“What is your name, kitten?”
“I am no one.”
The fat bobcat chortled, mindlessly fingering a gold chain around his thick neck. “Come now, kit, even commoners have names.”
She averted her gaze, mumbled “Aeyvi, your grace.”
With this, she gingerly pulled away from his grasp, giving him a timid smile, and hurried away.

She decided to keep the encounter with the bobcat noble to herself, and she avoided the bazaar for a few days. She didn't like the way he looked at her. The way one might look at a bag of gold... or a piece of fresh fish.

Several days passed, and life was simple. Aeyvi hung the washing from their humble branches, helped to cook their humble meals, and played simple games with her brother in the red leaves and yellow sand.
But one day, a messenger came by their tree with a summons. The Duke of Slad'atheez sought audience with the family, specifically the kit Aeyvi, in his wing of the royal palace. They had no choice but to accept.

That night, the pride Dumakesh gathered in the center of their small village to discuss what a noble might want. Aeyvi was forced to divulge her encounter with the fat cat, but spoke not of his lingering gaze. Ma'tau groaned in worry that Aeyvi's theiving was noticed, and he was going to punish them all. The pride elder dismissed this, reminding him that if repercussions were to be served, palace guard would have been sent, and no mere summons given. This did not ease Ma'tau, and he held his beloved sister tightly.
“It could be she is wanted as a protege to the Duke's merchant daughter.” the elder offered. “Such things are not unheard of. Many peasants have been taken into the nest of Bast's Listeners, and raised to higher callings.”
“I won't go.” Aeyvi stubbornly objected.
“You will go; you have no choice.” her mother countered. Her word was final. “If you have a calling, you must go to it. Think, child: merchants go through the Gray Gates! Can you imagine? Oh, please dear Goddess, let my kit become a far-traveller!”

And so the next day they set out for the palace in their very best garb. Mother had paid special attention to Ma'tau's appearance, hoping to sell the duke on her son as well. Dread hung over the children as they trudged up the alabaster steps.
Guards scanned the presented summons and parted to grant entry.
The family was escorted by a servant to the duke's lounging room, and he greeted them with a wet, booming purr. He bid them to find repose on the various lavish pillows.
“You know, I've never really had a taste for lions,” he remarked to the puma pouring black wine into his goblet, “but I daresay, these are fine specimens of the breed!”
Mother thanked his grace kindly for the offhanded compliment. Aeyvi balled herself up and hugged her knees, tail tucked.
Ma'tau growled “Why have you called us here? What do you want with us?” His head was immediately batted by his mother's stern paw, and she hissed him to be silent.

The fat duke only chortled, his stub of a tail thumping the pillow on which he sat. “I have interest in your kit there. Aeyvi. I will pay you handsomely for her.”
Mother tilted her head, perplexed. “Pay?”
“Oh, yes. She will come to live with me, and she will become as rich and pampered as she deserves.” He motioned to a nearby leopard servant who held a flat box. She brought it and opened it for him. He removed from its velvet bed the gorgeous eye-of-Bast circlet Aeyvi had admired. He attempted to rise, but needed the aid of two more servants to succeed. He waddled over to the kit, who recoiled at his proximity, and he placed the circlet upon her head with ceremony.

Mother was still confused. “Exactly how much would you be willing to pay?”
Ma'tau snarled indignance. “Pay for a protege? Mother, how can you ask that?” Then, whirling on the duke, “What do you want her for?”
The mother lioness yanked on her son's jerkin, forcing him to kneel, and miaued apologies for his outspokenness.

The duke's eyes narrowed at the lion, then brightened in good-natured mirth.
“I want her for a merchatnt's apprentice, of course. It is custom to compensate the family for the kit's absence, is it not? Or, do they teach these things in the sand pit where thou wallows?”
He chuckled, and his servants chuckled with him.

The adults spoke quietly for a bit over wine, the duke reassuring the lioness over and over of her daughter's bright future. He spoke of the Gray Gate in which he was invested, and how the desert on the other side was rich with gold and peopled by hairless apes called Ma'an. He spoke of the great river there, and the giant water lizards. He claimed there was great wealth to be had in this barren place. Why, the locals were already worshipping Bast.
After the small talk was exhausted and loving goodbyes exchanged, mother and brother left Aeyvi to her bright future, and promised to visit.
She never saw them again.

The next few years Aeyvi had tried hard to forget. Her daily schooling consisted not of buying and selling exotic goods. She was taught by her fellow courtesans the “art” of pleasure and beauty. She had hoped genuinely for a moment on that dreadful day that she might actually get to visit the various worlds, to travel far and see much. She was destined to see no more than her master's bedroom.

Many times she tried to run away. Unfortunately, the gold bands fixed around her neck, ankles and wrists were covered in bells. She could go nowhere silently, and was always found in short order. She was presented to other nobles as a prized trophy, and the duke took great satisfaction in the envy of his peers.
She had not even lost her kittenhood spots, and she was already an object of desire. She dreaded the day she would be forced to consummate her union with that horrible tom. She found his thick, greasy fur repulsive. She withered at his touch, and felt nauseous whenever his sickly breath wafted into her face. She was desperate to get away.
Her escape attempts became more frequent and drastic. Her stealth improved to the point her bells made barely any sound when she slinked.

She managed to escape completely when she was eleven, and had gotten all the way home. Her mother was overjoyed to see her, and embraced her at once. Her brother, however, was absent.“Where is Ma'tau?”
“The duke put in a good word for him with the royal military. He became a scout of the Gray Gates. He was sent to another world, but did not return with his scouting party.”
Aeyvi was greatly saddened by this news, and felt fresh rage toward the duke. Her mother remained oddly optimistic.
“And you, dear, why are you home? And dressed like a harlot for all Bast's grace...”
The girl tried to explain her predicament, tried to tell her mother of the misdeeds that evil duke had planned. Mother did not listen. She accused her daughter of negligence and laziness, and chastized her for her scornful attire.

That very night, Aeyvi was delivered to the duke by her own mother.

The duke had her confined to a gilded cage lined with the finest silk pillows, and with rare colored crystals hung from the ceiling. He fed her only the finest and richest of foods, and kept her drunk on the most expensive vintages. He asked her why she should ever want to leave such comfort and riches. She would never grace him with a reply.

One night in her thirteenth year, Aeyvi sulked in her glittering cage, gazing down at her eye-of-Bast circlet through bitter tears. A growl rose in her throat till it was a roar, and she flung the cursed thing through the bars with spite.
A lithe figure stooped, and a soft paw grasped the forsaken treasure. The duchess strode daintily to the cage and peered in.

“You.”
Aeyvi jolted guiltily. “What?”
“You don't want to be here, do you?”
She looked up at the pretty bobcat and shook her head tearfully.
The duchess nodded. She rested the circlet around her wrist, and produced a key from the folds of her robe. She unlocked the cage and swung the door wide. Aeyvi stood, her bells silent.
“You are free.” the duchess whispered.
The kit, unsure, took a cautious step. She was stopped by the duchess' hand. In it was held the circlet.
“Take this. Never lose it. Let it be a reminder of what you will never allow yourself to become. Let it remind you that you are free, and that gold both glitters and binds. Never become a slave to it.”

With these words of wisdom, the girl fled. She no longer sought refuge in the trees or the sand of her pride village. She crept, instead, to the great chamber of the Gray Gates.
The Gates marched in concentric circles, vertical portals bordered by blue and silver stone, arranged around an elaborate central glyph. The Gates were not actually gray, as she had imagined. They were many colors. Each portal was a mass of shattered light, each with its own distinctive sound and hue. None of them were marked.
She stood in indecision holding her circlet, tail flicking. Which portal had her brother taken? She sniffed deeply, trying to catch his scent. She thought she smelled him... barely... but yes, it was him! There! She strode soundlessly to the Gate of twisting light. It was gold. Heat radiated from within its shifting chatoyant depths. She took a final glance over her speckled shoulder, and then resolutely faced her fate. She stepped through.

And instantly was torn apart.

Chapter 2

She was not sure of anything.
It had happened so quickly and violently; everything kept turning and spinning and refused to settle. All was blinding sunlight and dry pain. She was only able to dimly wonder if her body still held a physical form, or whether her burning hyperventilation was the pulsing of the void between gates.

Her surroundings had only just begun to make defined sense when she was sharply thrust forward by bodiless force, rolling roughly in rocky sand.

{You are in the realm of exile. You will not return through the Gate.}

The voice wasn't a thing heard... so she wasn't sure it was a voice at all. She blinked blearily up at the being responsible, and was quite unable to see it. Her vision had finally cleared, and the sun was behind her... and yet the thing's features remained an indistinct gray beneath a hood of like hue. Its face and hands shifted constantly... or did they? It was quite a hard thing to look at.
Aeyvi tried to speak, then hacked. Her throat was exceedingly dry. She managed to rasp:
“Exile? I wasn't exiled...”

