It took until evening before Feral’s keen hearing picked up something blundering into his snare, and when it did, he found himself rather wishing it hadn’t. The rabbit was small, and soft, and fluffy, and the choking wire around its neck was entirely Feral’s fault. Even as its eyes bulged in the throes of suffocation, it scratched and bit at him as he got near, a vague idea of freeing it in his head. He tried several times to get at the knotted wire, but each time was beaten back by frantic teeth and nails. There was only one thing he could do.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, biting his lip as he drew his hunting knife. His next action was swift and mercifully accurate, burying the knife in the rabbit’s skull. It stopped moving.

“Oh, dammit,” he murmured, looking at the small corpse. “Oh dammit, I’m sorry.” He felt thoroughly sick as he removed the wire from the animal’s neck.

It took about an hour before he plucked up courage enough to try to skin his catch, the awful, slippery feeling of its innards making him shake as he cut it apart. Eventually however, he managed to get most of the good meat into the small cooking pot he had scavenged before he left home, and brought it to the boil. It wasn’t particularly tasty, but at least it was properly cooked and edible, and would keep him going for a while.

He didn’t sleep well that night. As if punishing his actions, the sky filled with clouds and deposited a light, penetrating drizzle upon him that made its way through the leaves of the tree overhead, and underneath his blanket-tent, leaving him wet, cold, and unhappily listening to all the small shuffling noises of the forest in the dark hours. Eventually however, he did manage to sleep, exhaustion taking its toll.

By the time he woke, the sky was clear, the air warm, and the sun high in the sky. He breakfasted on some early wild berries that he found growing in a thick clump nearby. Whilst this was a pleasantly sweet meal (apart from the few that were so sour they made his eyes cross as he ate them) it was hardly sustaining, and he found himself eating the last of the previous nights cooking. Although the thought made him slightly queasy, he realised that he would have little choice but to set his traps again that night.

Around midday Feral lunched on the few wild onions and berries he had been able to find. By evening he was ravenous and was greatly relieved when, at sunset, he spotted an inn by a junction in the road. He guessed that the major route past it must be along the other two roads, for nothing had passed him during the day. He also realised that he had been fortunate to encounter the inn when he did, for a fog was gathering, and he might have missed it in the dark. Raising his hood over his head, he approached.

A sign above the door announced the establishment as ‘The Wagon Inn’. It was a neat, stone building with a thatched roof. A covered wooden walkway about five feet across ran the length of the front of the building. Several horses were tied up to a rail outside, a trough of water nearby. An ancient, shrivelled looking woman sat in a rocking chair and watched him approach. Leaning back, she tapped her pipe out against the nearest roof support and began to refill it.

Pausing by the doorway to check his money, Feral sighed. Four copper coins. Not much, but it should buy him a meal and something to drink. No way could he afford a room though, so it was to be another night in the open. Well, he was getting used to it now anyway, and he couldn’t get much dirtier unless he slept on a pile of coal. He brushed off the small twigs and leaves that had attached themselves to him over the course of the day, leaving a small pile on the ground.

Opening the door, Feral looked inside. About half of the dozen or so tables were occupied, mostly by just one or two people, probably travellers like himself. The largest table was taken by a group of eight, all leonin, rough looking and obviously drunk. The innkeeper was human however, and Feral walked over to him.

“What can I eat for four copper?” he asked, consciously trying to keep his ears still under his hood.

“Dersa’s got a pot o’ stew cookin’,” the bartender answered. “Yer’ll get a plate o’ that, lump o’ bread, an’ a mug o’ tea. If ye’re wantin’ ale, it’d be five copper.” He wiped his hands on his apron and grinned. “Best food in walking range, if not the Freelands.”

“Fair enough,” said Feral, nodding, and placed his coins in the man’s outstretched hand. Finding a table empty behind him, he sat down, while the innkeeper called his order through the door behind the bar. A minute later, a surprisingly generous plateful of meaty stew was placed in front of him by a petite female lupari wearing a knee length woollen skirt and a white cotton blouse. Her bronze furred tail protruded through a slit at the back of the skirt and swished slowly from side to side as she walked.

“Anything else, sir?” she asked as she set down the mug.

“No,” Feral answered. “Thank you.”

“Well, just let me know if you think of anything you’d like,” she said, winking at him. As she turned to go, her tail brushed the side of Feral’s face.

While Feral was enjoying his food – which probably tasted a lot better than it should due to his lack of good meals recently – the party of eight on the table behind was growing steadily more inebriated. Having waved his empty tankard in the air for over a minute, it finally penetrated to one of the drinkers that the innkeeper was no longer present. Grabbing the three nearest empty mugs he lurched to his feet, scattering the breadcrumbs that had been residing on his lap.

