Cassanya looked up as she heard the soft flutter, the dawn light shining in her eyes.

“Well hello there, Woody,” she smiled, holding up her strong leonin arm as the raven alighted upon it, the small patch of white feathers upon his forehead making him quite unmistakable. Something bumped against her arm, and she realised that he had a small package tied to his leg.

“Whatever are you doing here?” she asked softly, carrying the raven to a nearby tree stump so that he could hop onto it. With both hands free, she untied the package. Unfolding the cloth, she found a note, written rather hastily by the look of the handwriting, and a small metal device. About half an inch deep, two inches across, circular, and with a glass top it had obviously been very carefully made. It contained a metal arrow, apparently balanced upon a needle in the space under the glass. Mystified, Cassanya decided to read the note.

Cass,

Change of plan. Mr Forester says you need to find his great-nephew. His name is Feran Foxwood. His description is on the back of this note. We don’t know what has happened yet, but we’ve got reports of major magic being used in his area, and Mr Forester is very concerned for his welfare.

I’ve sent you a pointer charm. The arrow will always point to Mr Foxwood, so you’ll be able to find him quickly.

The leonin paused to turn the device in her hand. Sure enough, the arrow remained fixedly pointing westwards no matter how she turned the metal disk.

He shouldn’t be too far away, so you shouldn’t find him to hard to locate. I’m very sorry, but Mr Forester says you aren’t to come back without him, even if the pointer doesn’t work and you have to search every town west of the Skystones. At least if it comes to that, you won’t have trouble spotting him in a crowd.

Cassanya smiled as she visualised the apologetic expression that would be upon her friend’s face as she wrote that.

Don’t worry about escorting Mr Bloomstone anymore, he’s already set out for somewhere else, apparently, and doesn’t need you anymore.

Good luck,

Tee

Cassanya frowned. “Well,” she said to the raven, stroking his black head with a finger. “I admit I didn’t see this one coming.” Woodward clicked his beak in agreement. “I wonder what this ‘major magic’ thing is… I guess it can’t be too dangerous now, else Tee would have warned me. Suppose it’s just lucky that I’m out here already.” She turned over the note and read the description on the back. “Hmm, I see what Tee meant, he should stand out a mile, I haven’t seen another half-race in weeks. Looks like we’ll just have to get going and find this kid then.” She held out her arm for the raven to hop onto again.

Woodward fluttered his wings, but merely shifted from foot to foot.

“Ah, you’re not coming?” Cassanya’s face fell slightly. “Tee wants you back already?”

Woodward dipped his head.

Cassanya sighed, and looked at the pointer charm. “I guess this is good enough,” she sighed, sounding slightly gloomy. “I’d just have enjoyed your company. Bit of a long way to travel all alone…”

With a flutter of wings, the raven alighted upon Cassanya’s shoulder. He nibbled her ear gently, a wordless offer of support.

“No, it’s ok,” she laughed. “I’ll be fine, really. You get back to Tee if she needs you.”

The raven tugged lightly at her ear for a moment longer, then with a soft caw flapped his wings and headed skyward. Cassanya watched him until he was just a black speck against the blue sky, then looked down at the pointer. Westward it was then.

Feral lifted the large jar, slowly pouring the oil onto the firewood. One of the few things to survive the attack, having been at the back of the store room in his family’s house, it seemed fitting that it perform this as its final duty. A tear made its way down his cheek as he walked around the pyre, drenching the wood that it might burn strongly, watching as it slowly darkened, absorbing the oil.

Setting the empty jar aside, he made his way back inside the broken house.

Veiled in white, with a single white rose upon her chest, he had laid Shara upon her bed one last time while he prepared. With her eyes closed peacefully, she almost looked as if she were sleeping, as if he could reach out and waken her with a touch… but her skin was cool against his fingers.

“Shara…” Feral whispered softly, sitting beside her, the mattress creaking. “Oh Shara… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have looked after you, and I failed. I’m sorry I failed you.”

A tear dripped off his chin, his bottom lip trembling as he brushed back her blonde hair.

“I wanted to see you grow up. I wanted to watch as you practised your painting. I wanted to listen as you played your flute. I wanted to see you fall in love. You were going to be so beautiful… every boy in town would have begged you for a dance when you were old enough.”

He took her pale hand in his, his voice breaking as he spoke.

“I wanted to see you have a family, and a home of your own. I wanted to… to always be there for you, whenever you needed me.”

