Two: Catching Up

            (My life seemed to have no meaning.
We were poor. We couldn't get enough food. I was lucky to be in a school that
could teach girls, but that was where most of our money went. My mother told
me, “Why do you keep getting in fights at school?" Normally, I would have aches
and bruises at the end of the day, but that day, I had a small cut on the side
of my muzzle, to which my mother tended.

(I
answered bluntly, “I had to, Mum. It was the only way to make William stop
telling 'is friends lies about me."

(“What
kinds of lies?" My mother asked after wiping where she applied antibiotic.

(I
told her, “He told the boys today that I live in a whorehouse and about you
being a drunkard."

(My
mother inquired, “Is this the same boy who 'lied' that you carried some fatal
disease last week?"

(I
answered, “Aye." That was all.

(My
mother objected, “Be that as it may, y-need t-stop fighting the other children.
We can't afford attracting the wrong attention." That was one of the many
things that I heard from my mother repeatedly. She was always worried about
something happening when I came home from school at the end of the day. And
that was only one of few arguments that my step-father didn't interject in.

(When
my step-father returned home for the evening, we had dinner. He was tired when
coming home. He always smelled like fire and charcoal when entering our small
flat. We had so little space. We were lucky as well to have a kitchen and a
living room. Beds were a luxury to us as well. My mother and step-father shared
a bed on one far side of the living room, and I would sleep in the other. In
the centre was a ragged couch and wooden table where we ate our dinner.

(That
dinner, for which we had vegetable soup made with weak broth and stale bread,
my step-father pressed questions like he always would, trying to make
conversation, but I chose not to answer any of them. We were never
communicative, him and me. As much as he'd press questions, I would either
ignore him or mumble something without repeating myself.

(I
had always known that Clement was not my real father, because I was told so
when I was learning to talk. From the start, we were never close because of
that. I had a problem with loving Clement, having made up a logic that a
step-father could not love as much a real father could.)

-----

            That cesspit is not to be the last
one I enter. I have been in others, but the poverty-stricken borough that is
Grauk is worse than the others I've seen. I know the city of Highcond like the
back of my paw. I take a ride on a train from a fairly distant neighbouring
borough Solmil, where I stayed for a night, to my next destination. As I await
that, I take the time to read the letters that I have lifted. All of them have
been sent to the owner of the brothel. The subjects of those messages are about
opportunities of who they could take as their newest whores and about money.
The owner and guards earned their fair share while the one in higher has been
given a good cut of profits from over at least the past year.

Upon
the sight of a sign on the track, I fold and tuck the letters in the inner
breast pocket of my pinstripe jacket, and place my paws on my lap. I wear a
brown pinstripe suit over a white shirt. I brace myself as the train slows and
then screeches to its halt. I stand up, and the doe that's been in the seat
next to me, asks, “Can I help you with your bag?"

I
answer plainly, “No thanks. I can manage." I wear a patch over my right eye,
but I can time everything with my good hearing. I pick up my case from the space
above, and go in with the crowd in exiting the train carriage. It is minutes
away from being precisely midday, which gives me time to run errands. I
especially can afford lunch with the money that I've taken from those not
deserving.

The
borough of Knightsedge is every poor being's dream, but only supposedly a safe
haven from the dwellers of the criminal underworld. Even this place is not safe
either from the serious pollution of both the air and the water. In fact, I
know no better place to have lunch than in all of Knightsedge. I walk all the
way from the station, taking in the supposedly bright and cheerful atmosphere
that was offered in the foggy city on this Spring day. However, I am in a good mood
myself, for I got what I wanted on my birthday. I am twenty-seven years old.

I
pass the impressive constructs of bricks and metal, treading the sidewalk.
Every building is red, beige, and grey with the cement, bricks, and metal, but
the streets are anything but drab to me. The first place I stop since exiting
the train station, is an inn. A plain inn, but shows class in the paintings and
vases to occupy the walls and the wooden counters. I tell the receptionist, “I
want a room. Any open?"