As the large leonin staggered past, Feral was treated to the unpleasant aroma of stale beer and sweat. The leonin’s red shirt was badly stained with the legacy of meals long past, and the pants caked with mud. Not perhaps the most refined gentleman one could wish to meet. The feline pounded on the bar and yelled into the back room, adding a few choice words for emphasis. The innkeeper appeared, and obligingly filled his customer’s mugs from the barrel, saying something appropriately trivial about the weather.

The journey to the bar had been relatively simple, but now, faced with three brim-full mugs of ale, the leonin was unable to devote all his concentration to walking. As he passed Feral again he stumbled, fell against an empty table and crashed to the floor, splashing ale all around, much of which landed in the half-race’s lap. For his part, Feral brushed as much of the liquid off his clothes as he could, but made no comment. He was about to return to his meal when he was abruptly jerked to his feet. A second leonin had risen from the group and was now holding Feral by the back of his cloak, near the nape of his neck. He spun Feral around to face him, grabbing the front of his vest. But for the grey shirt and pants, he was the spitting image of the other now sitting on the floor and wiping a trace of blood from his lips with the back of his hand, looking at it stupidly.

“Now what you want trip my brother for, boy?” he stared deep into Feral’s eyes.

“I-I didn’t.” said Feral, his voice suddenly somewhat higher than he would have liked. He realised unhappily that the entire party of eight was staring at him in anticipation.

“No? I say you did. And my brother, he say you did.” The leonin’s breath smelled strongly as he bared sharp, white teeth. Feral’s hand involuntarily dropped to where his knife hilt should have been, only to find to his dismay that someone else was already holding it. Feral watched as his small blade was stabbed through the tabletop. The innkeeper did not object to the damage to his property because he had just pushed the lupari waitress through the back door and followed her, hastily closing it behind them.

The leonin in grey looked from Feral to the knife and back again. “So, you t’ink you great warrior, eh? T’ink you kill me, eh? I t’ink not,” he growled. Powerful muscles contracted, and Feral felt his feet leave the floor, and his hood fall back from his head.

“Hah! Look what we have! Damn half-race, eh? I t’ink I do to you what I do to rest of garbage,” so saying he literally threw Feral out of the open door.

He landed hard in the road and rolled over in the wet mud. Several of the horses tied up shied away from his sudden appearance in their midst. The fog had thickened, leaving only a few yards visibility. This did not help Feral as he sat up slowly and shook his head in an effort to clear it. He ran through the possible options in his mind. When a trio of fierce leonin silhouettes appeared in the doorway, he took the one with the best chance of survival.

He ran.

Cassanya giggled.

“What?” Balthor asked, looking at her.

“I’m sorry,” she told him, grinning. “I still can’t believe you stole the uniform!”

“Only half of it,” the lupari protested, indicating his black trousers. “I had the vest…”

“Even so,” Cassanya giggled again.

“Well its not like I intend to go back there,” Balthor stuck his tongue out at her, something he couldn’t remember doing to anyone for at least ten years.

“You’re lucky they didn’t send anyone out to get them back,” the leonin told him. “I would have enjoyed watching you try to get yourself some new clothes while half naked.”

“I wouldn’t,” Balthor shrugged. “I’d have asked you to get them while I hid somewhere.”

“Bah,” Cassanya snorted. “That’s no fun.”

“You’d have done it though,” he pointed out.

“Well, yes. I guess I…”

“Ah, good!” the lupari said, smiling broadly as his gaze moved forwards.

“Let me guess,” the leonin sighed, looking at the building ahead. “Supper time.”

Balthor eyed the walkway at the front of the inn as they approached. An old woman was staring long and hard at him, taking deep puffs at her battered pipe. Finally, she snorted and looked away, much to his relief. “And why not?” he asked, looking back and up at his taller friend. “You’ve dragged me near twenty miles today, and made me spend last night in a ditch. I deserve a break don’t you think?”

“Hmm, maybe. But I do wish you’d…”

“What? Not eat? Oh, have a heart, Cassy!” The lupari made a passable attempt at the hurt puppy look.

“I have a heart, Thor, you know that. It’s just that….” Stopping in the roadway a little way from the near side of the inn, she lifted her arms slightly, then let them drop limply to her sides. “I’m sorry, Thor. I didn’t mean to be rough on you. I’m just not sure we should stop now, this thing’s been twitching a lot recently,” she eyed the pointer as she held it in her hand, the needle swinging slightly on its mount even as they watched.

“You reckon we’re close?”

“Well…” she broke off in surprise as a small young man sailed out of the door of the inn to land with a thud in the road, nearly causing the horses outside to bolt, restraining bar and all. He picked himself up, shook a head that had ears of entirely inappropriate size and shape, took one look back at the doorway through which he had just exited and fled into the forest, pursued by four big leonin men.

“Thor! Did you see what I saw?” Cassanya asked, reaching out to grab his arm - but he wasn’t there.