{All who pass through this gate remain on this side. None may return. This is the designated realm of exile.}

The Gray being shifted its intangible grasp on the solid spear it held, and appeared to look away with disdain.

The kit coughed, hiding in it a bitter sob. She struggled to get to her feet, faltered, fell. She was caught in rough, dark paws. A black panther regarded her in pity with one yellow-green eye and one blue. He was clad in chaffed leather and sand-worn cotton pantaloons tucked into shin-high bound leather boots.

“That's all he ever says. Pay him no mind.” the panther said, almost apologetically.

He helped her to her feet, and she winced in pain. She was badly scraped from her tumble, and her fresh wounds were caked in clumps of grit. The panther bared his teeth at the Gray- a sort of farewell- and led the battered kit away.

The panther lived in a hovel dug out of the side of a dirt hill facing the ocean. The savanna grass of his roof kept it cool in the relentless heat of late afternoon. Aeyvi was severely displaced, and concentrated on the cool beverage in the bone cup provided her.
The panther had introduced himself as Shiv, and offered to share his humble dwelling as long as she needed it.

“I've never seen an exile so young. Or sent through with so little to wear...” He draped a threadbare blanket about her shoulders. She nodded a bit, numbly.
“Give it time, dearie. The initial effects should wear off in an hour. And ye don't seem to have suffered any disfigurement.”
“Dis... dis...?”
“Aye, dearie. See?” he pointed a claw to his blue eye, and then stood to show his lack of a tail. Aeyvi's eyes widened at this and reached quickly for her own, dropping the cup in the process.
“I said you had no disfigurement, kit! Oi, but yer a jumpy fluff. It's fine, fine, I can make ye more tea.”She mumbled something that must have been an apology and held the blanket tightly to her.
Shiv prepared her another cup and bid her to drink. The tea was smooth, herbal, sweet and deeply soothing.
“There. That'll set yer whiskers n' ears, Bast bless ye.”

She sat back on the dirt bench, staring dismally at the sea. With the exception of that briny expanse, she had essentially traded one desert for another. Should she so desire, she could lean forward and see the path that led to the gate, and its guardian. She did not. It was a sore thought. She bitterly began the task of licking her various wounds, recoiling at the taste of strange dirt.
But she wouldn't have gone back. She reminded herself that exile in the underworld was better than another moment spent in that bastard's cage.
As if he had heard her thoughts, Shiv perked up for a moment, pulling her circlet from his tattered vest.
“Ye dropped this on yer way in.”
She seized it, baring her teeth and pulled back her arm as if to cast it into the sea. But she stopped herself, looked at it. Her hand lowered. She clutched it to her chest resolutely.
“Never again.”

Day fell to night. The sliver of a moon rose over the water in delicate splendor. The night insects buzzed with an incessant fervor, causing Aeyvi's black-tipped ears to twitch with annoyance. Nothing felt right. The sounds, the smells, even the dust beneath her paws felt alien.

She still would not speak. She felt so alone, suddenly cut off to everything familiar. She was wrought with powerful homesickness, but her thoughts were broken when Shiv spoke.

“We'll need to get you some better rags than those shiny bits an' strips o' silk. Can't say as they'd be much help in straight sun. Ye'd cook.”

He took a small fagot from a brazier and lit his pipe. It was an odd, long, curved thing carved from bone; a section of large rib from the looks of it. It was worn to a polish and yellowed with age, and the herb in its bowl burned sweet and tantalizing to the cub.
He caught her eying it, and handed her the pipe.
“Catnip. Calms the nerves but opens the mind. Have enough of it and ye'll dance with dervishes like a fool. Might only want a single puff for now.”
She drew a breath and immediately coughed with force. It burned not a little, but the sting soon smoothed to a pleasing warmth. She handed back the pipe and relaxed a bit on her crude cushion.

That hopeless feeling of alienation began to dissipate, and Aeyvi soon found herself with an odd little smile on her golden muzzle. She became thoughtful, and her thoughts returned to the gate.

“Was it magic?”
Shiv looked up from his pipe, allowing smoke to stream from his black nostrils.
“Was what magic, dearie?”

“The Gray Gate. Is that magic? I've heard about magic. I thought they only made magic with rocks and fire and water and the like.”
Shiv looked into the bowl of his pipe, then tapped out the ashes onto the dirt floor.
“Well, dearie... I don't take much stock in magic. Never had much of a mind for such nonsense. Whiskers a bit short, y'see*. But I do believe an alchemy powerful enough may appear to be magic, if one don't know how to look at it. And alchemy is one thing I do take seriously.”
He paused to fill his pipe, then lit it afresh. He drew deeply, holding the sweet inhalation for a moment in thought.
“But... if there be such a thing as magic, then the Grays must exist outside of it. What they work with is deeper than magic. Outside the elements.”
She stewed on these words for a bit, mind wild with possibilities and colorful inspiration. In the brazier she saw intricate patterns and designs in the flame. They pulsed with her slowing heartbeat, and she lay down. She started to ask more questions, but the herb soon calmed her into a deep sleep.

Shiv watched the sleeping kit with a tough sort of pity, and doused the fire. He then set out from the hovel for his nightly work.

*Ailurians base magical acuity and the tendency toward foresight on the size of sensory organs, primarily the eyes and whiskers.

The late morning light woke the young Aeyvi from a surprisingly restful sleep. She pushed aside the thin hide Shiv had draped over her in her repose, and made her way groggily out of the shelter.
Shiv sat upon a sloping boulder in what we might call the Lotus position. Swords, daggers, and other like weapons lay about him, glinting in the bright daylight. He was at that moment sharpening his claws with a whetting stone. She noticed they, too, glinted with metallic luster.
Shiv smirked, spotting Aeyvi out of the corner of his eye.
“Had them capped, you see. Better than the ones I was born with.” He removed one and tossed it to her for inspection. She caught the deadly-sharp implement, and admired the meticulous detail engraved in its sides.
“Cut me claws short to fit 'em. But they fit like the real thing. Hardly notice when they're on.”
She tried it on her pointer claw for size, and it dwarfed her finger. She tossed the cap back, envious.

“Yer not ready for caps yet, dearie. And t'wouldn't be fitting for a lady to take the suit of a knave such as me.”
“A knave?”
“Aye.” Shiv grinned with pride. “A knave, a rogue, a thief. Assassin too, if the coin is solid enough. An art it is, I tell you.” He snatched up a curved dagger and flipped it to pinch the blade, then slung it with practiced precision at a nearby tree. It hit a knothole center-on.
The girl was immensely impressed and ran to retrieve the dagger. She found, to her dismay, she could not dislodge it.
“Oi, leave that! Go on back to the hovel, I got some garments for ye. Scamper, now.”
Scamper she did.

The clothes were somewhat large on her thin frame, but they could be cinched well enough. Rough hemp and stiff leather itched at her in places, but she was grateful to forsake her shiny slave's garb. She held her richer clothes for a moment, considering their worth. She decided to hide them away for unseen future use.
Shiv poked his head in after she had finished, announcing midday.
“Time for bed for this old dastard. In this heat, it's best to sleep away the hottest bit of the day. You're welcome to bunk down yerself on the bench, lest yer rested.”
He limped to the back of the hovel where stood a sort of large desk, lifted the top board, and pulled out a tattered hammock. He hooked it up on either side of the hovel, smoothed it out, and hopped in. The old cloth folded around his weight.
Aeyvi watched him for a moment, tail swishing. He hadn't ordered her to stay... He hadn't warned her against straying or exploring... not that she would have obeyed had he done so.
She skipped out into the sunlight, full of curiosity and mischief.

The land was savannah and sparse forest, melting into sandy beach as it neared the water's edge. The grasses were long and sweet, filled with bright and buzzing insects. She contented herself with pouncing after these for a bit, chased a bird into a tree. The trees themselves were thin and twisted, with branches that reached far and shed ample shade. The hill into which the hovel was dug seemed only half a proper hill. It was as if someone cut it in half... Or, rather as if it were a wave of earth instead of water, grass growing at the crest where the foam would be. Trees growing on this wave dangled exposed roots several feet to the level ground, and Aeyvi found many rodents hiding in the dark nooks they formed. She feasted on squirrels and moles till she was sated, and perched in a tree to clean her bloody paws and muzzle.

From this high point of view, she could see over a copse of trees to a little village. She was momentarily intrigued, and tried to catch a glimpse of the natives. None were about.
She looked in the opposite direction, and found she could see down the path to the Gray Gate. The path cleaved another hill, and roughly-hewn stone arches overshadowed it. The arches looked positively ancient, much like the ones we might recognize at Stonehenge. She wondered who might have built these... and also wondered how long the gate had been there.
She could dimly make out the shape of the Gray Guardian with its large and foreboding spear.