Taking
that for rudeness, this receptionist, a white and black spotted rabbit,
answers, “We do. Worry not." He then asks back, “Any preferences?"

“Only
the amount of space for one."

Without
speaking, the rabbit turns back, and takes a key from the shelf, to hand to me,
and informs me, “The wider rooms are on the upper floor. You'll like that one."
He points to the disc to which the key is linked, showing the number fourteen.
I thank him and head up the stairs, to the door numbered fourteen, and the key
fits the lock on the door. I open and cross the threshold, to see the bed right
next to it, decorated with frilly sheets and pillows, the frame metal and
having an abstract carving of the same metal for a headboard. The walls are
covered by leaf-pattern wallpaper. There is a good amount of space to walk
around, and a wooden table with good a good amount space for both eating and
studying. I set my suitcase on the bed, and the first thing to see is my navy-blue
jacket, the matching pants, and my tan vest. I plan to keep those in my
suitcase. The other shirts and suits that I might need if there's to be a
problem, I hang in the closet behind a hinged sliding door. I then have a short
look in the loo, and it has a polished porcelain toilet, a polished sink and
counter, and a porcelain tub just as polished as if it's new. Content with
such, I lay one of the oil lanterns in the centre of the table. I have no
intention to rest at the moment.

-----

            I give myself a further tour of the
borough, spotting shops as well as pubs that I don't remember seeing. I don't
bother to ask for or lift a carriage as I head a little further east. I spot a
patch of green where other socialise as well as crowds around some street
performance. The butcher shop that I enter is one of my usual places to vacate.
The butcher that I approach is the same old lynx in a work shirt and work
pants, with a white apron that looks fresh. As if he's thrilled to see the
one-eyed black she-wolf again for the first time in a month, he asks, “Here fer
yer usual, Ma'am?"

My
usual is the chicken breast. I answer, “Nay, I'll change it up a bit. I would
like a buffalo chop."

“Daring,
eh?" the butcher comments. He charges me a fair twelve pounds for it, and I
hope it's worth the price. The animal could have still bleated a few minutes
earlier. That's when I head to the pub that I call my favourite: Queen o'
Clubs, the sign of which seems to be an intricate painting on a canvas. I just
have to smile at that, the owner being sort of an egotist.

Upon
entering the dark wooden chamber that is the atmosphere, I see the faces familiar
of me as they are of the criminal underworld: the mercenary the Demon, a black
rabbit, tall for her species, who likes to wear a red suit with a cravat, and I
know wields a scythe; the smugglers the cats, the orange tabby calling herself
Ruby, the earthly-hued tabby with green eyes calling herself Jade, and the
white cat with blue eyes calling herself Sapphire; and drug cartel members, a
husky, a terrier, and a silver fox. Those are just few of the many criminals
that I have read about and might have hurt in their businesses.

I
approach the bar, taking a seat. As if anticipating it, the bar lady, a grey
striped hyaena, meets me where I sit. She speaks, “Good to see you, Lady Wolf."
I haven't told her my name in all the time of being a usual patron.

I
reply, “Good t-see yeh, too, Faraji. Holding up well, I see."

“Thanks
to this place", she responded jovially. “I assume you were on business."

“Always."

“So
what meat have you that you would like cooked?"

I
reveal the slab of meat, answering, “Buffalo chop this time. Does the cook know
how to make a dish with it?"

“She
can sear any-ting. She can spice it, and likes to add mushrooms, carrots, and
rice."

I
tell the hyaena, “I'd like that. And to drink, the Kabal Kane Ale."

Faraji
answers contently, “As you wish, Ma'am." She takes the slab of meat to the
kitchen, to relay the order. Today, I dine as the aristos.

