"Wildcat" by Rosemary A. Clark

Finding Home

A glint of sunlight on metal caught Owl's eye and brought it about to the top of the ridge. Aster waved her dagger at him as she saw that his attention was on her. She shouted down to him, but her words were ripped away by the breeze so that all he heard was, "...build... up... will be ... and cold!"
He shook his head and shrugged to indicate he had not understood and she beckoned to him and the others.
It took them a while to find a way to climb the ridge. The sun was setting behind the mountains when Aster met up with them on the top. A short grassy meadow slanted upward on the slope, protected from the elements by the scattered forest that surrounded it and by a second, smaller cliff which cut off the top of the slope. While Owl surveyed the area, Kit slumped against a rock to rest from the climb. Otter, always energetic, bounced over to the edge of the ridge and sprawled on her stomach to look down. The remaining man in the group, known as Hawk, went over to Aster and embraced her.
When Aster and Hawk broke apart, Owl cleared his throat to catch their attention. Kit glanced up as well; at seventeen, he was beginning to pay more attention to the decisions of the adults. Owl looked at Aster to begin.
"I came up here to get a look around this afternoon. I didn't think it would be the place we wanted, because generally clifftops tend to be pretty windswept, especially in the winter. But once you go back a ways, the second cliff really shelters this meadow and the trees form a nice wind-break. I found a perfect site back behind those pines that's just big enough to put a cabin. It's higher on the mountain than I'd prefer; the growing season'll be pretty short and the winters long, but you'll have all of summer to get a garden started. There'll be lots of game in the area, so we should be able to make it. Plus, it's pretty secluded. If anyone tries to come through the mountains, they'll avoid this spot because it's hard to reach. So, what do you say?"
"I know I can trust your judgement. Hawk?"
"It will do. For now, we'd better set up camp for the night."
"Right." Turning to Otter and Kit, Owl called, "Kids? Only a little further and we'll stop for the night." He almost laughed to see Kit's expression of disgust at being grouped with Otter as the "kids."

They completed the cabin within a moon of their arrival and life fell into a predictable pattern. Owl tended the garden, planting corn, beans, peas and squash. Otter helped him and took care of daily chores like collecting water and starting the fire, occasionally going hunting with the others in search of game. She took to this new lifestyle with more ease than Owl had expected of her, picking up new skills as if she had been performing them all her life. The same could not be said of Kit, however. He chafed at the restrictions placed upon him. At last, however, he seemed to settle into the daily routine and even volunteered work, picking up the hobby of carving and reproducing many of the objects they had been unable to take with them when they fled to the mountains.
Aster and Hawk together made up the hunting team. They had lived in the wilderness for a time several years earlier, before they met Owl and his two charges. Through their joint expertise there was food for everyone that summer.
Although Aster and Hawk were more versed in hunting, they automatically defered to Owl. There was no outward reason to do so; the peaceful gardener was no older or wiser than they, and neither did he have any particular expertise aside from growing plants. Yet when asked, any member of the family would point to him as their leader. The only one who did not realise this was Owl himself.

Summer passed quickly and harvesting time brought baskets of foods to be dried and stored for the colder months. Early frosts killed a number of plants before they ripened, but enough was saved that they did not worry too much about going hungry. They began to stockpile smoked and dried meat as well, as the animals of the forest fattened themselves up for the winter. Aster taught Otter and Kit how to cure the pelts of their game, but it was Otter who taught herself and then others how to transform those pelts into wearable clothing. Although the garments were scruffy, they held together at the seams and promised to keep everyone warm through the winter months.

After the harvest, Owl was left with less and less work to do. He began to feel redundant in the warm house where one twelve-year-old was more proficient with her hands than he was. Determined not to become redundant, he turned instead to the two precious books that he had managed to sneak into his pack before they fled and began to teach Otter how to read.

The winter came in with an unexpected snowstorm. For four entire days the entire family was kept cooped up within the house. They quickly began to feel the pressure of cabin fever.

Owl read the last paragraph of the second book, The Giving of Names, for the second time since the beginning of the storm, and closed it with a snap. As he always did, he sat silently, contemplating his own name.
Enarebad. Who Watches Over. He knew it with all his mind- but what did it mean?
A gust of wind blasted the walls, causing the door to rattle on its hinge and Owl to startle momentarily. All at once his impatience at being stuck inside burst out in an exclaimation that made everyone look up, startled.
"Dammit! I want something to happen!"


A Stranger in the Snow

Finally, impatience and frustration drove Owl out of the cabin alone. As he hauled against the wind to open the door he assured a worried Aster that he would not go out of sight of the log walls; nor would he stay out long enough to freeze.
"I just need to stretch my legs for a few minutes. I'll stay in the meadow, I promise. Here, pass me the bucket; I'll collect some ice to melt down over the fire."
"Just be careful, Owl." She raised her voice to a near shout to be heard over the howling wind. "Don't go near the cliff edge, whatever you do. It's bound to be unstable; I don't think even you could survive a fifty-foot drop."
He grinned and mouthed, Yes, mother. Then turning, he disappeared into the whirling maelstrom of flakes.