“You had such a wonderful future, Shara. I’m so sorry I wasn’t strong enough to help you see it. I know I can’t help you anymore, but I promise… if I can, I will find the person who did this to you. I will find her, and I won’t let her do it to anyone else, ever again, if it is within my power to prevent it.”

“I don’t know how much I’ll be able to do. I’m not a strong man. I’m not a brave man, or a warrior, but I will try, Shara. I will try to see that this never happens to anyone else. I’m just going to need some time, because I don’t know what to do now. I’m all alone, and I’m really scared.“

He slumped until his forehead touched her cool knuckles.

“Please forgive me for what I’ve done,” he whispered, his hands shaking as he held her small fingers tightly.

He looked out of the window to the setting sun. It was time. Lifting her slight weight in his arms, he bore her down the stairs, and out into the large garden, laying her upon the blanket he had placed on top of the firewood. He lifted the torch that he had stuck in the ground beside it, laying his free hand against her forehead.

“Fly free, little sister. The troubles of this world are yours no longer. Fly free, and find mom and dad. They’ll look after you now.”

Feral touched the torch to the pyre. The oil-soaked wood caught quickly, a curtain of flames arising as he walked around, trailing the torch against the firewood. He stood aside, watching as the fire spread, catching the blanket, the edges of her clothing, hiding her from his view behind the bright glow.

Tears ran down his face, landing on the blackened grass at his feet.

Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew the small wooden flute that Shara had loved. Taking a deep breath, he put it to his lips, to play the one tune he had ever managed to master.

Feral closed his eyes as he played, letting the music become a part of him, as Shara had always said he should. Softly, a little hesitantly, the notes rang out, rising above the burnt roofs of the shattered houses, above the smoke of the fire, being at last cast upon the wind to travel where they may.

Fly free…

By the next morning, Feral was several miles away from his home. Knowing that there was nothing he could do, realising that what little food had been in the house was not going to last him for long, he knew he had no choice but to move on. It had almost broken his heart to walk away from the village that he had lived in since birth, seeing it blackened and deserted in the light of the setting sun, but he had forced his leaden feet to carry him over the rise and out of sight.

His night’s shelter had been primitive indeed, consisting of a blanket propped up on two sticks. Illuminated by the glow of a small campfire, he had huddled under his makeshift tent, and eaten a meagre supper of the bread and cheese scavenged from the larder before he left. Sleep that night was surprisingly kind, and though it eluded him for some time, when it came, it did so dreamlessly.

Now, approaching mid afternoon, he came to a slightly dilapidated but large town about three miles inland. A broken and rather moss covered sign announced it as Westwheat, population six hundred and something. The last digits had been re-chiselled into the wood so many times they were now unreadable. Feral wondered if this meant the inhabitants liked each other a lot, or didn’t like each other at all. On the road around him, a number of carts were trundling their way into or out of the town, the hooves of the carthorses making a regular thudding on the ground as they passed him.

The land had been cleared for a circle of about a mile around the town, and the soil appeared fertile and good for agriculture. A network of irrigation channels had been dug to supply the fields, though the water’s source was unseen. Feral guessed that a well had been sunk somewhere out of sight. Here and there, farm workers were tending to the crops, applying animal dung to fertilise the soil, and removing the weeds that competed for space with their livelihood. Scattered apparently at random, a number of wooden huts occupied the corners of some of the fields, either as cheap dwellings, or simply shelter for the field hands during poor weather.

A number of poorly maintained drystone walls divided each field from its neighbours. Numerous trees clustered along these boundaries, often seeming to have shouldered the walls aside as they grew, and from the chirruping as Feral passed a small cluster of them, he guessed the provided homes for a goodly number of birds. The only areas that seemed to have walls in good condition were the fields containing livestock, two containing small herds of cattle, one with half a dozen horses.

On the very east edge of the town, where the land was highest, a tall windmill dominated the surrounding buildings, its dark timber walls a contrast to the reddish brick that made up most of the structures nearby, the four canvas sails turning slowly in the light breeze. Feral noticed that one of them had a tear in it.

As was often his habit when approaching crowded places, Feral drew the hood of his cloak up over his head to hide his ears, and stilled the natural movement of his vulpani tail that it might attract less attention behind the cloth of his cloak. Right now, he just didn’t need the stares.

Dividing the fields from the outer limits of the town buildings was a small ditch, no more than six feet across and probably only a couple of feet deep. The murky green water smelled strongly of rotting things, and Feral hurried quickly over the small wooden bridge that carried the road into the town.