Around
twenty minutes later, I am served the platter of the meat, rice, carrot slices,
and diced mushrooms. Normally, I would turn down a meat made with a spice, but
it does have a nice taste. I don't even realise how hungry I am until I indulge
on the dish. With the plate then left with orts and the metal mug then empty,
my hunger is sated for the time being. I look around for a moment, before I
approach the side of the bar. The hyaena answers to my raised hand, where I pay
her, and I tell the red fox in front of me, “Tell MacNiadh, Lady Death is here.
Now."

The
red fox chuckles, “No need for aggression. He would be delighted t-see yeh." I
am still stern, but I know that he's right. I follow the red fox in a white
work shirt and brown work pants with suspenders along a narrow hall, and I have
a stiletto with me just in case.

At
the door, the fox says, “After you."

I
expect a trick from him. I object, “No. After you." I press the end of my stiletto against his side and add, “I
insist." The red fox knocks quickly before opening.

Just
when I am greeted by the light through the side window, a familiar
Glashish-accented voice speaks, “Bones, I thought yeh had"- he stops at that
when he sees my face.

At
the desk of the neat and sophisticated office sits an arctic fox, my dear
friend Seàn MacNiadh (prefers to be called Jack), who has two features to
distinguish him from the rest of the arctic foxes: a patch over where his left
eye should be, the two straps of it around his left ear; and a thick crown dyed
bright green. With him is a brown tabby cat in a business dress, her neck and
feet concealed.

Jack
stands up from his chair, smiling gleefully and speaking, “As I live an'
breathe! Best o' the day t-yeh, Lass!"

Though
I do not show such, I am glad to see him as well. I tell him, “I may have
caught you at a bad time, Jack, but this is one of our unscheduled meetings."

Jack
tells the cat, “Hope yeh don't mind, but friends catching up."

The
cat replies, “No worries. You did give me whot I wos sent for."

Jack
then tells the red fox, “Bones, stack for 'er." I pressed my stiletto against
the red fox again—but what he pulled out was indeed a stack, of notes. So, I sheathed
the stiletto. As if he's aware of something, Jack adds, “And make sure she
gives dear Faraji a good tip."

The
red fox then states, “Nice t-meet yeh, she-wolf", before he walks out.

The
wall behind Jack and one side wall were each occupied by a wide bookcase, the
shelves filled with hardcover books. Above and to the side of the bookcase
behind Jack, a blue and orange banner is hung and above the mantle a musket
idles on hooks. There is a green mat taking up most of the counter of his desk.
To my right, there is a window. Jack wears a white business shirt, black
business pants, a black vest, and a narrow green tie. His white pelt
voluminous, I can never tell whether he's slim or chubby. His one eye is a nice
sky blue. He and I are best friends.

With
the privacy given to us, I smile at him as he approaches me eagerly, and we
give each other a big hug. “Keepin' the good faith?" Jack asks.

I
answer, “Quite well." As if it's perfectly timed, we hear tapping against the
glass of the window once we stop hugging. I take the liberty of heading to it,
to open it. The raven flies off as the window opens outward, but he comes back,
entering the opening and landing on the desk, but gives his wings another flap.
As I have promised the raven, I pull out a roll from my handbag. I rip the roll
in half before setting it down on the desk. He then proceeds to peck repeatedly
at the piece of bread.

Jack
asks curiously, “When did he last 'ave meat?"

I
answer matter-of-factly, “I saw rim eat meat two nights ago. Freshly-killed
weasel."

“What
was he killed for?" Jack inquires. So nosy of him.

“Just
for being in the way", I respond.

Jack
comments, “By that logic, I should use a carriage to run over everyone in the
way." He changes the subject, saying, “You can take that eyepatch off since I
know yeh've both eyes." Jack is one of few to know that secret.

“If
it's all the same, I'm leaving it on." My turn to give a question. I asked,
“How well d-you know the trafficking cartels?"