The longer she sat looking at the gate, the more she longed for her home-realm. She felt she might be able to evade the duke's reaches. Perhaps even join a caravan leaving Maral, and find a new life in a distant city on the other side of the wasteland Necramala'at.
She could do it, she thought. If she had the skill to make no sound wearing twenty bells, she could easily sneak past the guardian wearing leather and hemp.

She waited for dusk, and stole up the path. She padded with utmost caution, her body almost fluid in its careful, rolling motions. In nearing the large ring of earth surrounding the gate itself, she dropped to all fours. Ever so slowly, ever so smoothly, she slinked ever nearer the gate from the aft side. She was confident she could pass through without being detected. The guardian hadn't moved, and she was in its blind spot.
Inch by inch she crept up the shallow stone steps. Centimeter by centimeter she approached the ticking blue shards of light that would take her home.
She coiled, steeled herself for the shattering pain...

And leapt.

Straight through the gate to the other side, where the guardian was waiting. It swung and neatly struck Aeyvi on the rear with the broadside of its spear. She was sent tumbling into the hard gravel of the path. Shiv was there again to lift her to her feet, although he had no compassion for her predicament this time.

“Can't believe ye'd be daft enough to come back here.”
She looked up at him with wide eyes, having fully expected to be back in her own realm. Her surprise slowly drooped into deep disappointment and rage as he bustled her away. She broke free of his grasp, fuming, claws and teeth bared. She hissed dryly at him, tail switching. He groaned back, ears flat, and rolled his eyes.
“I don't much care for yer smell, kit*. Is this the thanks I get for seeing after ye? Smooth thy tail and sheathe thy claws, 'fore ye get a beating.”
She snarled in reply, taking a swipe at him. Effortlessly, he slid out of her way. She swiped again, and again touching nothing but air. On her final swipe she charged, and he sent her to the ground with a bat to the back of her head. She lay there with her cheek in the dirt, and cried.

Shiv heaved a great sigh, grasping her by the nape and hoisting her painfully to her feet. He looked her square in the eye, still clenching a fold of skin at the back of her neck.
“Now you listen here, kitten. I'll not have ye tempting fate again. I thought ye'd learnt yer lesson the first time that Gray smote ye to the earth, but yer as daft as I was. Dafter still for challenging me.” He let her loose and she staggered, holding a paw to her neck. She was thankful he had not been wearing his silver claws.
“Ye'll be on yer way tomorrow. I won't have ye about if ye don't appreciate my old charity.”
He turned his back on her and started away.
“Wait!” She called after him, suddenly feeling helpless and very alone.
He kept walking.
She ran after him and seized his bicep. She bumped her forehead against his thick arm, a feline gesture of deep kinship. It was what she once did as a very small kitten to her mother's leg. Instead of her mother's familiar scent, she smelled only Shiv; his toughness, his anger, and his exasperation*. She was crushed in a wave of sudden homesickness and helplessness, and sobbed into his jerkin.

The old panther stood there for a moment, feeling awkward and a bit ashamed of his harsh tone. He pulled his arm gently free of her tearful grasp, holding her by the shoulders.
“Ye can never go back, child. Never. Trust me. I have tried and tried. Best thing now is to accept life here. This place ain't so bad as ye might think! Why, this be only a small part of it. I can show ye pictures in books of far grander places 'cross the sea. Why, mayhap one day ye'll travel to see wondrous things!”
Aeyvi rubbed her eye, intrigued. But her brow furrowed.
“Then why haven't you gone to see them?”
Shiv pursed his mouth, looking at the ground.
“If ye want that story, we'll have to go back for me pipe. I'll be needing it. And the rum.”

*Ailurians have a complex language, not only built of speech and extensive body language, but also of various scents. One ailurian can essentially smell the mood of another. The stronger the emotion, the stronger the scent.

Chapter 3

After he had a couple soothing breaths of catnip, and perhaps a nip of rum, Shiv told Aeyvi his story.

Many long years ago, Shiv had gone by another name and another profession. He called this his first life.

In his first life, he was known as Dekkal. He was a high-class mercenary for nobles and wealthy merchants. He would apprehend thieves and thwart would-be assassins for substantial amounts of gold, and he lived quite well.
He took a contract for a bobcat broker, and instantly fell for the broker's beautiful daughter. Of course, such a relationship was considered inappropriate, and not only because the daughter was too young to marry. Even though Dekkal- here he referred to himself in the third person- did well for himself and came with glowing recommendations, he was still a sellsword. So, he stole her away one night and they had the time of their lives. Here, Shiv chuckled in reverie, remembering how drunk they got that night. They were finally turned out of the last tavern for being too wild. They ended up staggering out of the city, leaning on each other and giggling stupidly. They spent that night in an abandoned hut, and of the rest he said, “Never you mind.”
He was able to return the girl before anyone missed her, and they loved one another from afar for several years.
Then, one day, some fat duke set his eye on her, and decided to take her for his third bride.

The girl refused, but her father forced her to accept. When the duke came to claim her with palace guards in tow, Dekkal intervened. He refused to allow anything to be done against the girl's will. The guards forced him aside, and he made them pay with their blood. Dekkal was eventually detained, and all his chivalry for naught. The duke had him stripped of honor and sent to the slums, never to work as a mercenary- or in any respectable profession- again.
And so began his second life as a pariah and a thief.

But the young panther could not have been thwarted so easily. He found his way into the palace on many occasions. He disguised himself as a servant, as a guard, and even as a nobleman, just to see his beloved for a few moments. Each time he was apprehended, the punishments became more severe. Prison, exile, execution. He escaped from each sentence in turn, honing his skills in stealth and evasion with each downturning of the duke's thumb. The prison time, though, had taken him the longest. That was where he had earned the moniker Shiv. The exile had only been to the wasteland of Necramala'at. That was where he was forced to learn extreme survival tactics.

He stole, cheated, and committed heinous crimes just to keep himself alive and sane. He was the bane of the duke's existence, and his darling bobcat sweetheart never stopped loving him for it.

Soon, though, came the Grays and the Gates. The duke was heavily invested in their construction, and payed well to discover what lay behind each. The Grays informed the Listeners of the designated gate of exile, and the duke pounced on the opportunity to rid himself of his biggest nuisance.
Shiv did not go through without a fight.
He put all his extensive training to use, and several fellow mercenaries lost their lives. Soon, though, a blow struck home to the base of his skull, and he was heaved through.
The gate, as we have seen, proved impassible from the opposite side. The Guardian beat him bloody time and again for his trouble.

“And not a day goes by I don't wish I could go back. I dare not leave the Gate... Maybe she'll come through as well. Goddess forbid the day Hesshebah suffers exile, but I'll be here to catch her if she does.

“This, here, is my third and final life. I've accepted it, and in time, so will you.”

Over the next week, Aeyvi began to accept her fate. She helped Shiv with butchering and tanning, sharpening his various implements of death, and learned to weave leather. He taught her all the basic skills of survival in the savannah, and eventually took her on her first proper hunt.

The bow was heavy for her young arms, and it took all her strength to draw the arrow, but she managed. She had been targeting knotholes and rodents for days. She felt she was ready.
Shiv hissed quietly, but it was enough to make her jump. He motioned for her to flatten back under the long grass, and she did, slowly.
He signaled to her with his calloused hands that the wind was shifting, and they needed to change their position. One or two tetrao raised their heads in wary vigilance.
It's difficult to describe exactly what a tetrao looks like to someone of our realm. They are, essentially, quadrapedal flightless birds the size of antelope. They resemble prairie grouse in face and plumage, but with four long and slender legs. The males sport small, twisted horns, and also puff out twin orange pouches in their necks, making a sort of thrumming musical sound when attracting a mate. Indeed, this odd chorus could be heard over the buzz of cicadas as several young tetrao vied for a prized doe.

Aeyvi signaled back they should creep around to the south to be downwind, and Shiv smiled and nodded. They slung their bows around their shoulders and slinked on all fours to the new position.
With utmost care they crept, tails low and ears swiveling. With every chirrup, every heavy footfall, they froze and waited. Aeyvi could feel their tension on the air, through the grass. She could feel when their watch lapsed. She could feel the rapid resting heartbeat of her prey.

They stopped, watched, and bided.

Soon, Aeyvi crouched, bunching her haunches beneath her, rose slightly, and drew both arrow and breath. She sighted her target, breath held, both dazzling eyes wide, pupils contracted in the morning sun. She exhaled, and let fly.

The prey-beasts leapt in their terrified grace, bounding to safety. The victim remained, an arrow through the neck. Its ear-feathers flicked, its orange eyes rolled, but it was paralyzed. Aeyvi yowled in triumph, leaping over the distance to her kill. She yanked loose the arrow, allowing the sweet and life-giving blood to flow free for her to lap. Shiv lifted her head by the bloody chin, plucked a feather from her mouth, and dipped the pads of his other hand in the sanguine pool. He traced the design of the warrior from the corner of her eyes to the edges of her nose, then the symbol of Sekhmet on her forehead. He nodded with satisfaction, and rose.

