We soon learnt that when Montadie said ‘one more time’, she actually meant, ‘until I am satisfied’. And it took a lot to satisfy the warty green master. I was able to achieve mental stillness only once or twice during that session. The rest of the time my brain raced and buzzed and reacted. Still, I was pleased. When we were done I was tired, but I knew the path ahead, and I was not afraid of hard work.

While the first half of the lesson might not have gone quite as well as I might have hoped, I more than made up for it in the second half. I opened my first meridian - to the surprise and consternation of my fellow students. To be honest I was a little surprised myself, although in retrospect I shouldn’t have been.

While the Nadders and Lavellan discussed their training regiments with Montadie, I sunk once more into that now familiar rhythmic breathing, relaxing my sore muscles, one by one. There was something about that glade. The qi that infused the space simply richer and thicker than anywhere else I had experienced. Probably why Montadie lived there in the first place? Oh something to do with her presence?

Now that I was relaxed and practised, it was growing easier and easier to cultivate there. And it was not just the moon-qi that was plentiful, but so many more. I could identify, although not use, a whole host of others - earth, forest, and water, as well as others I did not yet know. All of them were richer here than in the rest of the forest.

Anway, my meridian - deep in my meditation, I happily chased the shimmering moon qi around the channels of my body. By now it was second nature, I had practised every day for a moon-month. I was well acquainted with the blockages, the areas where the circuit of qi narrowed, like a rocky gullies. Around the blockages I identified as meridians, the smooth passage of qi turned rough, dashing itself against those rocks of impurities, dispersing in all directions. These were the stretches where I had to urge the qi forward with particular care.

Slowly, gradually, I had been wearing them away, expelling the clogging gunk. The qi was at once liquid and air, a mist stubborn and ethereal in that it constantly resisted my efforts to coax it onwards. At every blockage it was a battle not to lose it into the ether.

Sometimes I did lose it, and had to start again, gathering fresh qi from outside to pull inwards. And the blockages hurt. Sometimes like a thorn squeezing into the tender flesh of my paw, sometimes niggling bruises, sometimes sharp, and intense, threatening to wound if removed too quickly. It was the same at every blockage, all twelve of them, dotted at not quite regular intervals around my body. I could already tell that some would be more difficult than others to clear.

If I pushed too hard or too fast, the whispered tenderness would rise to a shriek of pain. Finding the balance was key. And so I worked carefully, persistently, admiring the shimmering moon-pale qi and listening to my body.

The heart meridian felt warm as I ghosted qi through it. My attention paused there, looking, wondering. A powerhouse waiting to be freed? The impurities pulled at me, and I thought, not yet. Montadie had warned us not to go too hard too soon, and this one felt tender in the extreme. The heart, the lungs, the brain - I knew these meridians could kill us if we attempted to open them too quickly. I had no desire to shut off my brain by accident, and I wasn’t sure how one could cycle qi without functioning lungs.

Later, I whispered to them. I would clear them all later.

At the next I paused again.

This one was more promising, the blockage smaller, the pain less threatening. The skin meridian. Here I could work without fear. Little by little I pushed, and nudged, worked the qi through, cleansing, cleansing, cleansing. Like my whiskers, like my fur, like the pads of my paws, I could be patient. What was a little pain in pursuit of perfection? I pushed on, ignoring the discomfort. Inside my body would be just as perfect as the outside! I breathed out, and pushed the qi though.

There.

A single, intense, sharp stab and the blockage disintegrated.

Filth seeped away. Energy swept through the channel. The qi gushed through the cleansed meridian, and pain gave way to elation. In that meridian alone, no qi was lost, and the qi cycled freely. It was a brief, beautiful glimpse into what I would become.

I opened my eyes with a satisfied purr.

My body ached all over. The familiar stink hung in the air. Everything was the same, and yet… everything was different.

“You did it!” shouted Montadie, rousing me from my reverie. Joy made the enormous toad’s eyes even more bulbous than usual. “Rest! Cleanse yourself! Look, everyone, Jenkins has opened his first meridian!”

My fellow students gathered around me, exclaiming. With a smug grimace, I flexed one filth encrusted paw and set to work putting my coat right, enjoying the jealous chatter of my classmates and vomiting neat piles onto the ground. As the youngest, if not the smallest of the group, it was gratifying to be first. I purred and purred, despite the grossness of my fur.

Dawn ended our lessons, and this time I was conscious enough, (and clean enough) to bid farewell to Montadie and my fellow students in a proper manner. As I crossed the line of toadstools, several Folk cheered and threw petals at me. I bowed my head towards them, bouncing on my tired paws, my tail straight up behind me.

“Take care on your way home, domestic,” said two of the toad girls, together. The twin sneers could scour the filth off the back of Maud’s outhouse, let alone unclog a qi channel. Perhaps that was how they had progressed to Awoken, simply by talking to each other?

“You never know what’s out there,” said the third, mystically. The three mean toad girls hopped off without waiting for a reply.

“Why do they call me ‘domestic’?” I asked aloud.

I wasn’t sure what the word meant but it was clearly not intended as a compliment. Suddenly everyone was very busy apart from Skol who was scratching his head with one of his hind legs.

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“Because you have never had to fend for yourself to survive?” said Lavellan, glaring at me over her shoulder. The fat water vole disappeared into the bushes without waiting for my retort. I resisted the urge to pounce on her round furry backside, but I did not have the energy.

The big goose walked over, and preened some of her feathers.