Getting
a small measure of tobacco in his pipe, Jack comments, “Right to it, I see." He
then gets a flint, to strike. “I know mostly me rivals in dealing weapons, fer
buyin' from the same manufacturers I do. I've seen me contacts having taken
beat-ns fer me bein' their patron." He continues through his teeth, still
trying to light his tobacco, “But they don' be intimidated." In succeeding in
lighting his tobacco, he lowers his flint and heads to the open window, hoping
to not disturb my other friend with the smell. After taking a long puff to blow
out, he states seriously, “I know why you be here, Death."

“Indeed",
I respond. “This is the reason, Jack." Upon the pause, Jack turns around,
seeing the stack of papers. I set them on the desk, continuing, “I picked these
up from Grauk. A brothel called Mudbath. It's charred rubble now."

Jack
turns to the window, to blow another puff of smoke, before reproaching the
desk, seething, “You mean ta tell me: yeh burnt down that death sentence of a
whorehouse in one of the worst cesspools of Highcond?" He paused a beat before
continuing, “Me contacts from Tolden, Lonecore, and Agnarge told me of the
borough's town criers 'avin' a field day yesterday over a brothel destroyed.
They didn't leave out the fact that many males ran home naked. Now I know why."
He jests, “I wouldn't be surprised if a crier happened t-know if at least one
got arrested for indecency."

Watching
the raven still working at the roll, which is in pieces, I state, “Then you
know why I brought these letters to you."

Jack
responds, “It will still take a while. I don't know slave traffickers as well
as I know arms or drug dealers."

I
comment, “You might still. They had a stash of opium, which I used to start
that fire, along with those spiced pears. I sold what opium the bartender
offered to give away."

“Oh,
how effective were the spiced pears?" Jack asks curiously.

“Instantaneous
fire. Good distractions as well. Whilst on that subject, anyone else in range
that sells pears?" He knows what I mean.

“Yeh
kin always find me casual dealers lurkin' the docks of here, Tolden, and
Subroot. But since it be pears to interest yeh, go visit the Bartlett
Marketplace in Manusdale."

“I'll
bear that in mind." I changed the subject back. “However long you take with the
names mentioned in those letters, I will come back. I've other business as
well. You give me the information to give me a connection, I'll do a favour for
you."

Jack
bares his teeth as a grin, answering, “It'll be done, Lass. Sure yeh don' wanna
stay fer a drink?"

“A
pint of ale's enough fer one day t-me", I tell him politely.

Jack
nods and responds, “Suit yerself. I assume yeh need the telephone before yeh
go."

“Of
course. Thank you." I head to the opposite end, to a small stand where Jack's
telephone is. I can only guess where he got that. I turn the wheel on it,
listening to the droning of the dial, having already picked up the earpiece.

A
lot of beeping follows from the completion of the number, and I hear a deep
voice speak, “Ahoy."

I
state, “This is the she-wolf loyal to the High Priestess."

“I
need a name", he responds irritably.

“I
am the wolf with the violet eye."

There
is a pause before I hear the deep voice speak, “So, you choose now to use this
form of communication. What business have you?"

“Just
inform security and the High Priestess that the wolf with the violet eye will
be there tomorrow evening." It is still a long way away.

“As
you wish, Lass."

“Farewell
fer now." The receiver bids the same and we hang up.

Turning
back around and reproaching Jack's desk, and seeing him in his chair, pipe in
hand, glass of whiskey in front of him, I tell him, “I appreciate these small
talks of ours, Jack, but I must tend ta that other business."

Jack
comments, “Who doesn't?" I sweep the crumbs around the crow off the counter and
in my paw, and then point to the window in front of him.

I
look to Jack again, saying, “You've my word I'll come back shortly."

The
arctic fox raises his glass, grinning, and answers, “Til then." He gulps on his
whiskey and just rasps the second I'm at the door of his office.