“Hey!” Ignoring Cassanya, Balthor had shouted at the leonin ahead of them, striding forwards. The rearmost turned, just in time to be met by the lupari’s fist as it landed on his jaw. Reeling, and too slowed by the alcohol to react, the feline was quite unprepared for the kick to the stomach. He doubled over, right in time to meet Balthor’s knee with his forehead.

“Well that’s just great, Thor!” Cassanya exclaimed, standing behind him and watching the leonin settle into the mud, giving no signs of further fight. “Just what are we supposed to do about him now?”

“I don’t give a damn,” Balthor stated, frowning and turning to where the other three had vanished into the trees. “I’m not letting those guys chase down one small kid!”

“Thor! Wait, just...” Cassanya stopped, one arm half raised, realising her calls were having no effect whatsoever as her friend disappeared into the undergrowth at the side of the road. Sighing softly, she shook her head and followed. Maybe he had a point though, she thought as she brushed aside the twigs that scraped at her. She was looking for a half-race, and one appeared to have just passed her at high speed. Better check.

Feral ran and kept running.

As fast as he could into the darkness of the forest. Somewhere up in the sky, the moon was shining brightly, turning the fog into a shifting, pale blue wall that closed in on all sides, flashing past him as he moved, opening up before him and closing tight on his heels as if it too were pursuing him.

There was a thrashing sound and cursing from the trees behind, and Feral knew the chase was on. He ran on, his heart pounding in his ears, his breath becoming increasingly ragged. Once he nearly lost his footing in the slippery mud, but he regained his balance and narrowly missed a tree in his headlong plunge, the bark biting into his palms as he pushed himself around it. Tired as he was, he knew his pursuers were thoroughly drunk, and hopefully not willing to stay with a sustained chase. If he could just evade them for a few minutes he might –

Smack!

A tree branch impacted across his shoulder blades. The leonin in grey apparently closed on the half-race with unexpected speed. Had Feral had time to notice, he would have realised that this feline was completely sober, and in a far more dangerous state of mind because of it. He watched as his quarry rolled over, spitting out blood and dirt, then put his foot on the Feral’s chest when he tried to sit up.

Hunter and prey held their positions for a few seconds, during which time the red clad leonin and a smaller friend caught up. Like many boots designed for leonin, those of the one standing over Feral were slit at the toe, and the sharp claws were slowly biting into the flesh beneath.

“So, half-blood. You led a good chase, but you need to learn why you never mess with us.” Grey passed the tree branch to his brother but kept his foot on Feral’s chest.

“You choose half-blood,” snarled the brother. “You make it worth our while, you live. Hold out on us, you die, and we take what you got anyway. Simple choice, no?” He kicked out, catching Feral in the ribs. He jerked as sharp claws sliced through his vest and cut neat, red lines across his torso.

“I’ve nothing you want,” he said in a hoarse voice. He briefly considered shouting for help, but realised if any were coming, it would have been from the inn.

The smallest leonin grabbed Feral by the throat. Hauling him from under Grey’s foot, Shortie slammed him against a tree. Then another. Then back again. If Feral hadn’t been gripping the feline’s wrists, his neck might well have been broken. As it was, he stared dizzily into the leonin’s green eyes, luminous in the pale moonlight. “Shame,” the feline said. “But we must take payment for the insult. It’s a matter of honour. I’m sure you understand.” He threw the half-race face down in the dirt, stamping his foot down on Feral’s back.

Feral, pinned to the ground once more was well aware that any one of these individuals alone could easily dismember him. Against three, well, the odds were less than poor, but his muscles still strained in an effort to throw off his attacker. Finding his efforts futile, he lay still, refusing to give any satisfaction to his tormentors. “This is your ‘honour’?” he growled.

“Not at all. What you insulted was our honour. This is our sport.” The leonin with the branch raised it high, the moonlight shining in his yellow eyes, and stared at the crossbow bolt that suddenly protruded from his hand, pinning it to the wood. With a hoarse yell of pain, the leonin grabbed the arrow, and tore it loose with a sickening popping of tendons. It was doubtful whether he would use that hand again. The branch thudded into the ground near Feral’s head.

Using what little wits he had left, Feral barely managed to roll away, coming to rest against the base of a tree. His attackers stared into the shifting fog, seeing nothing. A second arrow lanced from the murk, finding its mark in the Shortie’s thigh. He dropped with a yell, while his companions charged, enraged, towards the approximate source of the arrows. Feral heard the sounds of cursing, wood breaking, a third twang of a crossbow, then an almighty thud and snap as if someone had been thrown into a tree with enough force to uproot it.

Silence. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. The grey fog drifted lazily past Feral’s eyes, making his already addled senses even less trustworthy.