The narrow street he found himself on seemed to be something of a major route through the town, the carts that had been trundling along the road on the outskirts still in evidence, as was a quantity of foot traffic as people hurried about their private business.

From the noise ahead and the direction that most of the people were taking, the young half-race guessed there must be something of interest ahead. The houses to either side leaned together at their upper floors, darkening the street below and giving Feral – who had spent much of his life in the open air and forest – an unpleasant feeling of claustrophobia. Looking upwards he could see a thin strip of grey sky in the gap between the buildings. He stumbled slightly as a loose cobblestone shifted underneath his foot, and moved his gaze downwards to the dirty street again.

The street led out into a wide market place. Above the noise of the traders hawking their wares, Feral could hear the ring of hammer on anvil from a nearby blacksmith’s. Although he couldn’t see it, he could smell the stench of an open sewer system somewhere nearby, and he resolved to conclude his business as quickly as possible. A few drops of rain began to fall from the increasingly grey sky, and he could hear the cursing of stall owners as they dragged their wares under whatever cover they could provide.

The smithy’s shop was on the edge of the marketplace. The ground floor was open fronted, the upstairs being supported by a pair of black timber pillars. On one of these was a sign saying:

Jesett’s Blacksmiths

Armourer, Travel and Hunting equipment, Horseshoes

Other items negotiable

Feral entered the shop. Hanging on a sidewall were a range of horseshoes and wagon wheel spokes. The back wall sported a range of stabbing and clubbing weapons, a few helmets made for various shapes of head, and a large steel shield.

Standing over the anvil and currently pounding on a horseshoe was the blacksmith. He was a vulpani, a little over five feet six inches tall, and wearing only a pair of rough cloth pants. As he swung the hammer, Feral could see the play of powerful muscles beneath fur of similar russet hue to his own hair. The smith glanced up for a moment, nodded his acknowledgement of Feral’s presence then looked back to his glowing metal. Presently the vulpani, presumably Jesett, picked up the shoe with a pair of tongs and pushed it into the quenching trough. Water hissed and steamed for a few seconds before the smith pulled the horseshoe out and placed it on the anvil. Putting another half log onto the forge fire, he turned his attention to Feral.

“What can I do for you, young friend?” he said in a deep, almost gravely voice.

Feral glanced around the shop. “I need a little advice,” he admitted.

“That at least I will give you free. What do you need advice about?”

“I think I’m going to have to get my own food for a while.”

“Planning a long journey?” the vulpani asked.

“Not really planning, but yes,” Feral nodded. That he didn’t want to live here was the only thing he had decided on so far. He needed to get out of the county, as far as possible.

“Any good with a bow?” the smith walked over to a rack on the wall.

“Not really,” Feral shook his head. The smith looked at him for a moment.

“Would you lower your hood please, my friend?”

Feral hesitated, his hands moving upwards but stopping short.

“You need to find a thicker cloak, if you want to hide your ears,” the smith told him. “They show when you move your head.” It wasn’t an insult, Feral realised. Just plain, free advice.

With a sigh, Feral did as the vulpani had asked. The smith studied him for a few moments, glancing to the shadows behind his knees where his russet tail was just visible in the shade of his cloak.

“Which side?” Again, he didn’t seem to be insulting, just curious.

“Father,” the half-race said quietly.

“His ears suit you,” the smith smiled. “You shouldn’t hide them so readily.”

Feral blinked.

“No vulpani would tell you to hide your inheritance. To us, such a thing would be a gift, but I understand that not every race feels the same. If I were to guess, I would say humans never treated you as one of their own,” he sighed as Feral shook his head. “Perhaps you are right to try to pass for pureblood out there,” the smith indicated the market place beyond the racks of his stock. “But in here,” he pressed a hand to his furry chest, over his heart. “You remember what you are, and you remember that you have as much right to claim vulpani heritage as I.”

Feral nodded silently, not sure what to say. He simply hadn’t come across such an attitude before. His village was, strangely, void of vulpani, or at least it had been since his father left thirteen years ago. He told the smith this.

“Then that is a shame. It happens of course, with all races. We all like to be with our own kind, and sometimes a town can fall out of favour for one reason or another. It is a pity that your father was the last and, if you will forgive me, a discredit to him that he left you behind.”

“I wouldn’t worry about discrediting him,” Feral said quietly, an edge of bitterness in his voice. “I think he did that all on his own.”