-----

            I spend a night at the inn where I
have a room. The dinner that I eat is as good as the lunch that I've eaten at
Jack's pub. My dinner is a steak with the sides of turnips and potatoes, which
moisten in the juice of the meat. For my plan of my other visit, I count up
what remains of my take of the sold goods and stolen deposit, so I can divide
the money rounded to the nearest decimal. What I choose to keep for myself,
after paying the inn's bill, I'm to have no more than forty pounds, as this is
a luxurious place.

I
inform the receptionist that I would be gone all day. As long I have the key to
the room, I'm to still get charged for the nights even when I'm not sleeping in
that bed. I still wear my eyepatch along with my grey pinstripe suit, the
buttons fastened, and I keep only my pouches and leather handbag when taking
the train right after having breakfast. Chances are that my raven friend makes
it to my destination before the train does, not just with the regular stops at
the stations to follow.

(Against my mother and step-father's wishes, I did
take a detour getting home from school. It wasn't my first time taking a
detour; nor was it the first time doing this particular. I stole. We have no
choice, given this oppression by the aristos taking advantage of our weaknesses
and what we don't know. Even in a poor area, we still had the occasional
privileged ones, and those were like my meat. I picked a pocket of one who was
a gentleman compared to the rest of us. In running from him, I emptied his
pouch of coins and dropped the pouch, filling my pockets with the coins. Even
with the heavy jingling, I managed to outrun him, probably for that I'm a wolf
and he was one of those esteemed cats. I didn't underestimate his speed, and
found a hiding spot when I got tired.

(After
the ordeal, I returned to my horrible house, where my mother already awaited
me. She asked, “What took you so long?" I didn't answer. Coming off as
overprotective to me, she added, “What did I tell about taking detours?" She
hated when I came home late. Just ten minutes after I was supposed to be back
from school at the end of the day was late to her. I looked away from my
mother, hating that question.

(I
mumbled something before my mother told me to speak up. I asked back, “What if
I was in a fight, and I had no choice?"

(She
said plainly, “Running from them is the best way to end them, if your opponent
is bigger and stronger than you. Only cowards pick the small and frail."

(Looking
to my mother again, I retorted, “Then let me fight! Make me better at it than I
already am!"

(My
mother spoke, “You're not meant to fight. We must be better than the rest."

(“How?
We haven't as much money as others." Even a pup knows that there are problems
with this city. Called Highcond. The “high" in it is the towers.

(My
mother asked, “You stole again, didn't you?"

(I
barked, “I have to, Mum! It's a matter of them or us!"

(My
mother objected, “I keep telling you, don't. You can't afford the unwanted
attention."

(“What
unwanted attention? You keep telling me that, but you don't elaborate." That
was when my mother looked down in shame. I didn't know what made her so ashamed
then. I then asked, “If I am not ready now, when am I ready?"

(That
was when Clement entered, saying plainly, “I'm back." Noting our expressions,
he asked, “What's wrong?"

(My
mother answered, “My daughter stole again."

(Clement
scoffed before speaking, “I'm with yer Mum on this. Yeh just 'ave ta trust
'er."

(I
told him, without looking at him, “You've no say."

(My
mother objected, “But I do? Please, for the sake of all of us, stop stealing
from one who might have a load of money." I emptied my pocket of the coins,
placing them on the kitchen table, before storming to the back of the house.
They knew that I picked pockets for them, but still they wanted me to not do
it. I didn't pick another pocket for a few weeks, but I still found the
opportunity to do so.)

            I spend that ride on the train
looking back to that time I had with my family before finding this place, far
south of Highcond. This is where I gained friends, albeit reluctant ones at
that. This is where I have learnt to read and write, as well as various arts
and some interesting history. To me, the institution that's my destination, is
home.

I
spend many hours heading far out of town, and the one time I'm off is when I
find a tavern for dinner. I miss the one that I've been on, but I do find
another that I can board later, though in a different heading. The sun is
setting by the time I head to the institution, but I still expect greetings.
The city that I have come to, Ventine, is where I grew up, and only partially
beyond the estate of the institution. Where I have a stranger drive me with a
carriage is at its primary gates.