Suddenly, there emerged a figure from the mist. Lupari, Feral’s dazed mind registered. The tallest member of that race Feral had yet seen, standing around six feet and four inches in height, he was broadly built and muscular. He was dressed entirely in black, though the stitching on his vest was white. From his left hand dangled an unloaded steel crossbow, in the other he held a long hand-and-a-half sword. Feral would have needed both arms to wield it, but the big lupari carried the blade with ease. A strap of dark brown leather across his chest held a scabbard across his broad back.

At first, it seemed to Feral as if the lupari was wearing black gloves and had a mask across his eyes and forehead, but as he approached, it became obvious that it was simply the natural colouring of the fur that gave him the appearance of a highwayman.

He stopped in front of Feral, brown eyes noted the scratched and bloodied face, the torn clothing, and the painful catch in Feral’s breathing that suggested broken ribs. The lupari slid the sword into the sheath on his back with practised ease.

“Over here, Cassy!” he called over his shoulder. He looked down at Feral again while scratching the fur on his left arm, then offered his hand. “C’mon, mate,” he said. “We’d best get out of here.”

“Huh?” Feral was having a hard time focusing. He could feel a warm liquid seeping into his hair at the back of his head. He reached back, winced at the pain and looked at the hand that was now covered in dark red. Blood, he thought, and it was a bad indication of how hard a knock he had received that it took a few seconds for recognition. His blood, more to the point.

“Hey, are you OK?” the lupari leaned down to peer more closely at Feral’s face. “How many fingers?” he asked, waving his hand in Feral’s field of view. At another time, Feral would have answered, but right now he honestly wasn’t sure he knew and the movement was making him feel queasy. The lupari moved his hand away, realising he wasn’t going to get a response.

Suddenly, a second figure emerged from the mist, even bigger than the first, a large steel mace held in its right hand. For one awful moment, his mind connected the newcomer with a memory of fire, and screams, and raw fear. He flinched back involuntarily, pressing himself against the base of the tree as the leonin approached. Had she come to finish what she started that day?

“Whoa, it’s OK, kid. I’m not going to hurt you.” Noting his reaction, the leonin had slowed her approach, clipped her weapon to her belt, and raised her hands in a gesture of good intentions. No… not the same one, Feral realised. Her voice was a little softer, her eyes light amber, not green. Thank goodness…

She reached into a pocket, looked at something in the palm of her hand, stepped a pace to the left, two to the right, and then nodded, apparently having made a decision. She knelt by his side, looked into his bloodied face with a concerned expression. “Feran?” she asked softly, watched him looking back at her, moonlight shining in his blue eyes.

Was he Feran? Gods, everything was so fuzzy. Yes, yes, that was his name, technically at least. How silly to forget a thing like that. He managed to nod, was thankful to see the big leonin smile down at him, a look of relief in her amber-gold eyes.

“Oh thank the gods!” She closed her eyes for a moment, the way people did when they said a silent thank you. “I’ve been looking for you,” she added, as if that explained something.

Looking for him? What was going on? Who were these two? Why was the world spinning ‘round in this horrible way? Feral struggled to speak but his tongue felt thick and uncooperative.

“Shh,” the leonin forestalled his attempt at a question, raising a finger to his lips. “Don’t worry about it now, we don’t have time. You’re safe. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, all right?”

That’s sure nice of her, Feral thought hazily.

“Did you leave anything at the inn?”

What inn? Oh, yes, he did seem to remember something about an inn. Yes, he’d left his bag and his sword there hadn’t he. Hadn’t he? He nodded, or thought he did. He must have made some sign because the leonin nodded. “All right, don’t worry, we’ll get your things.”

“Want me to go?” the lupari asked, and she shook her head, standing up.

“No, I’ll do it. If they have friends at the inn, it’s best I go. Look after him till I get back will you? Get him moving if you can!”

“Sure, Cassy,” the lupari took her place kneeling by his side. “Don’t worry mate, they’re gone. Think you can stand?” The lupari’s voice was rougher than the leonin’s, Feral noted vaguely. Then he passed out cold.

Cassanya stepped over the still unconscious leonin in the road and strode into the inn at pace. Not bothering to glance around at the smoke stained wooden walls and floor she headed straight for the bar and the innkeeper, her boots thumping heavily on the grimy floor.

“You see the kid that just left?” she asked sharply, jerking her thumb at the doorway and staring intently at the barkeeper.

The man took a nervous glance at the table behind her and its occupants, trying to decide whether saying anything was wise. Cassanya frowned at his hesitation. The barkeeper decided the newcomer was the greater threat. He nodded.

“Where are his things?”

The barkeeper pointed to a small knife that was buried to its hilt in a tabletop, then at a muscai at a corner table who was picking through the contents of a small bag and looking disappointed.

The leonin retrieved the knife with a tug that lifted the table for a moment before it dropped back to the floor with a bang. Several of the drinkers around the inn looked up at the noise, then hurriedly looked away when glittering eyes calmly returned their gaze.