“He may have had his reasons,” the smith said quietly. “But you would know better than I. Well, my friend,” he went on, changing the subject. “If you aren’t much of a shot, perhaps we can find you something a little simpler. A few snares, a fishing line perhaps?” the smith smiled, and Feral nodded.

“All right, I think I can manage that.”

The vulpani provided him with four wire snares, and told him how to look for the tracks where the grass was flattened and to find somewhere along that track that the snare could be set, ensuring that there was no way around the wire.

“It is not,” he added. “A clean way to hunt. I do not favour it myself, and you will need a strong stomach to deal with the results. Let’s find you something to fish with as well, that’s a little more bearable.”

From the back of a rack, he produced a six foot pole, one that unscrewed neatly into five sections that Feral would be able to fit into his backpack.

“I believe this is the best we can do for you, my friend,” the vulpani told him, and quoted a price of eighteen copper coins.

Feral winced, for it was more than half of the few coins he had been able to recover from his house. Looking at the small pile of money in Feral’s palm, the smith nodded thoughtfully.

“My wife will kill me if she finds out, but we shall call it ten if you promise never to speak of it,” he said, his voice low and conspiratorial.

“Thank you,” Feral said quietly as he handed over the money. “You’ve… been very kind.”

The vulpani shrugged. “Some times, that is what is needed. Vulpara,” he said, citing the name of the primary vulpani goddess and gesturing vaguely upwards. “Would not look kindly upon me were I to deny help where it is needed.”

“Then I thank her,” Feral said, and the smith smiled broadly.

“Put your hood up, my friend,” he said as Feral turned to leave, gesturing with his hands. “But remember that you are as vulpani as I. Do not be afraid to look to our kin for help.”

Feral nodded, raised his hood, and left, waving over his shoulder, and feeling very confused. After spending most of his childhood hiding his mixed heritage, suddenly someone had told him that it was quite all right. He didn’t feel quite ready to lower his hood in public though.

“Halt! Who goes?” the lupari guard challenged, moonlight glittering on the tip of his pike as he stepped across the path, his tall build and broad shoulders making him an intimidating sight. “And what’s your business here after nightfall?”

“Balthor Lupino, if you don’t put that stick down I shall take if off you and snap it.”

The lupari gaped at the leonin newcomer as she stopped in front of him, her hands on her hips and a frown on her face. She was tall, a good seven feet plus, with the muscularity of build common to all her kind. A faint trace of a scar ran down the middle of her nose and there was a small nick in her left ear. She was dressed in a thick cotton vest, a short skirt and knee-high brown leather boots. Her voice was smooth, but deep for a female, as befitted her race. Amber-gold eyes shone keenly in the light of the torches above the gate.

“Cassy?” his eyebrows rose.

The lupari’s pike clattered to the ground as he was suddenly enveloped in a bear-like hug. The second guard looked up from the board game he had been studying, hoping to gain an advantage over his opponent while he was distracted. Seeing that his companion wasn’t being attacked, he chuckled, and went back to planning his next move.

“Cassanya Northpride,” the lupari said when he could breathe again. “Been a while,” he added unnecessarily.

“Just a bit,” she stood back a little, her hands on his shoulders. “How’re you doing, Thor?”

The lupari shrugged. “I manage. But you look tired,” he added, looking at her more closely. “Are you ok?”

Cassanya nodded. “I’m ok, just…” she trailed off looking uncertain as to how she was.

“Wenst,” the lupari glanced at the other guard. “I’m gonna clear off for a bit, all right?”

The man shrugged, waving one of the playing pieces vaguely in the air. “Fine by me, mate, but the captain’ll have a fit if he sees you gone.”

Balthor snorted. “I’ll chance it.”

“No, Thor, look, don’t worry about…” Cassanya started to protest, but he had already leaned his pike against the wall.

“Come on, Cassy,” he smiled, his voice softening as he led the way through the arched gateway. “Let’s find somewhere to talk.”

The tavern he took her to was small and quiet, the atmosphere warm and friendly.

“I didn’t think anywhere would still be open at this time,” she said quietly as he opened the door for her.

The furniture, and the bar were made of pinewood, a contrast to the dark oak beams that spanned the ceiling and only just gave the leonin enough clearance for her ears. Oil lamps burned on shelves along the walls, while a candle was set upon every table. To one end of the room, a fire flickered in the hearth, a quietly steaming kettle sat on a metal frame above it.