The sliver of light from the cabin door winked out with a bang that was ripped away by the wind, leaving Owl squinting in the grey half-light that penetrated the storm. He floundered a moment in the waist-high drifts before turning back to retrieve the makeshift snow-shoes that hung on the wall. Once better equipped, he plunged foreward, only to trip over his feet and drive himself headlong in the white powder.
Gradually by pacing back and forth he got the hang of the snowshoes and set out on his walk. Remembering Aster's warning he sheered away from the cliffside, but filled with a morbid fascination with the danger he paced along ten feet away. He rationalized this with the remembrance of his mission, telling himself that the simplest way to find the stream was to find where it met the cliff.
He forgot to take into account the fact that even the stream was covered in several feet of fresh snow. He found it, all right; plunged almost down into it, though this was no more than a bother. Small as the trickle was, it was frozen quite solid. There was no way he could see to get any usable ice out of the ground. All was doubtless filled with dirt and twigs. No, he thought, the only place where there will be any clean water will be the waterfall itself. But that meant going against Aster's explicit orders.
Oh well. At least if I fall, there'll be soft snow to cushion me.
He flopped down onto his belly and inched forward, squinting as the wind picked up. When the snow under his outstretched hands broke away and disappeared, he shoved more after it, trying to uncover the stream in this location. Though gloved, his hands felt like ice themselves by the time he had cleared away enough.
He reached down with both hands and positioned the bucket below the ledge and began to hack at the ice with his knife, catching the cracked pieces in the bucket.

Though the bucket was not filled, all the ice Owl could reach had been broken off and either captured or lost. Now- how to get back up to safety without breaking his neck? He wriggled backwards- and found himself stuck. The bucket was caught on a rock under the ledge! He couldn't free it without moving forward, but he didn't want to move forward without the support of both hands to keep himself from sliding on the slippery snow.
No need to panic. If I don't make any impulsive moves I'll be fine. Breathe, Enarebad.
The wind died momentarily, giving him the chance to clear his vision and get a look around. He glanced over the cliff edge back the way he'd come- and the breath caught in his throat. There was a figure clinging to the cliff!
A blast of powder-filled air obscured his sight, but he couldn't shake the idea that he'd seen a person ( or something like a person, his paranoid mind filled in) stuck to the rock face. There was no way someone could be out here, much less in that spot, after four days of non-stop storm... But he knew what he'd seen. He prided himself in his vision; the name "Owl" had been given him for his talent at seeing in the dark, after all.
A chill unconnected to the external cold ran down his spine. Was he hallucinating? Surely he'd not been out here so long. Why, the distance from the cabin to the creek was less than five hundred feet, and even in snowshoes, he'd made good time.
A muffled clatter drew his attention back to the bucket- only to discover to his consternation that it was no longer in his hand. His half-numb fingers had loosed their grip while he was distracted and the heavy ice had torn it out of his grip. He contemplated cursing for a moment, but then recalled the positive side of the loss.
At least I'm not stuck anymore. Now he could get back to the cabin and tell the others what he'd seen.

Owl slumped heavily against the cabin door, slapping life back into his fingers. A moment later he tumbled inside as the door was yanked open. He sat up slowly, blinking rather... owlishly*. Hawk took his arm and helped him to his feet again, succintly stating, "You look like hell."
"I feel a bit like hell, as a matter of fact. I never thought it would be cold, though. I lost the bucket."
"You what?" This was from Aster, who had leapt to her feet as he came in. She bustled over, the very picture of a concerned and irritated housewife coming to greet a miscreant child.
Owl laughed weakly (and a bit nervously), and repeated himself. "I lost the bucket. Dropped it over the cliff, I might add. I was being stupid, I'm sorry. I thought I saw a person on the cliff face. Near the waterfall."
"A person? On this side of the stream? How close?"
"I think it was a hallucination."
"You, hallucinating? Not likely. You're barely chilled. There's someone out there, I know it. That jut of rock by the falls is stable enough to hold someone; I've climbed the cliff that way a few times. Come on, let's check it out." She was already pulling on her furs.
Owl started to climb to his feet, but Hawk pushed him back down. "Not you. You're worn out. We'll go. You... enjoy warming up." He said with an uncharacteristic wink. Owl started to protest, but then lost his grip on the floor and somehow ended up lying on his back again.
"Hunh. If that's the way you're going to be about it, then... Take the snowshoes, at least. I don't know if I can do the laces at the moment."
Freed of the constricting shoes, he allowed Kit to give him a hand in taking the two steps to the hearth. Suddenly, the warm fire seemed very welcoming indeed.
Ow! His skin began to prickle. In fact, it itched. Oh, dear... "Enjoy" it, indeed.