In
front of the unpainted iron fence, I find a serval, who's apparently tired as
it's the end of the day. The second I see him approach me, I remove and pocket
my eyepatch, revealing my irregular and distinguishing feature. He says
plainly, “You're late for your appointment. I hear the guards were eager fer
your arrival."

I
remark, “Let's not keep them waiting further." To answer that, the serval
presses on the lever, to unlatch the gate, and I push it. The fence has an
opening until I push it again, and then the serval releases the lever, latching
the gate. The bars are narrowly spaced, so that the only living things to enter
are the vermin.

The
field that I tread upon entering is desert-like, having mostly sand, but the
occasional shrub was around. Aware of someone entering, many of the guards
eagerly check out who or what. How surprised those still in full or half armour
were to find the she-wolf with the violet eye having returned to this place.
This place is like a city of its own, the log constructs taking up the spaces
like hand-crafted cabins, but stretched like a street. Among those guards are
not just felines, but also canines, as if my residence long since inspired
opening jobs and residence to them.

To
stand out in the group watching me is the few felines saying with excitement,
“It's Big Sister!", “Big Sister's back!", or “Big Sister's home!" Just hearing
that even now fills my heart with warmth. I stop for one watching me, to give
him a big hug. That one in particular is a wolf like I, though nothing like
wolves of this country. He's slender, but as tall as I am and has
partially-defined muscles, which I can tell as he wears no shirt, even when
this evening air is cold. He has a white chest and chin, but still has a stripe
along his upper chest as brown as the rest of his fur, except for his white and
black tail. His nose is black, his eyes brown as well, but brighter. He wears
black leather pants and none of his armour.

Once
the embrace ends, the wolf comments, “It's been too long, Sister."

“I
know, Themba", I reply.

He
then states, “If only you were here two days ago, I could have requested a cake
made for you."

I
sidestep with, “I still received a good birthday present."

To
that, Themba chuckles. He then says, “Well, come say hello to the cubs."

I
head to the house far from the cabins making for the security's quarters. Along
the way, I query, “Anything yeh've bin up ta?"

Themba
says, “I still work to prove my skills even with what control I have of the
guards."

“But
you earnt yer position."

“The
High Priestess sees something in me that she admires; I give credit to 'er for
that. But I feel like I haven't had enough training."

“Don't
we all?" I'm willing to admit to having room for improvement myself.

“You
think your friend the arctic fox was underqualified for such an esteemed
position. Why shouldn't I think the same of myself?" He does pause, but I don't
answer as he doesn't expect one. “Something takes years of experience. An early promotion over being short on staff
is not the best choice."

Confused,
I ask, “You didn't lose guards or agents, did yeh?"

“Of
course we have, Sister. It is expected as the agents are sent on dangerous
missions." The conversation has to await its finish as we reach the white stone
house with glass windows. It has a bell tower with stained glass, making it
seem like a crudely-built chapel.

Themba
is the one to push the large wooden doors open, showing a very familiar space
to me. There were two neat rows of beds on simple metal frames, the sheets
plain, and almost all of them are occupied by various felines as well as canines.
The cubs show their excitement, scrambling toward where Themba and I are,
exclaiming, “It's her!", “It's the Big Sister!", “She's back!", and “Big Sister!"
They begin to fight to make sure they get to hug me.

I
try to make myself heard among the arguing and grunting, speaking, “Don't
shove. Everyone gets a hug from me." I nudge the nearest ones away, so I can
get down on one knee, and I give them an embrace, three or four at a time. I
don't rule out how the cubs know of how I treated the others when I was their
age, but I go with it.

With
each and every one of them getting my affection, I stand up. By that time,
Themba is away, probably at the grand temple. I speak, “Sorry to say I have no
items t-give yeh."

