The jaguar seemed to rush toward Koen, but those were his own legs moving. The staff was too narrow and Koen's leverage was too poor to knock the cat aside. But its tip caught Fancy Death a nasty blow to the hip, which certainly hurt.

Graa exploded off the ground. The cat screamed and leaped.

Koen's brain did not bother to record the moments between the time when the shock of impact traveled up his arm and the time when he was flat on his back, staff in both hands, bench-pressing the jaguar.

Koen's fists tightened around the gnawed contours of the wood. The muscles in his arms trembled under the cat's weight. The front paws reached and scrabbled in the air over Koen's chest. Hot, meat-smelling breath poured from of his mouth.

If he thought to do it, the jaguar could bring up his hind paws and rip Koen's belly. Or he could simply hop off and circle back around, give Koen a bite to the neck before the human could stand back up. But Fancy Death thought none of these things. He just kept trying to bite and claw until Koen gasped.

"Down!"

The clawing and snarling stopped.

Koen forced his eyes to open and look up into the face of Fancy Death.

He'd been expecting to see yellow eyes full of fury and murder. Instead, the cat looked hurt. Confused. However dangerous he was, he was also someone's pet.

"Down," said Koen again. He pushed with the staff, gently but without giving way. Fancy Death backed off him. Maintaining eye contact, Koen slid himself across the ground until his back pressed against Fling.

"I'm going to stand up," he said. "Mr. Graa, can you distract him again if he pounces?"

Back up on the branch next to Mark, Graa spat out the fur. "Yes! I will peck him with enormous force."

"I mean give him some food or something."

A chuck-chuck noise from over his head. Something splattered on the undergrowth. "I'm angry. Hit him again!"

"No," said Koen. "It's time for some kindness." He risked a glance away from the cat. "Laura?"

"I'm behind you."

"I agree with His Excellency," said Mark. "You should — "

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"Quiet, Human Mark," said Graa. "Human Laura, check Fling's robes for caches of snacks. She generally overfeeds Fancy Death to produce a stupor."

A torn baggie and gobbets of dried blood demonstrated to Laura's satisfaction that Fancy Death had found the snacks first.

"Some rodents have cheek pouches. I am uncertain about their presence in Toxoplasmotics specifically, but in any case — "

Koen wasn't listening. He was breathing, wiggling his toes, trying to get enough blood back into his forebrain to imagine what it was like to be Fancy Death. Lost in the forest. Hungry. Angry at these creatures that were hurting him. Missing his master.

Stick still stretched out in front of him, Koen glanced behind him, where Fling lay with Laura kneeling on her other side. He had already tried to mimic her, but the Jaguar wasn't falling for it. If only Proprietress could dangle a puppet Fling here. He could tell Laura to call Proprietress, but even if she had a puppet ready and some way to move it— no.

"Laura, can you wake Fling up?" asked Koen.

Laura probed until she found a small, round shoulder, and shook it. Fling's nose twitched, but that was all. Laura tried the larger and more heavily muscled hip. This produced nothing but a snore. With a leap of speculative-evolution intuition, Laura brushed her palm over Fling's whiskers.

The Toxoplasmotic rolled her head and exposed her incisors. Huge, inky eyes slitted open.

"Mm. Scream louder." She rolled over and went back to sleep.

"I don't think that's good advice," said Laura.

Fancy Death craned his neck around Koen, trying to get a better view of his master.

"Okay," said Koen, still holding out the stick. "Try to pull her upright. A sitting position."

Laura tugged on the rodent's shoulders, then remembered and pulled her up by the hips instead. "I don't think Toxoplasmotics can sit."

"A crouching position, then."

Fling slumped forward, arms and legs folded under her. She mumbled something and twitched her tail. The eyes of Fancy Death focused on it. His ears came up. He snorted through his nose.

Slowly, Koen shifted his weight to the side, letting the jaguar slide around him.

Fancy Death put his head down and sniffed at Fling's face. He nosed under her chin, pushing his head under her neck and chest, looking for more treats.

"Kitty," mumbled Fling. "Bad kitty."

Koen let out a breath and squeezed his hands together. The fingers were trembling.

"All right," he said. "All right. All we have to do now is…stand up. Laura?" He reached out for her and pulled her close. She was trembling too.

At their feet, Fancy Death curled up next to Fling.

"Let's get out of here," said Koen.

Laura reached for her translator. "I'll call the others."

That did it. Mark could not afford to wait any longer. He took a deep breath and held it.

"Excellent idea," said Graa from his branch. "Order them to bring food to distract the animal and call the Pitiful Species Hygiene and Physical Standards Corps to…No, I will make that call." He cocked his head at the upward-staring humans as hands opened behind him. "What are you looking at?"