Owl was dozing when the door burst open again, some time later. Aster blew through the door, shaking snow everywhere, then turned to help Hawk inside. Owl sat up slowly and rubbed his neck, blinking at them.
"So, did you find anything?"
"As a matter of fact, yes. I don't know if it's still alive, though. Come over here." Aster's cryptic words brought Owl to his feet in a second and over to the door in two strides.
Lying half over the doorway was indeed a motionless form, swathed in dark furs and caked with ice and snow. A bit of fumbling, and a hood was pulled back, revealing the occupant inside. Shoulder-length dark hair framed a fine-boned, pale face. A rather pale blue, to be exact- but there were traces of healthier colors still visible in her thin cheeks.
"She's alive, all right. Or at least not dead long enough to be stiff. Quick, get her inside. Help me-"
"Put her on the mattress, not near the fire- the shock of warmth might be too much. Gradual."
As Aster struggled to remove the strange girl's garments, Owl turned to the herb cupboard and began to put together a restorative tea while questioning the rescuers.
"So where did you find her? Surely not on the side of the cliff."
"Ah, but that's where she was. It's not as implausible as it sounds, Owl," she held up a hand to forstall his protest. "It's a lot more sheltered right there than on the top, where the wind hits you directly. Probably why she decided to weather the storm there instead of climbing all the way up."
"Decided?"
"She was attached with a pin; it's the only reason she didn't fall. Four days... I'm just surprised she's not frozen stiff. I didn't think it'd be possible to survive that long." She stripped away another layer of clothing. "Of course, she's wearing so much I'm surprised she didn't roast when she climbed up."

Blue was gradually replaced with pink in the girl's cheeks over several long and nervous hours as the entire family watched over her. She began to mutter to herself and clench her hands reflexively; miraculously, all of her fingers seemed intact and functional dispite her ordeal. Aster had not removed all of her clothing, finding that underneath the outer layers she was still somewhat warm.
Slowly she stopped moving, and went very still. Owl jumped forward, suddenly worried that she had died. He leaned over her, putting out his hand toward her throat to check her pulse.
Her eyes snapped open and her hands moved suddenly, one to catch his wrist, the other to grasp at the cloth and the oddly-shaped lump which rested underneath it on her breast.
Owl blinked. "Ah. Hello there, kitty. I see you're awake."


Kitty Kitty

There was a moment of awkward silence as the stranger retained her grasp on Owl's wrist and he made no attempt to free himself. Then the girl seemed to come to herself and released him abruptly, relaxing. Owl attempted to break the tension by turning to the pot of steaming tea on the hearth and pouring out a cupful.
"Now you'll need to drink this; your body has been though a lot recently and it needs-"
"Who are you?" Her voice, though low and quiet, cut through his uneasy babble.
"Me? Oh... I'm Owl." He waited a moment for her to introduce herself, then with a mental shrug went on, "We found you out on the cliff in the middle of a snowstorm. You've made us very curious, kitty, as to how you managed to get up here, much less survive for so long out in that," nodding at the tightly-closed door.
She was silent for a long moment, seemingly caught up in her own thoughts. Her hazel eyes glittered in the firelight. She pulled the blanket up over her shoulders and looked down. When she spoke, it wasn't to answer his implied question but to ask another of her own.
"How long has this storm lasted?"
A slight hesitation followed this, but Otter, her expression serious for once, slowly approached the bed. "It started snowing four nights ago, two nights after the full moon." She glanced at the stranger. "You look like a kitty, but we already have a Kit. You're more like a cat."
"I'm not a housecat, little girl." The woman laughed quietly to herself for a moment. "More like a wildcat." She seemed to relax visibly, suddenly joining the people in the cabin completely.
"Well, Wildcat, for the time being we're all stuck here until the storm gives out. I hope you're box-trained."

The Wildcat, as she became known, had a talent for avoiding questions. Although the inhabitants of the little cabin would have welcomed a chance to interrogate the newcomer, something in her manner and bearing suggested that prying would not be welcome. In the course of the following two days, Owl learned that she was "old enough" to be living on her own, had no family, friends or home, and had been going "over the mountains" somewhere when the storm had caught her. His imagination supplied all sorts of explanations for her secretive behavior, but he was forced to admit that it was likely she was simply the reclusive type. He resigned himself to remain unsatisfied.
The storm broke in the night after the Wildcat's rescue, but the cliffs remained virtually impassable for several days afterward. Even after the snow partially melted, the going was treacherous underfoot as the slush created slick patches of ground and weakened stability.
When the Wildcat mentioned to Owl that she wished to depart from their company, he looked at her with concern shining sincerely in his eyes. They no longer had to wear snowshoes when they went outside, but the terrain was still uncertain underfoot.
"You wish to leave? Now? It's not necessary, I assure you. We could keep you on for the winter; we have enough supplies to last and the season will only get harsher."
She looked troubled and glanced to the East, down into the lowlands far away, where the winter was even now beginning a temporary halt to campaigns and bloodshed.
"You're fleeing the war, aren't you." Owl watched her start slightly, then look down.
"Um... Yes. I am." She did not meet his eyes.
"It's ok. I understand. We're refugees as well. I... well, I took an oath to spill no blood when I was younger, and I couldn't allow myself to break it by being conscripted. And I have my responsibilities to the children, of course- but don't worry about the war. This is far enough away from the fighting; it certainly won't come up here. It's safe for you to stay."
She seemed to waver with this argument, taking several short breaths which sent plumes of steam away with the wind. He tried again.
"You'll be much safer here than out in the mountains all alone, I gurantee it. Plus-
"I enjoy your company. I wish you would stay with us for a time."
She gave in. "For a time. But when I must leave, I will leave."
"I would not try to prevent you."
She nodded, eyes downcast, unsmiling.