As
if they didn't hear that, the cubs' voices overlap, asking, “What bad guys did
you beat up?", “Did you get in a big bar fight?", “Who did you free from
oppression?", and “Did you make any of those bad guys cry?" Those are only a
few that I make out. I answer casually, “I have faced and slain many since my
last visit. I have crippled operations and humiliated gangs." That makes the
cubs cheer, and I smile, lost with words.

One
significant question is from a silver fox: “Can yeh show yer swords this time?"

I
answer to that. “Not this time. And they're called Khopeshes." The silver fox
moans in disappointment. “I just came to let you know that I haven't forgotten
this place, and I will always do what I can t-keep it in business."

A
lioness cub asks, “Can you stay to tell a story?" It is late for them, and they
like stories as much as any young animal. I know that the High Priestess does
not mind me taking a few minutes to give a short story to them. I wait for all
the cubs to get together on two beds, as if they needed listen closely. Many
sit on the edge of one bed whereas others make space to invite me to the other,
and I sit down, the ones occupying being around me. Only a select few manage to
nestle to my sides.

Just
admiring the energy of theirs, I look around contently. Then, I begin:
“Everyone knows of the Underworld ruler Kumhep, but not everyone knows of his
past life. Kumhep had everything that one could ask for: a loving wife, thriving
livestock, and his contribution to society. For all the work of his grain
harvesting, his fruit growth, and the comfort for his goats, he was thankful
for but one man: his brother, Sehmi." I go into the story of how the brother is
betrayed by Kumhep's wife, which drives Kumhep to kill him, but Sehmi
resurrects and lives in self-exile until he becomes a loyal servant to an
esteemed king, and then his advisor. How the wife catches up with Sehmi and
kills him two other times, until the wife dies giving birth to a reincarnation.
How Kumhep realises that death is part of the balance, and becomes the judge
for all dying souls alongside the soul of a king that dies centuries earlier,
who creates the realm for souls of the dead to reside. I finish with: “And the
first dying soul the Kumhep judges for which kind of afterlife is deserved, is
that of the king to whom Sehmi had pledged, a king who reigned honourably."

The
same lioness cub to make the general request, speaks, “What can Kumhep do when
he reigns the Underworld?"

“His
own heart and soul are so powerful that he has bound them to the realm. This
grants him the power to bind all souls of evil to the darkness, which he
manipulates."

A
leopard nestled to my left, requests, “Tell us the first time Kumhep steps out
in the mortal realm."

I
chuckle at that, before I state, “Sorry, Lad. I promised to tell only one
story." The sky has almost gone completely dark by the time I'm finished the
story. Though they would refuse to say so, a few show signs of weariness. I
stand up slowly, making the cubs scramble from me. I hear the groan as they
prepare to turn in for the night. As I feel compelled to, I stay to make sure
that they all occupy their beds. When I see all of them make themselves
comfortable for the night, I announce contently, “Sweet dreams." That's when I
head out of the living quarters and back to the sand and stones.

I
pass an area of stones held together by cement and head left, to a real
pavement which is cut off by a wooden border in the ground. My destination in
particular is a large dark-grey structure kept simple, but with the intricate
details of stained-glass windows like the churches in the cities, and the heads
at the corners each being that of one animal. On the front of this temple are a
lion and a jackal. On the back are a hyaena and a crocodile. The pair of large
wooden doors dyed red have not lost their brightness. I turn the one knob on
the door that opens inwards, and the hinges creak as I enter the torchlit
atmosphere. The altar is occupied by an intricate golden throne with patterns
of bushes on each side. The mosaic rock floor is occupied by six wooden pews.
Only one idol sculpture is inside, and it is that of a lioness in a robe, made
black like the wall as if it were carved into that stone. It even has the
pattern of a headdress and necklaces. At the altar is one person, a cat.
Someone who means a lot to me.

This
cat is like no other to me. She has bright silver fur, short black stripes on
the crown of her head, and on her cheeks, her eyes bright green and seeming
perpetually wide. She is clad in a long-sleeved and loose-fitting robe,
concealing whatever tunic and trousers she has underneath, a blue sash as a
belt, another blue sash over her shoulder and across, and a bone necklace. Upon
reaching the altar, I get down on one knee and bend over, facing the floor.