The muscai meanwhile was just about finished looking through Feral’s meagre belongings when a hand tapped him on the shoulder, accompanied by a voice that said, “Give me that bag.” The muscai brushed the hand off and ignored the voice.

“Find your own pickings,” he muttered. A split second later he was three feet off the ground, held by the scruff of his neck. Two large amber-gold eyes stared into the muscai‘s own.

“I said ‘give me that bag,’” said the owner of the eyes in exactly the same tone of voice. “Because it belongs to my friend, and not to you. Am I to assume you are a thief?”

The small muscai made a noise that sounded like “Neek!” and swiftly presented the little backpack to the tall leonin.

“Thank you.” Cassanya nodded, and glanced over at the innkeeper again, absently holding the petrified muscai at arm’s length. “Anything else?” The man shook his head quickly. Remembering to put the muscai down, Cassanya made her way towards the door.

“You a friend of that half-breed?”

The question came as she passed a table of four leonin, all of whom were slouched in the various positions adopted by those who are truly inebriated. Probably the other half of the hunting party, Cassanya decided. She glanced down to see one of them staring up at her.

“Does it matter?” she responded coldly, her eyes narrowing.

“Yeah, it mattersh! He insulted my friend and…” the leonin stood then stopped in mid sentence. His drunken brain only now registering that the Cassanya was every bit as tall as he was. Calmly she reached out, gripped him by his collar, and pulled him forwards until his nose was nearly touching her own.

“I find that unlikely,” she growled, showing sharp teeth. “That boy wouldn’t have been stupid enough to start a fight with the likes of you. How dare you call yourself a warrior thinking its fun to pick on a kid that your grandmother could best? You’re a disgrace to your family.”

The drunken leonin paused, and looked slightly abashed. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“I should hope so. You look capable enough, when you’re sober. Next time you want a fight, find yourself an opponent who stands a chance and prove your mettle, not your weight advantage,” Cassanya let him go and he relapsed back into his seat.

One of the other leonin raised his glass to her. “Well said, little lady,” he said, and she inclined her head towards him.

Cassanya left the inn without further interruption.

“Got everything, Cassy?” the lupari asked when Cassanya returned carrying a small rucksack and knife. After checking the half-race was still breathing, he had turned him onto his less damaged side to prevent him swallowing his tongue and checked for broken limbs. Thankfully he seemed to have escaped without major injuries.

Cassanya nodded, kneeling down next to the young half-race. “Damn, I hoped he’d manage to keep his eyes open.”

“I think he took a bad knock.”

“Mmm… he looks like he’s been having a bad time of it.” Unconsciously she began to stroke his soft vulpani ears, smoothing the fur, wiping away the blood and dirt.

The lupari smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Now don’t get broody on me, Cassy.”

Pulling her hand away she glared at him. “I’m not. I’m just… sympathetic,” she said, but not as harshly as she might have.

Tossing the young half-race’s belongings at Balthor, she picked up the unconscious body in strong arms. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.” She glanced down at a trail of blood. “I don’t think we’ll have any more trouble, but better be sure and make scarce.”

The lupari chuckled and jerked his head towards the shadows to one side. “Those three won’t be waking up for a while,” he said. “And when they do their hangovers are going to feel a lot worse than usual. I bandaged the short one, he won’t bleed to death, knew you wouldn’t like that, but he’ll limp for a good while.”

Cassanya looked at him for a moment. “Thank you,” she said, and started off towards the road, carefully avoiding the inn, aided by the heavy fog.

“Cassy?” Balthor began, following her.

“Yeah?”

“Sorry I didn’t get to him sooner,” he said, nodding at the unconscious half-race.

“Not your fault, Thor,” the leonin glanced back at him briefly, choosing her footing carefully in the mud. “I know you did your best. He’s alive, and he’ll stay that way. Don’t worry.”

Feral opened his eyes and immediately wished that he hadn’t. The light was dazzlingly bright. Screwing his eyelids shut for a moment, he braced himself and tried again, more cautiously this time. While he blinked and waited for sight to return, he noted that whatever he was lying on was soft and warm, although it did seem to rustle somewhat. He could feel soft cloth under his head, though his cloak seemed to be draped over him and he knew for a fact his blanket was soaked and useless.

The other sounds around him were the familiar ones of the forest, birds chirping to each other, a gentle breeze brushing through the trees, a soft murmuring of voices, and a quiet crackling sound. The last he identified as a fire, and confirmed it a few moments later when his eyes cleared enough for him to see properly.

Lying on his side amid a mound of leaves, he was facing a small campfire. Across from him sat the leonin and lupari who had come to his aid the night before. To one side, Feral saw his knife and backpack. Attempting to pull himself to a sitting position the half-race winced as a streak of pain shot through him, along with a horrible dizziness that forced him back down into the leaves trying not to be sick. When the disorientation passed he looked up to see the leonin kneeling by his side.