Mine

The Wildcat had deep-set dark hazel eyes which glittered above high cheekbones and rather sunken, pale cheeks. Her slender body was taken up entirely with muscle and bone; nowhere were limbs fleshed out with extra fat. She reflected this starved appearence with her appetite once she could stomach solid food, eating as much as Kit and Otter combined. Privately Owl doubted his own assessment of their ability to support her for the winter, but he allowed none of his thoughts to slip out. The girl was too thin to be healthy, and should she choose to leave before winter's end she would have even less opportunity to eat. Even as he realized that his first responsibility was to his family, he worried about her and became determined to keep her healthy. Though she had been with them for only a few days, she was already important to him.
She had a startling sense of presence about her which drew the others to her even as it separated her from them. Every movement she made and word she spoke had a deliberate purpose to it. She made efforts to be helpful and even joined in Otter's reading lessons with surprising gentleness and patience, but made it clear that she desired her privacy. The message was brought home when Owl noticed a small leather-bound book with her clothing and attempted to look at it.
"Don't touch that." She was suddenly there, holding his wrist back from picking up the book.
"What is it?"
"It is mine. You may not look at it." Her voice, usually a soft and careful neutral, held cold overtones of menace.
"Okay, I'm sorry. I didn't know you felt that way."
She breathed in slowly, deliberately, and laughed to break the tension. "That's all right. I didn't intend to be mean about it."
Unless I insisted that I see it, is that what you mean, kitty? Owl mused, smiling in return. Well, I won't press the issue. She was hiding something, but there was no point in forcing it out of her. Everyone needs their secrets.


As winter marched on inextolorably, the Wildcat grew both more and less comfortable in their family. Her presence was invaluable as she revealed a new talent: hunting. Although Aster and Hawk had supplied the family with meat before her arrival, frequent snowfalls ruined the effectiveness of the snares they set. The Wildcat knew a different method of the hunt, and rarely returned from a trip into the forest without a kill. When Owl marvelled at her effeciency, she shrugged off the praise.
"You could do just as well, Owl. You're quick and agile. All you need is teaching and practice. Do you want me to teach you?" She looked at him, eyes glittering in the firelight.
"Ah- no. But thank you. I would, but," he laughed a bit self-depricatingly, "the oath I took when I was younger..."
"Extends to animals? You eat them, don't you?"
"I just... don't like killing. I'm a farmer."
She nodded and withdrew from the circle of light. By the table she prepared the mountain hare whose neck she had snapped in the woods for that evening's stew with Hawk. Aster watched Owl from her seat on the bed, listening to the muted hiss of the snow falling on the roof.
A familiar tramp, tramp heralded the arrival of Otter and Kit before the door swung open and they entered. Otter's young face beamed out from beneath her furs as she bounded into the room.
"The moon's rising already, Owl, even though the sun's only just set; it's really pretty on the snow. Come outside and see! The clouds are starting to clear away again."
Rising slowly, reluctant to leave the heat of the fireplace even though the moon might be 'really pretty,' Owl followed Otter back outside to look.
"See?"
"Hm. It's almost full. I'd lost track of the time in the last week. You're right, it is very beautiful." He shivered a bit from the cold.
A sound in the doorway drew Owl's attention around. The Wildcat stood there, eyes squinting a bit from the reflected light off the snow. She looked at them for a moment, brows creased.
"I will be leaving tomorrow."
"What?"
"I will be leaving, tomorrow morning. You knew I could not stay long. I thank you for your hospitality."
The shock of her statement took a moment to sink in. Then Owl opened his mouth to protest.
"But-"
"Please, Owl. You said you wouldn't stop me. I have to do this." She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

Let it Snow

Owl woke up early the next morning with a heavy heart. He could hear Aster moving in the kitchen corner, but no one else stirred in the room. Sitting up, he caught the glance Aster threw at him and was taken aback by the cheerfulness in her expression. Opening his mouth to whisper a question, he stopped as she held a finger to her lips, then touched her ear, mouthing, listen.
He listened. Silence. But not the normal silence of morning, no, this was a heavy, muted silence that was very familiar....
Owl climbed out of the bed and walked slowly to the door. Throwing back the latch, he started to pull it open, then stopped at the white glare which met his eyes. As his sight adjusted, he saw that the snow from the night before had piled up to past weight-heighth, even for a tall man like him.
The ramifications of the new snowfall were slow to sink in, but when they did, Owl's heart leapt with new hope. Nobody can go anywhere in this! She'll have to stay on longer!
This hope did not last long in the face of the Wildcat's expression when she awoke, however. Always so self-contained, she did not betray her emotions completely, but it was apparent to everyone watching that she was distressed; no, what affected her was more than distress. Tiny lines appeared around her eyes, and a great weariness descended on her shoulders. In just a few moments, she seemed to diminish, right before their eyes.
"Very well. I shall stay on." Her eyes seemed to accuse Owl, though the snow was in no way his fault.
What was my fault, kitty? Making you welcome here in the first place? He knew she wanted to stay- but something drew her away. Am I to blame, then, for your pain?

In the next two days, the Wildcat grew ill. At first, it was only in little things; her hands trembled a bit as she lifted the knife to chop vegetables, her breath grew short walking across the room, her face flushed in the warmth of the fire. Gradually as the second day went on, she became weaker until her frailness could no longer be ignored. Owl helped her into bed and brought her food, but she pushed it away and whispered, "I am not hungry."
That evening, as he settled down for the night on the floor, she whispered to him again.
"Owl."
"Wildcat? Are you all right?"
"Owl, listen to me. I don't need medicine. I'll be all right in a few days. Just- leave me alone. Bring me my journal and go to bed."
"Do you know what's wrong with you?"
"I'm all right. Just... tired..."
He found her journal in her furs and brought it to her, resisting the temptation to look inside at the pages. She reached up a hand, eyes fastened on the book, and took it with steady fingers.
"Thank you."