“Rise,
my child", the silver cat tells me, as if she starts a song. How I love that
musical voice of hers.

I
face her again, humble as I can be, but expressing my love, and announced, “I
missed you, High Priestess, mother to all." I am still knelt down, given her
position. As a cat, she is much shorter than me, but her metaphorical heart
could take up all space of the temple.

Upon
leaving the embrace, I stand up, needing to look down at her now, but she is
held in much higher honour than mine. “Let us sit", she says calmly. “You can
tell me all about your adventure in de concrete jungle." She loves nature so
much that this place is near a good 35 square kilometres of greenery.

We
seat in the front bench, where I begin to explain—with “It has been done." I
pause. She knows what I have been after. “That place of oppression is gone. The
owner and guards are all dead, the slaves liberated. I know who controlled it.
All I need know now is how else to get to him. It made so much of a headline
that it was all over the news. There will be many after me, of course." I pull
out a pouch, which I present to the High Priestess. “This is fer you. It is not
much, but I always wish to aid your cause."

She
sounds nonchalant, replying, “I still appreciate your kindness, my child."

I
lean forward, asking, “In a time of need, what would Pasht—the Pasht from the
ancient lore—do? What would she do when overwhelmed by enemies, without relying
on divine magic?"

Understanding
my worry, she explains, “Strength and strategy are two sides of the same coin.
If numerous enemies make sure you cannot stand, they cannot do so forever. Your
recovery must be accounted for, if you wish to settle de score. If a fight
ending with your loss is a mistake from which you can learn, Pasht would
continue to fight with honour. If your survival depends on lower numbers, Pasht
would show no mercy. Traps for graverobbers are tests that can be taken only
once."

I
nod. “I am wary of me surroundings and I do fight as if me life depends on it.
Is that all I can do?"

“We
cannot see the future or read minds. All warriors rely on their own skill."

“You
are right, as always, High Priestess."

“I
do not fault you fer dis path you take. I hear how de population struggles as
well as my agents know."

“'Tis
like a world of the wild: a matter of you or them."

She
adds with obvious encouragement, “And together we persevere." She takes my
hands in hers, small as they are, those hands having influenced me to handle
others with care, and adds, “I do not fault, either, for why you come back. You
owe me for nothing, my child."

“You
and almost everyone here is like me family, High Priestess. I would protect
you, your followers, and the cubs until the end."

“Whatever
business you may have, go to it. You need not worry about me, for this place is
safe."

“I
will still see you and the others again. You will know from an unexpected
telephone contact. This is farewell, for now." I stand up, but not without
bowing to her esteem, and then head out.

On
my way out, I end up meeting my wolf friend Themba, walking with me to the
gate. “Already seein' yer way out?" Themba speaks.

I
reply, “I could wait until morning, but it would make no difference."

“Perhaps
you could reconsider", he suggests.

“I
did not come here to spend the night; even the High Priestess knows."

“Then
why did you bring your Khopeshes?" Themba inquires. He is right to. My visit is
not for a fight; not even a spar.

I
state, “Yeh make a valid argument."

He
bares his teeth as a grin and quietly motions for me to follow him. Where he
guides me first is the dojo, where I rely on their grinding wheel, to sharpen
my blades, and check thrice before I confirm the sharpness. I have learned to
rely on the edge as well as the whole blade when choosing two Khopeshes as my
primary weapon. Some people rely on the blade itself more than the edge. With a
dull edge, one can't even cut meat for their meal without ripping it.

Themba
has been my close friend since he was taken in, and trained to be a guard. We
are so close that I sleep in his bed, cuddling as if we are lovers, though we
are not. Only when the sun rises, I take my breakfast and eat along the ride to
the train of the station that I ride back to Knightsedge.