“Steady there,” she said softly. “You took quite a pounding yesterday. Don’t try to move too fast.” Her hands went to his chest and seemed to adjust something. Looking down at himself he saw the rough cloth bandage that had been tightly wound around his ribs. He was grateful to find that it didn’t hurt as much as the night before.

The leonin’s hands went to his head, and seemed to check a similar bandage there. He tried to reach up to investigate the damage, but she gripped his wrist to stop him. “I wouldn’t. You might start it bleeding again if you poke at it. You’ve got quite a bump there. Just lie back for a while. You’ll be fine.” Reaching behind her, she produced a full water skin and held it to his lips. Much of it went over his chin and neck, but what he did manage to swallow made him feel better.

“Thank you,” Feral managed to say as the leonin took the water skin away.

“No problem, squirt, it’s my job,” Cassanya smiled.

“Your job? Why? I… who are you anyway?” Feral frowned, found that it hurt and went back to a blank expression.

“Fellirion Forester, your great uncle I think, wanted me to come see that you’re all right. I guess he was right to worry…”

Feral felt as if he had been hit on the head again. One hand dug frantically in the front of his shirt for a moment, locating the pendant that hung there, drawing it out to hold it up to the light as it ran like liquid around the sharp edges.

“Lucky…” he whispered, his eyes suddenly swimming with tears. “Uncle F-Felli…”

The leonin looked at his pendant with interest. She pulled something small and metallic out of her pocket and looked at it, moving it forwards and back a couple of feet.

“Hah! Cunning old geezer…” she declared. Seeing Feral’s confused expression, she smiled. “Sorry, please don’t tell him I said that, but it’s really quite a neat idea. Come on, sit up and I’ll show you,” she told him.

Feral tried, but the dizziness pounced on him again and he squeezed his eyes shut against the horrible spinning sensation. He would have slumped back down, but strong hands gripped him by the shoulders and held him still. “Easy now,” the leonin’s voice rang in his ears. The disorientation passed quicker this time, and with assistance, he finally made it to an upright position. “There you go,” she smiled, and sat next to him, holding her hand out for him to see.

“See, this arrow always points to that pendant,” she said, moving it across in front of his body for him to watch. “It’s how I was able to find you.”

Feral reached out with shaking fingers to touch the pointer as Cassanya held it in her large hand.

“Uncle Felli… he… he…”

“Knows more than he lets on,” she supplied, looking slightly surprised.

“He… I…” before he really thought what he was doing, Feral slumped towards the leonin, putting his arms around her, laying his head against her blouse.

Somewhat taken aback, she patted him rather awkwardly on the shoulder. “Hey now… hey now, it’s all right, it’s all right,” she looked up at Balthor feeling suddenly rather lost, but the lupari just shrugged and smiled. “Come on now, it’s all right,” Cassanya continued as the smaller half-race clung to her tightly. Not sure what else to do, she put her arms about him loosely, not wanting to cause him any more pain than his injuries already were doing. “It’s all right…”

But Feral didn’t look all right at all.

“I’ll have t-to tell him,” he whispered, his face hidden. “T-tell him…”

“Tell him what?” Cassanya asked softly.

“Wrong… it’s all gone wrong…” Feral sniffed. “I couldn’t stop it… I’m sorry…”

“Sorry?” the leonin looked confused. “Couldn’t stop it? Stop what, Feran? Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“D-dead…”

“Dead?” Cassanya’s eyebrows rose. “Who?”

“Everyone… I’m sorry… I saw it. I-I c-couldn’t stop it… I tried…”

Cassanya opened and closed her mouth a few times without speaking, not at all sure what to say.

“Feran?” she called softly, as if she were waking a small child from sleep. “Feran?” The half-race sniffed and looked up at her, tear tracks down his muddied face. “Tell me what happened,” Cassanya said gently.

It took a while, but Feral did tell her. About how the village had been attacked, about how his parents had died, about how he had tried to protect his sister but had watched her die in front of him, about how he had been left with no choice but to leave his home. Several times he had to pause for breath, fighting hard to regain control as he spoke. Across the fire, Balthor’s expression was sympathetic, the lupari listening quietly to a story that should never have had to be told.

“And… then I ran, and you… you found me…” Feral concluded. “You really work for uncle Felli?” he asked, looking up anxiously at the leonin, feeling that this might just be some cruel trick.

“I do,” she nodded. “My name’s Cassanya. I’ve worked for Mr Forester for about three years now, ever since he helped me out of a spot of trouble. This is Balthor,” she gestured to the lupari who nodded gravely. “He… well, he’s with us now, I guess,” she smiled fondly at him and he winked.

Feral nodded, still leaning against Cassanya, some part of him terrified that if he let go she might prove to be no more than a fevered dream.

“I don’t know what to do…” he whispered unhappily.