True to her words, the Wildcat recovered in three days, regaining her appetite and her strength gradually under Owl's worried eye.
I've had good reason enough to worry, though. Mere weariness doesn't account for feverish tossing and crying like she was, not two nights running. I may not be a doctor, but those aren't good signs. It's a good thing she didn't leave before it snowed; she'd not have survived two days.
She seemed almost cheered by her recovery, and when Owl asked if she would soon leave (for the snow had been reduced to inches within three days of falling), she responded with half a smile, "Not immediately, Owl. I've decided to stay on a bit longer if you want me to stay." Her eyes were still dark and her thoughts hidden, but her words were clear. Owl was happy again.

Conversations

"What are you thinking, Aster? You've been watching her for over half an hour."
"Keep your voice down, Owl. Don't disturb her."
He looked over at the prone figure on the bed, brows creased.
"This is the third time now since she arrived. It's seriously starting to worry me. What are you thinking?"
Aster crossed, then uncrossed, her arms, watching the Wildcat toss and moan for ages. Then, almost as if to herself, she murmured, "When did she arrive?"
When she said no more, Owl replied, "Few days after the first moon of winter, I think. Why?"
"When did she first fall sick?"
"Umm... Right before the second moon, I think it was. Why?"
"And the next time, Owl?"
"A few weeks later, I don't recall exactly..."
"Four weeks, Owl."
"Why?"
"Sometimes I forget you're a man, Owl. What day is it?"
"Today? I think the moon is full tonight."
She turned to face him, expression exasperated. "Full moon, Owl! What happens on the full moon?"
His face abruptly turned bright red. He glanced briefly at the Wildcat, then back at Aster, stammering, "Y-you mean...?"
"Bleeding sickness, Owl. Bleeding sickness."
His face burned an even brighter hue. Looking at the ceiling, he paused to allow the heat in his ears to cool; Aster mercifully stood and went to the bedside to check on the Wildcat. When Owl recovered from his embarassment, he came to join her.
"I didn't think... it could be so, severe, though."
"I've never heard of it being this bad, but then, she could be a special case. After all, she doesn't actually bleed."
"You- how do you know?"
She sighed, annoyed by his thickheadedness. "Simple. She's been bedridden at each full moon. If she bled, we'd all know."
He thought about it. In retrospect, it did make perfect sense. But on his own, he never would have noticed. Aster tended to be discreet, and Otter (so far as he knew) didn't have that sort of problem yet.
Thank heaven.
Aster's glare brought him back to the present. "Come on Owl, what are we going to do about it?"
"Do? She's been holding up pretty well without help so far."
"Don't be dense, Owl. It's not attractive. Any sickness this severe needs to be treated, or else it can get more complicated. She might die from it, too; or stray out too far and not be strong enough to return. She probably was trying to reach our cabin so that she'd have shelter and didn't make it before she got too weak. She could have died, Owl, because of a complication!"
"Ok, ok, I see your point. But what are we supposed to do about it? I'm not a healer, I'm just a farmer! I know a few herbal remedies, that's all."
"Well, start dosing her as soon as she wakes up. We'll see what medicines work next month, ok?"
"If she stays that long. She keeps threatening to take off."
"But we can't let her leave, not if she's going to get sick every month! Plus, she's part of the family now. Don't you think, Owl?"
"Of course she is." There was no doubt in his mind. The Wildcat belonged with their family.
"And as a family member, she deserves the best care we can give her. We're obligated to find out what's wrong with her."

What is wrong with Wildcat? She seems to know when the illness is coming; that just goes to prove Aster's theory. But if she knows, then why did she want to leave right before she got sick during the first moon? That doesn't make sense. She should want to be somewhere safe when she's sick, not out in the cold forest. She's obviously got something else troubling her; if it was just her illness, she would be willing to talk about it. I know she would. She'd talk to Aster, if not to me. She's intelligent.
That means there's more wrong than just the illness.
I wager it has to do with her journal.
Drat.