“You just have to know the right places,” he smiled. “They stay open pretty much round the clock here, mostly for the town guards to get a midnight meal.” The lupari saw her settled into a seat near the fire, then headed for the bar, returning shortly with a mug of ale, and a large glass of wine.

“Fish and potatoes coming up soon,” he said, sitting across the table from her.

“Thank you,” she said softly, taking a sip of wine and allowing herself to relax a little.

“So how are you?” the lupari asked gently, watching her intently as she leaned back against the cushions of the sofa.

Cassanya smiled tiredly, closing her eyes. “I’m ok,” she said softly. “I’ve just been travelling a lot recently. Kinda tired,” she sighed as she let her head drop back onto the padding of the seat.

“Where you heading for?”

“I’m trying to find someone.” The lupari tilted his head and Cassanya continued. “Ok, I should give you the whole story. I work for a man who lives north of the Skystones, his name’s Forrester. Right now, he thinks his nephew is in trouble, and he’s asked me to come find him, and take him back home with me – if he wants to.”

“All right. You know where you’re going?”

“Kind of…” the leonin pushed the pointer charm across the table towards him. Balthor studied it with interest, watching how the little arrow behind the glass stayed pointing in the same direction as he turned the device between his fingers. He narrowed his eyes.

“Magic…” His fingers tensed as if he was resisting the urge to shove the device away.

Cassanya nodded. “I knew you wouldn’t like it,” she said sadly.

Balthor eyed it a little longer, then shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t trust magi, but I do trust you, and if you’re sure this man is ok to be working for…”

The leonin smiled and nodded.

“Then I’m not worried. What can I do to help?”

“You don’t have to do anything, Thor,” Cassanya said softly, feeling quite touched nonetheless. “This is my job, you have yours.”

Balthor snorted into his ale. “Yeah. I do, such as it is.”

“It’s a good job, Thor,” the leonin leaned forwards, looking at him intently, the candlelight catching her eyes.

“Maybe,” he said. “But I can’t say it’s everything I wanted.”

“Not paying much?”

“I sleep in the barracks every night because I can’t afford to be anywhere else.”

Cassanya sighed. “I know how that feels. I was sent out here to find someone other than my boss’ nephew. He was supposed to pay our travel back by ship. Now it looks like he’s not even around anymore, I doubt this Feran kid has any cash, and… to tell the truth, I’m out of money, and I’m out of ideas on how I’m going to get back, even when I do find him.” She picked up the pointer, looked at it for a moment, then put it back in her pocket with a shake of her head.

Balthor smiled. “When I was sixteen, you told me that money made no difference to how much you could do, that there was nothing you couldn’t manage, even if it was by naught more than grit and determination. You remember what happened?”

“Yeah, I talked us both into that damn mercenary unit.”

The lupari nodded. “And we made quite an impression before they worked out how old we were and threw us out.”

Cassanya looked at the tabletop. “And did a lot of things I wish I’d never done.”

“Cassy,” he reached out to touch her arm. “You were never in the wrong. We got ambused, we didn’t go looking for…”

“What else did you expect?” the leonin looked at him, a pained expression on her face. “What else did I expect? That we could hang around, take the money, and never get into a fight? It was a stupid trick, and I should never have dragged you into it.”

“But we got through it,” he insisted, tapping the wooden table with a finger. “And you proved your point.”

“Maybe…” Cassanya admitted. “It was still stupid.”

Balthor smiled and shrugged. “Stupid, or brave, hard to say which sometimes.”

“Stupid,” she insisted.

“Then I guess I just like to hang around with stupid people. I should be able to get you a room here tonight, and then we can set out first thing in the morning.”

“We? No, Thor, I can’t ask you to…”

“You aren’t asking me to,” the lupari pointed out. “I’m deciding to. I’ve spent the last three years wondering why I’m stuck in this dead-end town. It’s about time I came up with an answer or got out… and I’m all out of answers.”

“Thor…” the leonin leaned forward to put her hand on his cheek and looked at him fondly. “Oh gods I wish we’d stuck together. Remind me why we went our own ways?”

Balthor looked a little guilty. “Because we weren’t very good for each other. And there was the day I got drunk and put my hand…”

“Gods dammit, Lupino,” a voice growled from behind him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Balthor looked over his shoulder to find a uniformed vulpani behind him, his russet fur highlighted a bright orange in the firelight, darkened only by his scowl.

“You’re on duty man,” the vulpani exclaimed. “What do you think you’re doing in here? Stand up and salute when I talk to you!” he shouted as Balthor opened his mouth to explain.