“Well that’s easy, squirt,” Cassanya smiled down at him. “For now, you’re going to come with me, back to Mr Forester. We’ll work the rest out later, ok?”

“Ok… is it far?”

“Over the Skystones, near a little town on the Eastwash river.”

“Long way.”

“’Fraid so,” Cassanya nodded.

Feral was silent for a moment. “Do we have to start right now?”

The leonin laughed. “Bless you, no. You need to rest a little, you got banged about a bit yesterday. Hey, Thor, is that meat cooked yet?” she asked, looking up at the lupari.

“Reckon so,” Balthor nodded, taking the stick that leaned into the fire and pulling it back to look at the slabs of meat at the end of it. “Only mutton, I’m afraid,” he apologised, locating a metal plate and sliding a portion onto it with a fork. He passed it to Cassanya, who held it in front of the half-race.

“Think you can eat something, Feran?”

“Feral,” he corrected.

“Hmm?”

“My name is Feral. Only person who calls me Feran is my... was my mother...”

Cassanya tightened her grip on him, just slightly. “All right,” she nodded. “Feral it is. Now, hungry?”

He sniffed, nodded, and sat up straighter, taking the offered plate. It was more than a day since he’d eaten anything worth mentioning, and the empty condition of his stomach forestalled any thoughts of refusal. He was careful to eat slowly however, until he was sure he could trust his insides not to send back whatever he sent down to them. Balthor passed another portion to Cassanya, and they ate in silence for a little while, Feral looking at the ground between his feet, not quite sure what to think.

“You should probably get some sleep,” Cassanya said as the half-race put his plate down.  “It’ll be best if you’re well rested by tomorrow.”

Feral sniffed again, wiped his nose on the back of his hand, and nodded, wincing a little as the motion sent a jolt through his head. “Yeah, OK, I just need to, um…” he got carefully to his feet, feeling rather wobbly, and tottered towards the trees at the edge of the clearing. He disappeared behind the largest and into the bushes beyond.

“Think he’ll be all right to move tomorrow?” the leonin asked softly, glancing at Balthor.

“I should think so,” the lupari said quietly. “Looks a bit shaky, but I reckon that’s his head rather than his legs. Wasn’t limping, anyway.”

“Yeah, true, and I think his ribs are just cracked rather than broken. He’d probably be in a lot more pain if it was worse than that. Should heal fine as long as nothing else knocks him around for a while,” she paused. “Do you believe his story?”

Balthor looked unusually thoughtful. “I think something killed his family, no doubt there. He’s too upset and scared to be lying, and why would he lie about it, especially to you?” Cassanya nodded slowly. “But as for the how… Really, no. I mean a…” he paused.

“Dragon,” Cassanya supplied, looking equally sceptical. “I know, but that’s what he said he saw.”

“I don’t believe him,” Balthor shook his head.

“What do you think really happened?” Cassanya inclined her head.

“I don’t know,” the lupari frowned. “Maybe he got hit on the head sooner than he thought. Maybe it was a pirate raid, maybe they downed him quite early and he dreamed the rest. Or maybe he is making it up.”

“Why would he do that?” Cassanya asked. “No, I don’t think so, he looks too honest. I think he believes what he told us, but I agree that he’s wrong about it. I guess we’re just going to have to wait a while until we find out the whole truth…”

“Mmm,” the lupari shrugged.

“It’s a shame about his family though,” Cassanya added quietly.

Balthor nodded. “Yeah, poor guy. He could use someone to look after him a bit,” he winked at the leonin.

“What? Oh no,” she wagged a finger. “Hired escort is all I do, I don’t stretch to cooking, cleaning, or baby sitting.”

“Hardly a baby,” the lupari amended.

Cassanya snorted. “He’s tiny,” she folded her arms across her chest, raising an eyebrow at the lupari.

“He’s a vulpani half-race,” Balthor countered. “He was never going to be particularly tall you know. Early to mid teens I reckon.”

“You think? I thought he was younger…”

“Yeah, well,” the lupari chuckled. “You always used to tell me I looked too young for my age because I was so small.”

“You are small, shortie,” Cassanya stuck her tongue out.

“Well pardon me for not being born a leonin,” Balthor thumbed his nose.

The leonin smiled. “It’s ok, I like you as you are. Makes you easier to pick on,” she grinned cheekily.

“Just try it,” the lupari folded his arms, and smiled confidently.

When Feral returned, feeling considerably more comfortable, it was to find his new companions apparently trying to beat each other to death.

“Oh, hello, mate,” Balthor said, finally noticing him watching, grinning sheepishly as he sat on the leonin’s back, tickling her flanks while she pummelled the ground with her fists, laughing helplessly.

“Um, hi,” Feral said dubiously as they disengaged, the leonin wiping away tears of laughter.

She looked at him critically. “Go to sleep,” she said, frowning.