“Let's get 'er on the litter and get 'er home. We have 'till midday to have 'er plucked an' gutted.”
Aeyvi's eyes squinted in blissful pride. Her purr thundered in her thin throat.
“Come on, then, 'twas an elderly doe. Don't let yer tail grow too long.”

Her ears went to the sides and her purr faltered, but she kept her tail held in a high, proud arc. It was the biggest thing she had ever killed, and she wore the mark of a Huntress of Sekhmet. That day, she became a true lioness.

That night, they made a feast to honor Sekhmet. Shiv taught her the ritual and the song of prayer. They sang it to the crescent moon, and raised their bows in tribute. The offering was the heart, and they ate it together. Sekhmet is not one to allow her meat burnt or left for the blowflies. She wants her hunters to consume in her honor, and consume the prey warm but raw. The heart was soft and sweet and coppery. It was the best thing Aeyvi had ever tasted. To this day, after all the decadent fare she has encountered, nothing has tasted quite as good as her first offering to the Goddess of the Hunt.

Shiv sat next to the girl before their ritual fire, contemplating his silver claws. Aeyvi watched him, envious. He caught her line of sight and smirked.
“It's a special occasion enough, I trow.” He pulled his drinking horn from his belt, unstopped it, and handed it to her. She took it, giving him a nod of thanks. The rum was pungent and hot. Another flavor of victory. And yet, the more she thought about it, the less thrilling the hunt became.
She swigged again, and handed back the horn.
“You didn't make my clothes, Shiv.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her, and his ears swiveled to the sides.
“Yer point?”
Aeyvi folded her hands before her muzzle, staring into the coals.
“I know there's a village on the other side of those trees. And I know you're a thief.”
“Aye? And yer gonna judge me for acting on my own nature?”
She fixed him with those devious pools of opal, hands dropping to reveal a sharp-fanged grin.
“Judge you? I want to be your apprentice.”
Shiv scoffed and rose to leave. She seized his pant leg.
“I know you're better than the odd clothesline snatching. And I know you didn't trade for that rum. I can imagine those fine daggers and swords weren't forged for you.”
She rose, her head barely higher than his chest.
“Teach me. I have the raw skills, and I want to learn more.”
The old panther sniffed at her, tail lashing in annoyance.
“For one thing, ye don't make a habit a' stealin' from yer neighbors. Them clothes of thine won't be sore missed from the dryline. An' my rum is a trade, believe it or not. I grow things... things as ain't grown easily by anyone else. Traders make a livin' off the plants I grow, an' the concoctions I make of 'em.”
Aeyvi was nonplussed. “I want to learn your art. And I can pay.”

Shiv huffed at her, jerking his pant leg from her grasp.
“Ye have nothin' I want. And yer not ready, even if ye did. Ye want to ruin yerself, let that be yer own business.” He turned to leave, but hesitated. He looked back at her, brow smoothed slightly.
“We can start hard survival training tomorrow. I should pass that on to ye, if nothing else. Would that sate yer ravenous mind?”
Aeyvi grinned, poking the dying fire with a stick.
“For now.”

Chapter 4

Years passed quickly for teacher and student. Aeyvi learned much, adapted, and blossomed. When she had passed through the gate, her kitten's spots had just begun to fade. The gate, however, had altered her after all. By the age of sixteen, her spots should have vanished altogether, but they had instead darkened and become more distinct. Shiv, having never learned Aeyvi's proper name, had taken to calling her Freckles.

Aeyvi became an apex predator. Every arrow struck true. She learned more skills and crafts, and became quite self sufficient. Shiv taught her not only the finer points of salting and drying meats for long-term storage, but also about the various herbs he wild-gathered and cultivated. His garden thrived near a small fresh water spring at the mouth of a cave down by the shore. Within the cave, he harvested fungi and ferns which grew there naturally. He taught her how to fish with net, pole and spear. He taught her which tide pool dwellers were good to eat, and which were good only for harvesting poisons. Poisons were Shiv's specialty, but he avoided the topic when prodded.

Many times, the girl had sneaked into the small village to observe the beings who there dwelt. The more time she spent observing these creatures, the less she understood them. She was fascinated by these creatures who went about with their skin bare of fur, and whose rounded ears were situated on the sides of their heads rather than the tops. The crown and sides of their heads grew black mane of various lengths, not quite unlike a lion tom. Some of the males, she was surprised to find, grew a second mane on their faces. They walked about upright without tails, as Shiv did, but she didn't think theirs had been cut off or otherwise lost. Their infants didn't have them, so she had to assume they were simply born without tails at all. They had no claws, and their feet were not paws; they were more like bizarre, flattened hands. Most of the time, they wore odd strapped devices on them, as if to protect their footpads from the ground. They had no whiskers and small eyes, and their noses looked bizarre to her. They never scented her, even when she was upwind of them. They never heard her, even when she was careless in her movements. They must be very dull creatures, she thought. Mild of senses and quite unaware of their surroundings. She decided they must be prey beasts. She wouldn't deign to sample any of them; their stale scent was unappetizing.

She did, however, sample their foodstuffs and found them to be decadent. A substance they called “bread” was unlike anything she had ever tasted. They also had something called “butter” which went on the bread, but she enjoyed this delicacy a la carte. She had tried the sugared dates, but since cats cannot taste sugar or anything sweet, she did not care for them at all. She more enjoyed their broths and stewed meats.
Their language was clumsy and halting. She found it hard to mimic with her bristled tongue and sharp teeth. The more she listened, though, the more she could comprehend.

She hid her fascination from her mentor, as he had already forbidden her numerous times from visiting the village. Shiv called the creatures Ma'an, which means “out of favor” in the Ailurian tongue. He told her these creatures had once been more aware, but had offended Bast with their uncleanliness and wastefulness. She cursed them with night-blindness, muffled their ears and noses, and took away their whiskers, fur and tails. These deformed wretches went about life unknowing of their transgressions or their disabilities. They thought themselves high of mind and kings of all they purveyed. For this, they were also known as Mal'dan, or “foolish apes.” He was forced to speak and trade with the Ma'an, as they were the only people of speech and currency he had encountered.

While the old panther slept, Aeyvi would creep all the way to the far edge of the village, where the caravan came and went on occasion. Much farther than this, there was a long pier where the fishing boats and merchant sailors moored. She dreamt often of stowing away on a ship or in a covered cart, of being whisked away for places unknown. She dreamed of adventures like those Shiv read to her from the books and scrolls of Ma'an. She wanted to see the castles and the cities, places where everything was green and the trees towered out of sight. She wanted to see the things called “mountains,” and witness the phenomenon of “snow.”

She loved the way the “hero” of the story was portrayed, valiant and noble. She wanted to hear stories like that about thieves. Alas, no such tale seemed to exist. She could not imagine why the guile and genius of the knave didn't evoke grand tales of heroism. She was intrigued with the idea of writing her own story in a book, as the Ma'an so often did. She wanted more than anything to be that brave, evasive rogue, and to write about her adventures. She wanted to inspire others as she was inspired by the life story of her teacher.

One day in late summer, Shiv and Aeyvi took to the grassland to hunt meat for the week. They were surprised to find a high fence had been erected in their absence. Within the confines of the fence grazed their tetrao prey.
The Ailurians looked at one another in confusion. The wooden fence made no sense. They promptly tore down a portion of it, and proceeded within.
They stalked the flock for some time, noticing a strange scent about the area within the fence. Aeyvi rose and drew an arrow, inhaling for release. Suddenly, a harsh voice shouted something in the language of Ma'an, startling her into letting the arrow fly wayward and scaring the flock. She swore, rising with lashing tail. Forth came several Ma'an in soldier garb, angrily brandishing curved sabers. Shiv rose and countered in their clumsy tongue, laying down his bow and showing them his empty palms. Aeyvi did the same.
She caught a word here and there. She understood that the Mal'dan thought the tetrao were their own, and that the cats were trespassing. Shiv was calmly trying to explain that he had hunted these grounds for years, and that the tetrao were his primary source of food.

The soldiers countered that an alpha Ma'an called a “Lord” now owned the land, and the cats were no longer welcome to anything upon it.
She heard the word “beasts” flung at them with sharp disdain from a Mal'dan's floppy mouth. She knew this word. It enraged her. She snarled, ears back, then bellowed a full-throated roar. The soldiers stumbled back, startled. She bared her claws, lips curled to expose her deadly fangs.
“Not... Beast.” she spat in their own primitive words. “Beast are Mal'dan. Beast are YOU!”