More Conversations

"Wildcat."
"Owl."
"You're sure you've recovered?"
"I think I'm capable of estimating my state of health."
"Aye, I suppose you would think that."
There was a long pause. Owl dropped down to sit on a log, patting the space next to him. The Wildcat ignored him, looking out into the forest. A shower of snow fell down from a nearby tree, shaken loose by a flock of small birds fluttering amid the branches. A single drop of icy water dripped strategically on the only bare space on the back of Owl's neck. He shivered a bit, but retained his silence resolutely. Finally the Wildcat snapped.
"What do you mean by that?" Her tone was unreadable.
"You should know, Wildcat." He tried to sound gentle, but the words sounded petulant in his ears. "Ever since you came to live with us you've been avoiding our questions. You say you're going to leave, but then you fall sick. If you know you'll be sick, why do you want to leave?"
"Owl..." Her word was a warning. He ignored it.
"I'm sure you know what's wrong with yourself. If you would just tell us, we would be able to help you. As it is-"
"Owl..."
"Don't 'Owl' me, Wildcat. I'm worried about you!"
She whirled to face him, expression somewhere between livid rage and deep suffering. " Stop! Just stop asking questions! I don't want to discuss it!"
He fought the urge to stand up and shake her. If he tried, she would flee, and then what could he do for her?
He lowered his voice. "I'm sorry. You're family to me. I'm concerned for you. That's why I'm asking."
The rage drained out of her, leaving behind only pain. She stared off behind him at nothing, deflated. After a moment, she spoke. "If you truly believe that, Owl, you'll do as I ask. I know it doesn't make sense to you... Please, don't ask me again. I will be all right. Believe me."
He could not bring himself to answer. She looked at his face, and saw the struggle he was going through. Her eyes darkened again, and she drew the pain inside her, hiding it from him.
"Owl. If you try to ask me again, I will leave. Much as I wish I could stay, I cannot if you cannot restrain your curiosity."
Curiosity, Wildcat? I'm not curious, I'm concerned. There's a difference. Curiosity, I could restrain. Concern? I'm not capable of controlling it. All I can control is my tongue...
Owl nodded once, though his will wavered. She looked at him a long time, then turned away.
"I'm going hunting. Don't expect me to be back before nightfall." She fingered her pocket, where the outline of a slim book stood out against the leather.
Still don't trust us with your journal, Kitty?
I don't blame you. We love you too much to respect your privacy.


* * *

"She's still not back yet."
"She told me not to expect her back before nightfall, Aster."
Hawk spoke up from the corner. "Wildcat can take care of herself."
Aster rounded on him. "Don't you start on that! She's been bedridden for four days until this morning! I'll believe she can take care of herself when she starts showing concern for her own health!"
Owl sighed. "Well, she never had a relapse before. I think she just needs time to herself. She's had a lot to think about."
Aster turned back to Owl, frowning. "What exactly did you say to her?"
"I was trying to get her to tell me what's wrong with her. She got mad at me."
She sighed. "Owl, Owl... I just hope you didn't drive her to run away." Her brow creased. "It's almost the middle of the night. It still gets below freezing at night; did she have warm clothing?"
"She was wearing her furs, as I recall." Hawk was determined to be helpful. "Don't fret so, Aster. She was fine on her own before she came to us, remember?"
"If you consider being half-frozen to the side of a cliff 'fine,' I suppose. I'm shocked she hadn't killed herself long before."
"Obviously she knows something about taking care of herself, if she got this far. Don't worry so much, love." Hawk got up from his seat and enfolded Aster in his arms. At first she stood rigid, unbending, but finally she sighed and leaned her head against his arm. "I can't help it."
Owl knelt to tend the fire, not wanting to intrude. He envied them their relationship; out in these lonely mountains it would be good to have a companion... But there was so much else to think about now; when the war ended they might be able to go back home. Then he could start thinking about such things.
Maybe Wildcat will come with us. That would be nice.

Ruminations

The Wildcat returned before the dawn, bringing with her the bounty of two freshly-killed mountain hares. Sopping snow clung doggedly to the fur on her hood. Her cheeks were pink from the cold but her dark eyes shone with cheer. She shook herself like a wolf, then, tossing her prey onto the table, bounded across the room and into the bed, where cold hands and clumps of snow brought its startled occupants into complete (and somewhat irate) wakefulness.
"Good morning, Wildcat," Owl said as neutrally as he could manage. The residual worry left over from the night before vanished, and would have been replaced with anger had her gaiety not coaxed an indignent laugh from him. The others were not so easily placated.
The combined stubbornness of Hawk and Aster together was not enough to pursuade a word from the Wildcat. She grinned ferally at their questioning and climbed under the covers, ousting Kit from his position on the end and producing an indignant squawk from Otter as cold feet invaded her pocket of warmth. Owl shrugged across the bed at Hawk, who rolled his eyes good-naturedly and got up to rekindle the fire and prepare the hares. The reek of blood from the dead hares exuded from the Wildcat still. Owl wrinkled his nose reflexively, then forced himself to ignore the scent in favor of going back to sleep for a bit longer.
When he lay back again, however, he found that sleep was not easy in coming. The shock of the sudden awakening had given him a rush of adrenaline; his heart was still pounding in reaction. Or maybe he was simply more aware of the Wildcat's presence now that she had returned... Whatever it was, he had plenty of chance to do some thinking.
Every day, the Wildcat was becoming more and more an integral part of his life. She was family, yes- but more than family, she was becoming important to him personally. She was like no other person he had ever met - which wasn't saying much, he admitted to himself, when he could count the people he knew well on one hand - and he was rapidly coming to hope she felt the same way about him. It was hard to tell. She was not one to wear her thoughts on her sleeve; to say she was guarded was an understatement. But it was times like this morning, when she relaxed and let go of her inhibitions, her inner pain, that he felt-
He didn't know what he felt. It was like no other emotion he'd ever had before. Joy, perhaps. Or maybe, just perhaps- was it love?
He reached a hand out and touched the edge of her hair gently. Her eyelids fluttered, but she did not awaken...
In her sleep, one slender hand crept to her breast and fingered her pocket where even now, her journal hid.
The journal. Even in her sleep she guards it. It's the key, I know it. He withdrew his hand, watching her. Whatever it is that comes between us, I know its secret is in that book. Whatever it is that chased her away is written in there. I wish...
I can't. She trusts me.
Still...