At another time, perhaps, he would have objected, but right now, Feral was dead tired, and never mind that he hadn’t been awake very long or that it was still only late afternoon. Carefully, he sat down onto his pile of leaves, realising as he did so that he had been using someone’s folded cloak for a pillow.

“It’s ok, mate,” the lupari said as Feral looked between him and Cassanya. “Keep it for now.”

“Thanks,” the half-race smiled appreciatively, lying back on the dry leaves, and shortly being reminded of the lump on the back of his head. Gingerly, he turned onto his least painful side, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and promptly fell asleep in record time.

“That was kind of you,” Cassanya said softly, gently tucking the half-race’s own cloak around his sleeping form.

“I figure he needs the pillow more than I do,” Balthor shrugged. “And it’s not exactly cold weather.”

Cassanya nodded. It occurred to her that she had never seen her friend cold, despite their years of friendship and all the places that had taken them. “Where do you think we should head for tomorrow?” she asked.

“Start with Cliffward town,” the lupari said after a moment’s consideration. “Only about five miles back up the road. Should make it that far easy enough.”

“You’re just after some more of that meat pie the inn there does, aren’t you?”

“Yup. Oh not for me,” the lupari added hurriedly. “But it’ll do him good,” he nodded at the sleeping half-race, and Cassanya raised her eyebrows. “Of course, if there’s enough going spare…”

Cassanya shook her head, smiling and trying to stifle a yawn and failing miserably.

“Get some rest, Cassy,” the lupari said softly. “You haven’t put your head down since yesterday morning.”

She nodded. “Alright, but wake me up before you turn in. I don’t want trouble finding us when we’re asleep.”

The lupari nodded, and watched as she adopted a cross-legged position, closing her eyes, her chin dropping slightly. Praying was something Balthor wasn’t really familiar with, somehow a god, or gods didn’t fit in with his world, and he never felt as if anyone were watching out for him, but it was something he knew Cassanya did regularly.

To most leonin, there were no gods, or at least, not anymore. Legend tells of how Leonan the Hunter, after defeating his mortal enemy at the battle of Blood Mountain, went on to challenge the gods who had backed his adversary and cost the lives of his entire command. Laughing at his presumptuousness, the gods allowed him to set foot upon their plain, where they sent their legions against him.

The ensuing fight, so it is told, went on for seven days and seven nights, a dark storm enveloping the land as the battle raged in the heavens. Each challenge the gods sent to Leonan, he defeated with a skill unmatched, until at last they had no choice but to face him themselves.

Tigrais, the smith and armourer of the gods. Jubata, goddess of hunting, wine, and feasting. Pantherik, the black god of the underworld. Unica of wind, lightning, and thunder. Finally, Krugerin, the god of strength, earth, and fire. One by one they were defeated, slain by a warrior whose body may not be godly, but whose skill most certainly was. All fell, except one.

Persica, goddess of light, spirit, water, and love sat by the battlefield and wept as her kinsmen fought. When she alone was left, Leonan turned to her, but could not bring himself to strike, for he saw the tears upon her face.

“Are you so afraid to die?” he asked her, his sword raised high.

She shook her head sadly. “No. You were betrayed by my brothers and sisters. They have knowingly cost the lives of those who followed the right, and I cannot condone their actions, or condemn you for yours. But when I am gone, you will be alone, and that is worse than death.”

From this point, leonin legend diverges. The most popular view is that Leonan saw through this last feeble attempt to stave off fate, a cruel cut of words by one who could not cut his flesh, and struck Persica down that he might assume his place in the heavens. Thus did Leonan the Hunter rise to godhood, proud and strong, as his children flourished beneath his gaze, a noble warrior of whom all leonin wished to prove worthy that they might rise to meet him when at last they fell in battle.

The other ending to the tale, and one that is not widely accepted, is that Leonan saw the truth in Persica’s words. Realising that to kill her was dishonourable, and to let her – and himself – live alone for eternity worse, he took her into his arms, and they wept together. With Persica at his side, Leonan looked down upon his children on the world below, ever reminding them that in their strength and pride, they must never forget kindness and love, lest they find themselves alone.

It was to this view that Cassanya subscribed.

A strange combination, Balthor thought, looking at her as she sat quietly. Strength tempered with grace and kindness. A heart of gold in a body of steel.

She opened her eyes after perhaps a minute, catching him looking at her, and flushing, a hint of pink showing beneath her fur. “Sorry,” she apologised quietly.

Balthor shook his head and smiled. “Nah, I’m glad she listens to you.”

“She would to you, if you asked…”

“I’m no leonin,” the lupari shrugged. “I doubt she cares.”

“Trust me, she does,” Cassanya corrected him gently. “Good night, Thor,” she stretched herself out on the ground and closed her eyes, soon dozing off in the warmth of the evening sun.