Shiv seized her bicep, tugging her behind him. He lowed apologies, bowing his head with ears flat. They took up their weapons and left. Aeyvi, however, looked back and gave them the death glare. They were marked as wastemeat. She vowed quietly that she would find them, they and their foolish alpha, and feed them to the maggots.

The days following were lean ones. The Ailurians were forced to live off of lesser prey beasts. They trapped rodents and vulture-drakes, but these provided only little, tough sustenance. They often had to compete for their meals with the endai- a grassland gryphon of leopard and secretary bird. They fished when they could, but Mal'dan had claimed the shore and sea as well. They over-fished the waters closest to shore, and their boats increased in number. They chased the cats off with spears whenever they tried to cast nets or line too soon after dusk or too soon before dawn. Day had become a time of hiding.

Shiv tried traveling farther into the savannah to find unclaimed herds, but the fence reached to the edge of the grasslands. Beyond the boundary lay the realm of the manticore and wyvern. The competition there proved more dire than that with the Mal'dan, and he was forced to retreat empty-handed.

An Ailurian cannot survive on plant matter alone, but vegetation became a large part of their diet. They became weakened, and their bowels protested. It soon became apparent that something must be done, or they would face extinction.

“You must teach me your art.” Aeyvi insisted one midday over the pipe. She had carved her own from a small, twisted tetrao horn. It was a cherished reminder of what they had lost.
“If we do not steal, we will starve. We could trade with the Mal'dan if we had their currency. You know the traders have stopped seeking your herbs and infusions. We have no more hides or bone left to barter.” She handed him the pipe, and he accepted with a wavering paw.
“I do not wish that life for you, Freckles.” he rasped. “Yer a huntress. Ye've proven your aptitude for it many times over. Sekhmet favors you. But she has no power over the foolish hunger of Mal'dan. He spites 'er with his waste.” He drew the herbal smoke deeply, seeking comfort in its stinging warmth.
“We need Bast's favor, then! If Sekhmet can no longer aid us, then Bast will. She of stealth and shadow, she of luck and wealth!”
Shiv looked sadly into the ashes. Aeyvi placed her hand upon his, lowering the pipe.
“No more. We need our wits.”
He lifted his head, meeting her eyes with beaten shame.
“You must teach me. We are beyond the pleasantries of adhering to law. Their law.”
The old panther sighed deeply, and nodded.
“You're right. I would be a mal'vith* to continue lying to myself.”
He set about putting up his hammock, emaciated and weak.
“Tonight, you begin your dark training.” Shiv croaked, his voice heavy with defeat.

*Mal'vith- foolish cat

For three hours nightly, Aeyvi received lessons in knavery. She swiftly mastered pickpocketing and the smuggling of larger objects. She learned how to muffle metal from clinking, she learned how to incapacitate a being without raising alarm. He taught her the finer points of being unseen, and how to use the smallest of shadows to her advantage. Here, there was a sort of magic. In a way, she could cast a spell to avert the eyes of any who might otherwise spot her.
Once she had completed these lessons, he had her put them into practice. With Shiv's supervision, she snatched the coinpurses of many soldiers and merchants. While, Shiv cautioned, it was never good practice to steal from one's own neighbors, these creatures had broken the barrier of courtesy. As long as they didn't take too much from any one person, or from the wrong types of people, the thievery would go- for the most part- unnoticed.

They were able to buy the meat and fish they needed.
Soon, though, the villagers were becoming wary. Several purses were set with trap-spells, and many began to wear their purses around their necks.

The cats had to resort to stealing their provisions directly. This proved more difficult, but they succeeded. Aeyvi realized the rush that came with thievery magnified with the size of the object stolen, and also with the chance of discovery.
She almost wished to be caught by a Mal'dan, just so she would have the excuse to slit its grubby neck. Her fascination with these hairless apes had waned. She despised them deeply. She was sick of the musty-sour stink that clung the objects she took from them. She hated everything about them. She desired to see their combined demise.

Despite himself, Shiv began to feel welling pride in his student. Her cunning and ingenuity surprised him nightly. He wouldn't admit it to her, but she made a fine rogue. She added to the profession an art and style that made it seem honorable, and almost heroic. His feelings of guilt and reluctance faded as her skills improved.

But as her thievery became bolder and more extensive, the Mal'dan began to suspect the cats. One night, two guards had been placed in the copse of trees between the hovel and the village. Sneaking by them proved easy, but slinking back with their prizes proved difficult. The guards finally detected them, and they had to dodge arrows and drop their burdens. It was then the Ailurians knew their nightly heists would have to cease.

Shiv realized the time had come for more drastic measures.

Chapter 5

Shiv led his apprentice into the seaside cave on an overcast night of a new moon. He silenced her with a hand every time she drew breath to ask a question. Upon reaching the innermost room of the cave, Shiv struck a light. Their pupils narrowed to vertical slits in the sudden illumination, but neither blinked.
Revealed was Shiv's small laboratory. It was crude, and many of his implements rudimentary. He took from their peg a pair of thick leather gloves and donned them.

“Manticore leather. First and last time I ever slew such a fiend. Their hide can withstand the most caustic of substances, as they like to congregate where the earth belches sulfur.”

He produced an odd goggled mask of tarnished copper from a cubby in the stone counter before him, and situated it over his eyes and muzzle. Aeyvi fought the urge to giggle, as this mask made him look like a bizarre, long-billed bird.

“This is an apothecary's mask. It will prevent me from accidentally inhaling chemicals. I only have the one, so you will have to use this...” He handed her a cloth, signing for her to place it before her mouth and nose.
With protection in place, he motioned for Aeyvi to stand back, and began uncovering various crates and cupboards of vials and alchemical equipment. He tapped the surface of the raised plane before him.
“This is polished obsidian. Stone is the least reactive element, and obsidian is the least reactive stone in this realm. It cannot absorb volatile substances. You can clean it and be sure it will not retain poison. It is the only substance of which you can be absolutely sure is clean of poison after you clean it. Remember this.”
He began to place vials, jars, and bottles on the obsidian with utmost care.

“Poison is a branch of alchemy that describes many types of substances. The basic categories are toxins, venoms, acids, illusionaries, illnesses and irritants. These can be applied, injected, scattered, or otherwise dispersed as liquid, powder, gel, paste, smoke, steam, mist, or solid mass. It is vital that you treat poison with reverent respect at all times. You must at all times be aware of anything it touches. You see the precautions I have taken Just to handle the components. One drop, one grain, one whiff of any of these substances could damage you permanently or kill you on the spot.”
Aeyvi noticed that when Shiv spoke of alchemy, his accent became more refined. He sounded like a well-read scholar instead of a back-alley rogue.
He continued his lecture, showing the girl the various substances and the raw ingredients necessary to make the poison. He described application and handling, bottling and effects.
“Everything from mild irritation to instant death.” he explained. “Distraction to paralysis; itching to agony. You don't always have to kill your victim. It can sometimes be useful to merely incapacitate or deter the target.”

For several weeks, he schooled her in the deadly alchemy.

During the day, they practiced blowing darts into sea birds and vermin. He taught her how to poison a dagger, and that the slightest scratch could incapacitate the victim. He showed her how to burn a soaked torch upwind and take out a small group with smoke. Aeyvi protested that these simple methods would not be enough to thin the Mal'dan's numbers, and begged to be taught more martial arts. Shiv would not relent.

The panther began forming tactics based on his observations of the Mal'dan's movements. He chose targets strategically, laid out a detailed plan of attack. He versed the girl in the locations and the specific Mal'dan to take out. No part of his plan involved actual death.

“We need only send a message. We want them to respect us as equals, and make them believe there are more of us. They will be less inclined to retaliate if they don't know our number. The first thing to go will be the fence and their hunting camp within the perimeter.”

Aeyvi dropped her hand heavily onto the map he had sketched in the dust of the hovel floor.
“Shiv, you're not telling me the backup plan should our distraction fail. If they get the jump on us, we'll be helpless. I'll be helpless. You need to teach me the way of the dagger and sword. I need to be able to defend myself.”

The panther bared his teeth, ears flattening. “Child, ye ask for something I will not give ye. Yer a huntress. Not a warrior, not an assassin. A huntress defends her territory as a huntress. If our plan should fail, we retreat. If they catch us out, I will defend us both. Why do ye constantly ask for the one thing I dare not give? It is a dark request. Ask it not again. Now, repeat the plan as I've marked it.”

They waited till most of the lamps in the village had been extinguished, and set out for the fence with their implements. They dragged jugs of catalyst on litters, using the pall of darkness to conceal their clumsy progress. It took them half the night, but they distributed the catalyst along a great portion of the fence. Aeyvi then slipped inside the perimeter while Shiv stood by with flint and steel at the ready.
With immaculate stealth, Aeyvi approached the camp of the Mal'dan soldiers. They were gathered around a stump, playing at sticks and stones and drinking from skins. They were so boisterous in their laughter and oaths, she felt she could have tromped up wearing a dragon's feet and they wouldn't have noticed.