The blade of the hoe bit into the dirt with a soggy thud. Owl bent his back into the labor, breaking up clods of sodden earth with the stoic silence of any farmer working in any field. The early-morning sun shone bright and cold over the mountains, illuminating the pillars of smoke rising from far-away valleys and towns. As Owl worked, Aster emerged from the woods with a snare in hand and sat down slowly and deliberately on the edge of the cliff.
Thunk. Turning earth.
Thunk.
Thunk.
"What are you thinking, Owl?"
Thunk.
"Thinking?"
Thunk.
Thunk.
"You're here for hours, working, every morning. What do you think about?"
Thunk.
"My family." Wildcat. "What needs to be done. What's going to happen to us."
Thunk.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Thunk.
"I've been thinking a bit myself. I think we need to send somebody down to figure out what's going on at home."
Owl leaned against his hoe. "You mean this isn't home?"
She turned to face him, irritated. "We're not going to stay here forever, Owl. When the war is over, I want to go back to what's left of our home and start over there."
Thunk.
"I'm beginning to like it here."
A sigh.
"Owl, I'm restless. There aren't any people here."
Thunk.
"So you want to go back East for a while? What about Hawk?"
"He wants to come with me; make sure I don't get myself killed."
Thunk.
"Well, don't leave me alone with the kids for too long; I'll go insane. And then we'd all likely starve," he added with a smile. Aster leapt to her feet and impulsively kissed his cheek, grinning like a banshee.
"Thank you! I'll be back within the month, I promise!

Owl stood on the cliffside with Otter and Kit watching the pair descend into the forest below. Once, Hawk glanced up and waved with a free hand, and after that neither looked back.
"Well, it looks like we're on our own now, kids. It's up to you guys to do the hunting, since we all know that Wildcat is apt to run off at any moment." He smiled wryly.
"Naturally." Kit shrugged and turned away. Owl looked at Otter. Otter looked at Owl.
"Hah. Boys." She whirled and flounced into the forest.
Kids.

Potato Soup and Restless Sleep

The firelight flickered, casting shadows back and forth on the Wildcat's still cheek. The room was silent; Otter and Kit were outside watching the sunset from the upper ridge, and the Wildcat had finally fallen into a more restful-seeming slumber. Owl watched her sleep from his perch on the table, outer countenance showing none of his inner turmoil. Aster and Hawk had been away their alloted moon and more, leaving him in the position to take care of the Wildcat in her illness with no support. None of his herbs did her any good; she refused all food when she was sick anyway, but never became weak enough to make force-feeding an option. He knew; he'd tried it once. Thinking back to the scene, he smiled wryly.
Potato soup splattered on the walls combined with the look on her face- no, I don't think I'll be trying that again. Though if Aster and Hawk don't get back, I may have to do something drastic.
His amusement faded again, replaced with worry. There was too much that could go wrong.
Was it worth the risk?
He stood up and left the cabin. The evening chill bit his face and cleared his lungs, but his face remained downcast. There was no sign of Aster and Hawk on the cliffside or what he could see of the forest below, no birdcalls of alarm heralding an approach.
A cry from the cabin brought him back inside at a run. The Wildcat thrashed back and forth on the bed again, her face contorted in a grimace of pain. Owl, recognizing this as a normal fit, tried to calm down. He ended up pacing back and forth from the bedside to the table, fussing with blankets and random objects. She'll quiet down in a few minutes, like always. Only this time, she didn't quiet down. Droplets of sweat streamed down her forehead, and muscles stood out in her slender limbs as she strained against something unseen. He stopped pacing and stared down at her, heart hammering too fast. She sounds like she's dying. What if she really is dying? What can I do?
A different movement drew his eye to the small pocket hidden on her shirt. The outline of the journal was missing- the book- where was it? Her arm drew back, tossing aside a corner of the blanket. There it was- nestled up against her elbow. Probably it had fallen out as she convulsed.
Perhaps her unconscious mind was aware of the area in which his attention lay, for she breathed a sigh and went still, except for one hand which crept down to grasp the journal weakly. A line of spittle ran from the corner of mouth and her dark hair lay touseled over the mattress, but her breathing steadied.
That was worse than I've seen her before. Oh, kitty, you've been sick too long. I think it's getting worse. Where are Aster and Hawk? They would help me- but without them here, I don't know what to do. I don't know... I don't know... I can't let you stay so ill- I care about you. I'm afraid you're going to die.
His eyes locked on her still face. She looked so pale, so wan and lifeless.
He reached down, and took the journal from her still fingers.

Her eyes opened slowly, glittering with a strange inner light.
"Damn you, Owl."
Then they closed again, and she began to breathe with the slow rhythm of sleep.

He called up to Kit and Otter on the ridge. "Kids, would you come down and watch the Wildcat for me for a while? I need to stretch my legs in the forest." She'll kill me. "Keep a watch out for Aster and Hawk for me, okay?" Scratch that. They'll all kill me.
In the forest below, he found himself a nook underneath a pine, and settled himself down to read the journal.
The first entries were filled with mundane affairs, scrawled in the large, looping handwriting of a child. This book was old; apparently the Wildcat had started it a number of years ago. Impatient, he flipped past a few entries, then, seeing nothing imparting deep secrets, fanned through the pages to reach the end. The last caught his eye; it was written in a wobbling, watery brown ink, in contrast to the earlier black pen. It also happened to begin with his name.