Slowly, the lupari did so, but his expression was dark.

“This is my friend, Sir…” he began, but was interrupted.

“I do not permit the guards to leave their posts when on duty,” the vulpani snapped. “Except during designated break times, and I do not make exceptions for you. Nor I do not expect to see you with a lady of the night, not even during your off-duty hours. Especially one of this quality,” he eyed Cassanya’s travel stained blouse.

“Lady of the…” Cassanya started, a crease appearing between her eyebrows, but Balthor had already taken a step forwards. Tall for his race, he towered over the vulpani who seemed to lose some of his bluster as the lupari’s shadow fell across him.

“Captain Greenswell, this is a good friend of mine,” Balthor’s voice was low, but carried well in the silence that suddenly filled the tavern as heads turned to watch. “Her name is Cassanya, and if you speak of her again in any way that suggests she’s neither beautiful nor virtuous, I’ll tear those stripes off your jacket and feed them to you.”

Cassanya blinked mutely from the far side of the table, her eyebrows climbing her forehead.

“Don’t you dare threaten me, Lupino,” the vulpani’s eyes narrowed as he backed off a step. “Else I’ll have you out of the guard quicker than you can blink.”

“Fine, I already decided to quit.” With a quick movement, the lupari pulled the metal badge off his shirt and tossed it at the captain who fumbled for it as it bounced of his chest, landing with a clatter on the stone floor.

“Well… well good,” the vulpani growled. “Saves me the trouble of firing you!” Turning, he stalked off to the far end of the room, glaring at the guards who had been taking their ‘allocated’ breaks and were now looking at him interestedly.

“Sorry, Cassy,” the lupari sat down again and picked up his ale. “You ok?”

“Fine,” she smiled. “You think I’m beautiful?” she asked with genuine surprise as he took a swig.

Balthor coughed into his mug and set it down hastily. “Well… yeah, I always did,” he said, his white furred cheeks taking on a pink tinge as the skin underneath reddened. “Shall we see about that room?” he asked, changing the subject quickly as she smiled at him.

“I’d settle for this place having a bath I can use…” the leonin said, and Balthor nodded, standing and heading for the bar.

“You’re sure you’re ok with this?” he asked a couple of hours later as he spread a thick blanket onto the floor of the room. It had been an uncomfortable moment when he realised he only had the money for one, and that he was not now going to be welcome to sleep at the barracks.

“It’s ok, Thor, I trust you to be a gentleman,” Cassanya told him. “But, um…” she paused and he looked at her. “Do you think you could ask the barmaid about maybe washing my clothes tonight? I feel a lot better after the bath, but I’ve been wearing these for far too long now…”

“Sure, Cassy,” he nodded, and then blushed as she asked him to close his eyes.

“So, uh…” he said, listening to the soft sounds of undressing. “Do we know what the guy you’re after looks like?”

“Description said half-race.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, go figure. Human-vulpani, apparently. Blue eyes. I’m going on the pointer, but Tee was right when she said he would be easy to spot from a distance if I’m passing.”

“Tee?”

“Oh, she’s works for my boss too, she sent the message out to me. Hold out your arm please?” He felt her drape her clothes over his arm, hearing her pad over to the bed.

“Ok, you can open your eyes now,” she said, and he opened one cautiously, finding her safely under the bed sheets. “Please try not to be long,” she said, looking a little plaintive as he put his hand on the door handle. “I feel kinda vulnerable here…”

Balthor smiled gently. “I’ll look after you.”

“I know,” she nodded, and he exited the room, making sure the door was properly closed behind him and that there was nobody else in the hallway. When he returned, she laughed as he knocked, called her name, then when she asked for him to come in, stuck his head around the door with his hand over his eyes.

“Barmaid said she’ll leave them outside the door when they’re dry,” he told her, closing the door firmly. “Should be by morning, if she puts them by the fire.”

“Thanks, Thor,” the leonin smiled, snuggling under the sheets, the cotton warm against her fur. She watched him settle down on the blanket on the floor. Blowing out the candle, she settled back onto the first soft bed she had slept on in weeks, wishing it weren’t probably the last she would sleep on for some time as well.

“Cassy?” Balthor’s voice floated quietly out of the darkness.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you came through town.”

Cassanya bit her lip. Even after she lost him his job and only income, he was still pleased to see her.

“I’ve missed you, Thor,” she sighed.