She set up her apparatus: a delicate arrangement of sticks suspending a thin bone bowl over a small brazier. She lit the brazier, and poured from a flask a blue fluid into the suspended bowl. Once finished, she moved several yards and set up another such device. The night breeze did the rest of the work for her. Once three had been erected, the steam was roiling from the bowls. A blue mist crawled into the camp. Aeyvi let loose the cry of an owlcat, signaling Shiv to light the catalyst.

By the time the soldiers noticed the mist, they had already been inhaling it. Soon, they began to go mad. Whatever horrors the Mal'dan beheld, Aeyvi couldn't guess. They screamed and ran in useless circles, demolishing their tents and trampling their own fire. They beat upon one another with desperate terror; they dropped to the ground, curled into balls and wailed. They were helpless to stop the fire that grew and devoured miles of their precious fence.
The cats had already left at this point to carry out the next phase of the plan.

Twelve guards patrolled the village boundary. One by one, they were darted and put into deep sleep. With the aid of a kiri burden beast, the Ailurians dragged them to the far side of the village. With a slap to the kiri's flank, they were banished to the desert, bounced and jostled behind the beast's loping gait. They left for the villagers a sign in the Mal'dan's drawn sounds.

“We are not beasts. We are beings of thought and of power. We ask for respect and for our prey. Take them from us again at peril, for we will not again be so forgiving.”

The next day, the cats found their old hunting grounds deserted, and the fence around their portion demolished. They were free to hunt the flocks of tetrao. To their dismay, they found the flocks diminished.

That midday while Shiv slept, Aeyvi went boldly into the village. She strolled through the market with quiet nonchalance, and the Mal'dan eyed her warily. Her understanding of the language was barely enough that she was able to engage one in simple conversation.

“So... soldiers have left?” she asked the tender of a bread and wine stall.
“Ya. They left last night. Nary a word. Glad to see them go.”
Aeyvi raised her brow at this. “Glad? How why?”
“That lord has been taxing us blind. Those soldiers demanded a high price for 'protection.' Then, they took what they pleased from our storehouses, and even stole our very purses from our belts! I tell you, I'm glad they've left. Found a sign on t'edge of town... Odd message. No one knows who left it.”
This troubled Aeyvi for a moment, but in light of what she had just learned, the message was not for the Ma'an of the village. She felt the Mal'dan would understand what the Ma'an did not. Ironic.

Her hatred of the race as a whole dwindled a bit that day. It was an odd thing to realize, that Ma'an could be like Ailurians- composed of good and bad individuals. Still, she reserved suspicion for them. Many still regarded her as an animal, and the bread and wine stallkeeper was the only one that did not eye her warily or shoo her away. It struck her as odd, though, that no one found her altogether strange. It may have been their familiarity with Shiv, but she suspected they had seen more of her kind than just the two of them. She tried to ask if anyone had seen her brother, but her broken understanding of the language prevented her from making her questions understood. That, and to a Ma'an, all cats look alike. All Ma'an smelled alike to her, so she didn't blame them for the misconception.

After their midday repose, the cats set about marking their reclaimed territory. They scratched grooves in and rubbed their faces against trees and boulders. These actions were merely ceremonial, as Mal'dan cannot smell the scent left as a marker. They celebrated their victory in the abandoned Mal'dan camp, drinking their forsaken wine and feasting on their forsaken provisions. Shiv found a small sachet of Mal'dan smoking herb, something they called “tabac”. He tried it in his pipe and found it harsh and revolting. He nearly heaved up his lunch. He threw the sachet far into the savannah, and wondered at the vile pleasures of Mal'dan. The wine, however, was stomachable.

The weeks that followed were blissfully uneventful. The cats returned to their comfortable lifestyle of hunting and tanning, gardening and alchemy. Aeyvi's training in the deadlier alchemical studies shifted to more medicinal shades. While Shiv slept, however, she took to practicing with the blade. She didn't trust the quiet and lull; she didn't trust the general indifference of the Ma'an villagers. She could smell retaliation on the westerly wind.
As the months passed, though, she slipped into a sort of complacence. It is, unfortunately, the way of cats to enjoy habit and schedule.

One day in late winter, Shiv was at his alembic and Aeyvi was chipping flint arrowheads. The cave was cooler this time of year, but no place in the savannah was ever truly cold. The sun had only just risen, and at the mouth of the cave, Aeyvi could see the early morning fisherman industrious at their nets.
The acrid aroma of Shiv's concoction overpowered any other smell, but Aeyvi found it familiar and almost a comfort. It was his usual sleep blend of catnip, valerian, hops, skullcap and chamomile, concentrated to a black syrup. Ma'an sought it for a dear price. It occurred to Aeyvi that Ma'an suffered troubled thoughts on a constant basis, and often needed the aid of a potion to get them to sleep. Barring any immediate danger, a cat can sleep wherever and whenever she pleases. Worry is frivolous and wasteful of time and mind. A cat cannot naturally worry about anything unless it is present and pressing.
It is for this reason that they did not suspect the Mal'dan to retaliate, especially not that lackadaisical morning.

As I had said, the concoction was strong-smelling, and Shiv could smell nothing else- especially through the thick filter of his apothecary's mask. Aeyvi, however, did catch the faint tinge of smoke at her seat in the mouth of the cave. She lowered the flint in her hand, nose to the wind and mouth slightly ajar in flehmming*.
“Shiv...”
“Not now, Freckles. Delicate process. Hold a moment.”
She rose, dropping the arrowhead. Her tail switched, the puff at the end flaring in alarm.
“Shiv, there's a fire.”
“Probably those heathens burning another offering to their Mal'dan god.”
“No...” she sniffed again, heavily. “It's our things.”

Shiv set aside his bottle and vial, removing the mask swiftly. He strode to the mouth of the cave, and flehmmed for himself. The hair on his neck and back stood on end, and his ears flattened in alarm. He rushed back into the cave, tossing aside his gloves, and seized his dagger, sword, and hunting pouch. He handed her the dagger, then quickly removed his silver claws from their pouch.
“Put that in yer belt. We'll want to put out the fire first. Dirt. Loads of it. Kick it or toss it, but quickly. Then we'll take the enemy, if 'e's not too cowardly to stay and answer for 'is misdeed.”
Aeyvi nodded, ears swiveling in anxiety.
“I'm not ready for this, Shiv. I'm not trained...”
“Yer a cat, are ye not? Ye have claws and teeth, ye can kick if knocked to the ground. Sekhmet will guide yer paws, Bast will guide yer dagger, an' that's enough for now.”
They set off at a sprint for the hovel.

Their home was ablaze, and the perpetrators nowhere in sight. They were able to douse the flames with dirt and sand, but there was little left that wasn't ash. Aeyvi's rich clothing had been stolen, for she could not find the metal and jeweled bits among the debris. Her circlet, however, was still safe in its hiding place, as was the remaining stash of Shiv's weaponry. The interior of the compartment holding Shiv's hammock remained untouched.
Aeyvi pulled her pipe from the ashes, and dusted it off. It was intact, but charred black where it was once a greyish ivory. She gripped it, tail slashing violently at the air. She growled low curses, and looked up at Shiv with tears of rage in her vibrant eyes.
“Will you still refuse me training? After this? Do you still believe the Mal'dan are so easily defeated by mere poisoning?”
He remained silent, dragging a silver claw in the ashes. Then, he spake five quiet words:

“Now, it will be war.”
And that night, he relented.

*flehmming- A feline method of smelling deeply with mouth slightly ajar to expose the Jacobson organ- a redundant olfactory sensory node at the roof of the mouth, immediately behind the front teeth.

“The first thing ye need to learn about killing a two-legged beast like Mal'dan is that stalking yer victim requires multitudes greater stealth. It's not like stalking a prey beast or picking pockets. At some point, ye'll need to make the killing move, and it's no delicate thing.”

Shiv had strung up a tetrao carcass from the top of the cave. They had abandoned the homeplace and set up camp there in the dank and dark. Shiv felt it was fitting for the lessons he had then to teach.
“Ye need to put force into it. Yer whole body. Stab for the kidneys, the lungs, the heart. Kidneys are easiest, as ye don't have to aim betwixt ribs. Once ye make yer first Mal'dan kill, we can practice with it so ye can familiarize yerself with the placement of the ribs and such.”
She lunged at the carcass, gripping the dagger as he had shown her.
“Loose yer wrist, like it was greased. Keep it loose right up to the thrust. Then tense for impact. That's the way.”
Aeyvi grinned, pulling the dagger from her target. Shiv, however, remained stoic.
“Now, combine the neck slash with the kidney stab, one-two.”
She rose up, slitting the tetrao's neck, then thrust swiftly into its back. Shiv nodded.
“Again.”