Owl.
I imagine you're reading this under one of two circumstances. In the first, I want you to read very carefully. If I have disappeared and the moon is full, I want you to gather everyone together and lock all the doors of the cabin. Don't worry about me. I'll be back in a few days.
If you've taken this journal from me, give it back.
You probably won't listen to me in either case unless I explain, though. All right, have your way. I am cursed.
Every moon, something happens to me. I don't know why or how, but I know it cannot be cured. My mind is taken over by a murderous rage. Though I do not change externally, I gain a great strength and endurence- but I cease to be human.
You've never seen it before. It is supressable, but the pain of holding the beast within bites deep.
So now do you understand why I must leave.

He sat for a while, staring at the words until they didn't make sense any longer. Then he stood quietly and walked away, deeper into the woods.



Bloodied Hands

A long, cold night in the forest left Owl disoriented and uncertain, but most of all hungry. It was too early in the year for berries or nuts, and up in the mountains few of the wild plants were familiar to him. He wandered aimlessly west, avoiding the land he knew.
At first he had almost returned to the cabin. Otter and Kit were alone with the Wildcat; it could be dangerous for them, he knew. Yet they had been alone with her at this time before, and no harm had befallen them. Besides, if the Wildcat was going to break at any time, most likely it would be due to his presence - he had, after all, taken her journal. He trusted her, though. Even as his instincts warned him away in an unusual fit of self-preservation, they insisted she would not harm the children.
Foolish of me, he reflected, to trust and distrust her in the same action. In jest I thought she'd kill me; now that I know she might indeed, I tell myself she won't.
He wasn't sure where he was going. All he needed was a little time to think, to clear his mind of confusion and uncertainty. But unfortunately, that meant he couldn't go back to the cabin now to get food.
At least she should be getting better by this morning. He glanced up at the pale sky showing between the tree branches. The moon is waning again.
He flushed a ptarmegan from the bushes almost by accident and pursued it down a slope half-heartedly until it resigned itself to flight. Disappointment warred with perverse relief in his heart.
If I can't catch it, I won't have to kill it...
Time didn't seem to move in the forest. Hours may have passed, or only minutes, before Owl flushed another bird and tried again. This was a young bird, perhaps separated from its mother and not yet able to fly. Its feathers soft and unformed, it flopped from shrub to shrub, always a few steps ahead of him. Growing winded, he paused a moment and bent to pick up a stone, then flung it haphazardly at the bird. With a shriek, the animal fell, its cry not quite covering the sickening crack of breaking bone.
Filled with dreat and eagerness, Owl paced forward to where it lay. The bird had fallen on one wing; the other was bent at a wrong angle. It was alive, however, and rasped with rapid breaths and stared with wide rolling eyes as he approached.
I could splint that wing still - no. No.
Kneeling, he took the bird's head into one hand and its body in the other. His hands trembled... he twisted slowly- it shrieked again, and startled, he dropped it.
"What kind of owl are you, that is afraid to kill?"
The Wildcat reached down and effortlessly snapped the bird's neck.
"Not much of one, I guess," he said cautiously. "Shall I make a fire?"
"Too much work; you're starving by now. Eat it raw. Here, like this." She tore free a shred of flesh and gave it to him.
"Thank you."
He watched her bloody fingers, her dark eyes bent on their work. She was silent as she stripped the meat from the bone, giving him some, devouring the rest for herself in neat, animal-like snaps. As the last of the meat was eaten, she licked her hands clean and wiped her face. Owl became conscious of the blood on his own fingers, and carefully wiped it away on the damp mossy ground. Standing up, he cleared his throat. The Wildcat remained squatting in place, watching the forest.
"Um. This is yours. I'm sorry I took it," Owl held out the journal. Still not looking at him, she reached up with one hand and took it, replacing it in its pocket.
Silence.
"So- how are Otter and Kit?"
"Worried about you, last I saw them. Aster asked me to track you down."
"They've returned, then?"
"And brought news. The was is going on as planned; one side has nearly defeated the other. I don't remember all the details. You'll have to ask them yourself."
"Of course. They must be worried sick, to send you out so soon after-"
"I'm fine. I volunteered; of course, you're remarkably easy to track."
Silence. Owl shifted uncomfortably.
"Well, we'd better go home then, to keep them from getting any more upset-"
"Owl."
"What?"
"I'm not going back."
"What do you mean? I-"
"Look at me, Owl. I'm not going home with you."
"But kitty-!"
"Remember your promise, Owl! Don't break this one. I can't stay any longer." She sighed, a soft, hurt sound, and looked down. "I'm sorry."
"We could find a cure. I know there's a cure, Wildcat!"
She stiffened. "There is no cure."
"How do you know?"
"My name is Ayinthuninang." Lonely Sorrow-Bearer.
His vision blurred. "I love you, Wildcat."
She met his gaze solomnly. "Your family needs you more than you need me. Go home, Owl. I'll be all right. Go home."
She turned and walked west, looking back only once.
"Goodbye, Wildcat."