He had her practicing such exercises since sunset, and she was tiring. By sunrise, she collapsed to catch her breath between each lesson.

“Recite the conditions of a basic ambush kill on a single victim.” Shiv commanded.
“Solitary target, dim light sources, keep to the darkest shadows with perception dampening spell.” She croaked, utterly exhausted.
“And given these conditions, how do you proceed?”
“Wait for distraction, pounce from posterior. Muffle its mouth. Slit throat with swift, fluid slide, low pressure. Pierce kidney with a solid thrust, high pressure. Pull the victim back into the shadows, lowering gently.”
“And what should you be the while?”
“Always alert, ears to all directions, nostrils flared, whiskers rigid, aware of my peripherals.”
He nodded again, his only praise.
“Get some rest, we'll resume in two hours. Ye should be ready for yer first assassination by nightfall.”

Indeed, that night she felt ready. She had envisioned her kill in every exercise, dreamt of it when she slept, and prepared herself for the added risk. She made prayers to both Bast and Sekhmet, as the Mal'dan had offended them both. She felt that, with both goddesses on her side, she could not fail.
They crept upon the Mal'dan soldiers' newly-made camp, and immediately they noticed a change in their targets. They wore metal masks over their mouths and noses, and they stood watchful with swords drawn. None sat or spoke, none drank or ate. All were alert... or as alert as a Mal'dan can be with its dulled senses and numbed mind.

Aeyvi's nostrils flared rhythmically as she trod on silent pads, closing the distance between herself and the back of a soldier. She flipped her dagger and longknife, so that she gripped them with points to the ground and blades facing her, just as practiced. Her heart was pounding in her throat and ears, her breath tingled in her chest, shooting bright light into her hands and feet. She was an exposed nerve, alive with sensation and anticipation, and a small amount of dread.
A cat in the moment of the kill sees the world at a faster rate than any other creature. This is why the world, for her, slowed.
It was, however, that small amount of dread she felt in her gut that caused her to hesitate for a fraction of a moment. Caused her hand to falter with the dagger, and lose her grip as she drew it across the throat of the Mal'dan. It left a minor laceration, and clattered to the ground. The Mal'dan began to turn... and she quickly thrust the longknife into its back. Because she had done this in panic and haste, she stabbed too high and too close to the spine. The Mal'dan fell upon her dagger, and the longknife was lodged between spine and ribcage. She could not retrieve either.
The other soldiers had already turned on her, moving slowly in her perception as if through thick, transparent pitch. She had a small eternity in which to react, but she was momentarily frozen. All her training drained from her, and Bast looked away.
Sekhmet opened her fiery eyes, and her pupils narrowed.

Aeyvi's muzzle split in a sharp snarl. She flexed her claws into the fresh corpse beneath her, and her haunches coiled. She sprang at her enemies, sank her claws and fangs into sour-sweet flesh. All was instinct and fury. The blood was acrid and bitter on her fine-bristled tongue, but she felt primal delight in spilling more of it, breaking the flesh and letting it spurt.
Her jaws felt as if they had unhinged, allowing her to close her powerful jaws around the entire neck of her prey. There was a spark of intense satisfaction as she felt her teeth separate the tubes and cords and vertebrae. Her bare claws were the perfect tools for disembowelment. She didn't hear the screams. She didn't hear the idiot-burble of pleas or prayers. She heard her own steady, heavy pulse. She heard the snapping of bone and the tearing of entrails. She heard the splattering of gore.

Shiv, too, looked away in regret. She had become the thing she had protested she was not in her own victim's tongue.

After the fire of feline ferocity subsided to coals, Aeyvi felt no remorse. She felt victorious. She drew the sign of the huntress on her forehead and the sides of her snout in foul Mal'dan blood, and scratched her own mark in the tent posts.

Shiv stood by, watching as his student lashed parts of her victims to a kiri burdenbeast.
“You have failed, Freckles.” he said softly.
“I failed using one method and succeeded using another. That is all.”
“How can you be so blind? This is not how the battle is won.”
“No.” she growled with lowered head, fixing him with those merciless slivers of opal. “This is how one wins a war.”
She slapped the kiri's flank, and it bleated before darting off through the long grass.
“Dumb beasts always go home.”
“Aye? And what does a smart one do?” Shiv asked with an edge of scorn. “Has all my teaching fallen on deaf ears? Have I wasted four years trying to teach you how to be civil, and to act with tact? I know you faltered in a clean kill, but you didn't have to abandon your brain in the process. One death. One death to send a message. Quiet, quick, precise. You were to leave without being detected. When you slipped with the dagger, you should have retreated. I know you could have.”
“I didn't want to.”
“It doesn't matter what you want!” the panther roared. His blue eye blazed, and his green eye shed a bitter tear, darkening further his dark cheek.
“I will not allow you to be selfish and reckless again. We already face execution for your little tantrum here. More will come, and they will be the hunters. Mal'dan fear an assassin. They abhor a savage beast. They will not suffer a Ma'aneater to live.”
She turned away from him, licking at her bloody claws with indifference.
He slapped her hand away, gripping her face in a massive paw.
“We will be exterminated. That's what they do. They surround and kill that which annoys them. If you kept to the shadows, if you'd done as we planned, we could handle them. They are helpless in uncertainty. They are a much more dire force when openly provoked.”
Aeyvi tore away from his grasp, his cut claws scraping her cheek.
“They will not defeat us. They cannot defeat me. Sekhmet empowers me, she moves my claws and teeth. Nothing can kill me.”
Shiv shook his head, turning away from her.
“Go back to the cave and get your things. You are released from your apprenticeship.”
She was aghast at first, then outraged.
“Fine, then! You are a weak teacher!”
“Not weak. Smart. I escape. I live to fight another day. You will die and I don't care to watch, so go. I'll return to the cave at sunrise, so you should be gone by then.

And he left her to stand in the mess of her handiwork.

Chapter 6

Shiv spent that night in the burnt hollow which he once called home. He dwelt deeply on his past. Often, he had wondered what his children would have been like, had he sired any, and felt they would be much like his young apprentice.

She was not his daughter, though. Had she ever been something like his own seed, she had strayed far from it that night.
He mourned her death, because he had to. If he did not accept her as a corpse then, he would surely go mad with rage the day the Mal'dan exacted their revenge upon her.

At dawn when he returned, the girl's few possessions were absent from the cave. He lit a brush of sage, and cleansed the area of her scent and her tainted aura.
He then set to busying himself with his various cultivations and concoctions. He would have to create something to synthesize the meat he would be lacking once his stores were depleted, and had much experimentation before he had a successful product. When one faces a dire situation which cannot be avoided, all one can do is occupy their time productively.

And so he worked at his herbs, fungi and chemicals while his ousted student found refuge in an abandoned and overturned fishing boat, both waiting for nightfall and what the darkness would bring.

Aeyvi sharpened her dagger and longknife with slow, practiced ease. Her cold eyes focused on the edge of each blade, on the moisture the charcoal-colored whetting stone left behind. Her thoughts were likewise cold and sharp, and her surroundings likewise damp and inhospitable. She played out her plans, applying new logic to her changed situation. Again and again she reminded herself that she would be alone in her actions; that she needed no other. She buried her fear and uncertainty deep within, exhaled her anxious nerves with every slow breath.
That night, she thought, she would not falter. No hesitation, no mercy, no fear. It became a mantra, a background rhythm to the dark dirge of her focused meditation.
And when the sun began to set, she was prepared- mind, body and weaponry. She donned her protective face mask, tightened her various belts, and set out in perfect silence.

The outraged lord sent forth a troop of twenty of his most seasoned soldiers. They combed the savannah, they swept through the village, and they scoured the shoreline. They found no trace of the beasts they hunted, and returned to the scene of the previous night's incident. There they gathered to discuss what was to be done next, based on what they could discern from the mess left behind. While they were wasting breath theorizing and passing around ideas, cool eyes were coldly calculating.

“We burnt out their lair, they should be helpless in the open.” one offered.
“So they've found another lair. One we've not yet found.” another returned.
“We've searched all of the lord's lands. They've not made another lair anywhere nearby.” a third observed. They obviously hadn't seen past Shiv's camouflage at the mouth of his cave.
“Perhaps they've moved away, then?” the first asked.
“Wishful thinking, footpad.” scolded the supposed leader of the group. “They wouldn't have bothered to scratch out that sign for us if they were leaving.”
“They might,” another began, “if they were trying to throw us off.”
“If they were going to leave anyway, they would have no reason to throw us off, now, would they?” the leader said, and clapped the lesser soldier upside the head for his trouble.
“They can't hide that well,” he continued, “so we must search east of the etherium zone.”
The huddled group gasped and groaned, and otherwise made noises of objection. This is why no one heard the muffled sounds of surprise as one of their number was taken.
“No one goes near there! The gray ghost stands there, next to the portal to the netherworld! There's no way a pack of dumb cats would-”
His response was drowned out in another chorus of idiotic, lowing dispute, and another of their number was silently taken down and dragged away without notice.

The leader hushed the group, hands splayed. “Now, there's no way any of us can assume what a cat-man would or wouldn't do. We're going to search east of the etherium zone, and no one need go within fifty paces of the nether gate, nor the dim guard watching it. You lot ken?”
They mumbled reluctant assent, and their group shrank by two members.
“Now then, once there, we will search the cliff face not twice but thrice. These cat men favor recesses and caves, and they blend in with sand and rock. Our best tactic would be to smoke them out. I want to see brush placed at every cave entrance...”
Two throats cut, one back stabbed, and the group was three fewer without being the wiser. The leader continued without pause.
“Who here has a flint and steel?”
Two soldiers raised fist, but it would have been five had three not had their necks broken the moment before.
“Oh, bother. Each soldier should have a basic survival kit! I don't know how many times I need to remind you lot. Right, then, gather round the map.”
The remaining fifteen soldiers huddled around the small makeshift table to see.

“Cliff starts here. We're going to approach it in the middle, and sweep both ways. Twenty north and nineteen south. Brush is abundant both directions. Gather it at every possible hiding nook, and each group will share one flint an' steel because you're all milk-drinking babes longing for the tit and you didn't bring you're own.”
He looked up for emphasis.
“You lot get that?”

He was surprised to see his group gape-mouthed and vacant of expression. He sneered.
“Oi! This isn't a joke! Ye'd be back in Jinketta diggin' ditches if not for me! Now, straighten your idiot faces and let's get a move on.”
None of them moved. He reached over and slapped the nearest. The corpse fell from the delicate balance of the spear that was propping it up.

The mercenary, hardened from years of discipline, war, and hard living, shrieked like a woman and stumbled backward several steps. All of his men... his remaining men... were propped up by their own spears, hanging limp and lifeless.
He heard a soft, comforting sound close to his ear- the warm, thrumming vibration of a contented cat.
“Je'anne vah, akune kusuth, Mal'dan*” he heard through the purr, and he felt the cold sting of a dagger biting into his throat.
Then, he knew no more.

* translation: “Sleep softly now, wake screaming in hell, foolish ape.”

The trail they left was easy to follow. It was as if they had dragged themselves by their hands the whole way. Mal-mal'dan, she thought.

The lord resided in a lavish tent near the construction site of his mansion. Slaves worked on its erection day and night, some without sleep, most without food or proper drink. Mercenaries and slave drivers patrolled the area with torches and whips respectively. The lord sat on his silken cushions and ate delicacies of the desert, drinking fermented nectar, and flatulating into his pristine pantaloons.
He was, at that moment, sleepily watching his dancing girls weave their lithe, tan bodies to the tempo of his minstrels' flute and drum. The nectar was making him drowsy, and soon he tired of his entertainment. He waved them all away, and they swiftly quit the tent.
He sighed in decadent complacence, and attempted to blow out his lamp. He was too fat to rise of his own power. He rang the little bell he kept around his neck, and a servant hurried into his room.
“How may one be of assistance to his elegance?” the unic inquired.
“Do put out that lamp. And bring me my face mask and cotton. I wish to retire.”
“Immediately, your elegance.” the unic did as bid, and then left to retrieve the requested items.
A minute passed. Then another. Then, yet another. The lord grew impatient, shifting his considerable mass in discomfort. He rang his little bell again. No eager servant rushed to his summons.
“Unic! Where is my mask and cotton?”
Silence, an entire five minutes of it. Unacceptable!
“Guard!” he shouted, rattling his little bell with all of his cellulite-weakened might, quite irate. Answer came there none. He huffed to himself, making vows to have all his servants, guards, and any within earshot flogged before him.

Outside the lavish tent, bodies littered the sand. Pooled blood reflected the crescent moon and waning stars. A veil of clouds drifted lazily across the zenith, and what little light they shed was blotted out.

Aeyvi was no longer a body of solid bone and sinew. She was fluid death, flowing from one victim to the next in easy, silent efficiency. The only sound she made was that soft, irresistible purr of feline delight.
She sidled up behind the head slave driver, a mountain of simian muscle, and slipped her blade betwixt his beefy thighs. The slight nick she made in his sciatic artery was not even sensed. By the time he felt the warm blood trickling down his leg, and the lightheadedness of anemia, it was already too late.

And soon, she stood before her final victim.

The lord had been ringing his bell with frantic insistence when the silk door was brushed aside, and a figure stepped into his quarters.
“You will be flogged for your late arrival.” he said dropping his bell to his chest and attempting to fold his sausage-like arms in disapproval. He was only able to clasp his hands.
“Now, do you have my mask and cotton?”
The figure was silent for some time. As the lord had asked for his lamp to be doused, he could not see its face. Only the angular outline of an odd, two-pointed hat. The head wearing this odd hat tilted, and the hat's points appeared to move.
“This?” it said in an odd, growling voice.
“This what? Do you have them or not?”
The shadow shook its head. “This is lord Mal'dan? Who make so much... ahhan'ik dahl*? Surely no.”
The lord was perplexed. “I don't know these words. Speak plainly, slave, as you've been taught.”
Suddenly, the form had moved very close, and he felt the sting of cold metal at a crease of his triple-chin.
“Not slave. Never slave. Vith'ha dek**. You remember. Vith.”
The lord, alarmed reached for his bell to call the guard. Aeyvi ripped it from him, tearing his soft skin and causing him to squeak.
“I... I don't unders-” he wheezed as the blade pressed into his flabby neck.
“You are only lord of this desert, yes?” she asked quietly.
His eyes rolled, both terrified and confused. “Yes! Yes, I own the holdings from the river basin to the cliffs of the Etherium! Under the rule of her Eminence, the Rahni...”
She nodded, and slit his throat. Unfortunately, she did not hit his artery on the first try. She had to saw at the fat for a minute or so before fatally wounding him, and giggled at his girlish screaming and pathetic, useless flailing while she did so.

All of them. All of them were finally dead. She exited the tent, and breathed deep the fresh, warm breeze of waxing dawn. It was, and will forever be, the scent she associates with victory. The smell of sand, savannah grass, and the copper tang of freshly-spilled blood.

It was then she felt... something alien and feral well up within her. She heard the beckoning call of the desert, and answered it with a loud, triumphant roar.
Her senses left her then, for she remembered no more.

* “empty-belly clawing”- a figure of speech used to describe a struggle for resources.
**Roughly translated, “big cat who bites all necks.” A term for alpha.

Blurred light, indistinct sound... the sting of dryness. Aeyvi's eyes were squeezed painfully shut, and the breath she gasped through her cracked nose stabbed at her sinuses. Her head lolled on the folded blanket as she struggled to regain consciousness.

“Ye survived.” Shiv remarked from his seat nearby, sharpening one of the two longknives with which she returned.
Her eyes still stubbornly refused to open, and pain throbbed behind them. As she became more alert, more areas of her body reported pain. She reached out to feel around her blindly, and a hand took hers to guide it. Her hand was lead to a bowl, and she heard a sloshing sound. She swiftly pulled herself to the bowl and plunged her face into it, gulping down the cool water, letting it cut the grime that glued her eyes shut.
Refreshed, she fell back into the rudimentary bed, letting her eyes adjust.

“Ye've been asleep for a day. Missing for a week before that.” Shiv blew on the blade, eying the cutting edge, then took the whetting stone to it again. “I'll assume ye've done ah'zactly what I forbade.”
The girl dragged dry palm pads across her face, trying to remember precisely what she had done.
“A week?”

“Yes. And the Mal'dan seem to have vanished. Townsftolken seem right pleased about it.”
He examined the knife again, wiping it clean with the tail of his shirt, and set it aside.
“Ye can't be a one-queen* army, Freckles. I expected ye'd be dead. The Goddesses were on yer side once. Don't count on 'em to carry you through every battle.”

Aeyvi rolled painfully to her side, regarding her mentor through red-ringed eyes.
“I only remember the one night, Shiv. And yet, you say I've been a week away.”
“Aye.” he replied, staring at his old, chafed hands. “Prolly went with the moon.”

Aeyvi had heard this expression while she was living with her fellow courtesans. She understood it had something to do with the monthly urges she had felt since the age of twelve. Wild needs to run screaming through long grass, or climb quickly to the smallest branches of a tree. And always that bizarre burning in her gut and nether regions. She knew what it meant, and had remained innocent. But now...

“How could I have... done that? You're the only other Ailurian in the grasslands.”
“Only Ailurian, aye. Not the only cat.”

Aeyvi felt a stabbing sensation betwixt her thighs, and a fragment of memory returned to her. She hastily pushed it away, and decided to avoid the thought indefinitely.

*Queen is a term for female cat.