“They are calling you ‘domesticated,” she said. “Tamed. Broken. That is what they are implying. You know, because you live with humans. They said the same thing to me. Lumpy green idiots. They think it makes us weaker. I assume they are jealous.”

“Ah,” that explained it. I would be jealous of me too, if I was a toad.

“Is it not true?” Skol’s head tilted so far to the side I thought it might fall off, a brainless expression clouding his guileless, yellow, eyes. I could almost see the thoughts rolling around inside his head like floating dandelions. “Surely wild creatures with no masters must be naturally stronger than those who are raised in cages?”

“I was not raised in a cage!” I hissed in outrage. The very thought.

“You will soon learn,” said Wuot. She ruffled her feathers with an amused hissssssss, and walked off into the forest without a backward glance.

“You will soon learn,” I said to the wolf-cub, echoing the goose.

“Learn what?”

I paused, not being used to dealing with creatures of such limited intelligence.

“That you are mistaken.” I bounded after Wuot, leaving the floppy-eared idiot behind in his confusion. I had thought wolves were supposed to be intimidating. Of course that one had a fair amount of growing to do, but he was already massive.

I ran through the trees, ignoring the rumbling of my belly, and the tiredness of my legs.

Wuot had covered a surprising amount of distance and in the end, I had to sprint to catch up with her.

“He is as young as you,” she said, without looking at me. “But his heart is in the right place. Despite-”

“Despite him being a wolf?”

“I am not afraid of wolves, kitten,” said the big goose. I glanced sideways at her. I was still having to trot to keep pace. I’m not sure how big wild geese are but Wuot was very, very big. She saw me looking at her.

“My people keep me to guard the chickens,” she said proudly. “Stupid birds, all of them. But the foxes like to try their luck. Once at least, they like to try once.” And she laughed her honking laugh again, throwing back her head so I could see the pink gums lined with vicious teeth.

A brief glimmer of light flitted overhead, hard to distinguish now in the early morning rays. The enormous shining moth flew lazily above us. I still did not know his name, but I was fairly sure we were friends. My ears perked up. It seemed we were a party of three.

“Hello, Moððe,” said Wuot.

“You should both be careful,” Moððe said. “There are things in these woods that should not be here. I have seen them. And while Moonsap, Rotfoot and Hangbelly are not my favourite toads, you should know that they used to be four. Losing a sister has made them unpleasant, but I believe their warning was well intentioned.”

I filed the toads names away for another time. Not that I really care which is which.

“Losing a sister to what exactly?” said Wuot, not slowing down.

“I don’t know,” said the moth. “Something unpleasant- something powerful. They said it was a demonic cultivator that hunted them in the darkness, trapping them in the roots of a sickly tree, far underground and far from the light of day. Moonsap, Rotfoot and Hangbelly escaped with grievous injuries. Their sister did not make it out alive, and has not been seen since.”

“Demonic cultivators?” I said with a quiver.

“Yes. Not all pursue immortality via perfection and discipline,” said Moððe. “Others take short cuts. They damage their own souls out of greed and blood thirsty ambition.” He turned back to Wuot, who was still walking. “Montadie, Ule and I sought the tree, but did not find it. Perhaps they are lying. Perhaps they are telling the truth, but there is always danger in these wild woods.”

The moth flapped closer, so we could see both his real eyes, and the false ones on his wings. He lowered his voice.

“Take care my friends. A foul wind blows from the south, reeking of death and decay. Something is out there. Something is out there that should not be there. Something that will prey on the weak and strong alight. Heed the warnings and take care.”

Then his light was gone, the moth vanishing between the branches.

Wuot and I were once more alone again between the trees. I shivered, despite the morning. There was the smell of rain in the air. It smelled…nice. Like a morning forest should smell.

“Wonderful,” said Wuot. “Just wonderful. Well if they come for my chickens I’ll break their heads.” She looked down at me, “See you around, kid.” And then she, too, was flying through the trees in a glory of grey and white feathers. It looked like hard work, so heavy was her body, but she was still airborne, while I, the superior creature, was left behind on my own.

I spat in disgust and turned for home, the joy of opening a meridian somewhat dulled by the conversations. I turned Moððe’s words over and over in my mind as I padded.

A large fat raindrop landed on my nose, then another, and another, followed by a deluge as the heavens opened. The sunlight was swallowed by a bank of grey summer clouds.

I huddled under a bush grumbling to myself to wait out the rainstorm, staring up and out at the forest, forlorn, grey and dripping. I had gambolled through them so happily and intoxicated only the night before. Perhaps that had been a little foolish. Perhaps I needed the warning.

A cracking noise to my left made me jump, but it was only a water-logged pheasant sprinting through the raindrops. Shortly afterwards three little rain sprites came out from somewhere and started dancing around a puddle just in front of my nose, their tiny, transparent feet splashing in the pool that was forming. Their ethereal laughs were barely audible over the noise of the rain.

A chill prickled up and down my spine as I watched them. The memory of those weird shrieking shadows that I had seen the first night I had trekked to Montadie’s returning to my mind once more. I had not forgotten about them, I had just decided that they were probably wolves. But now, having spent time with Skol I knew they were not. Had I unwittingly witnesses some demonic cultivators?

The thought scared me. I felt vulnerable. I had opened a meridian, yes, but I had yet to reap the benefits. I could tell my body was changing, but I was not sure yet, what those changes would entail. I suspected I would be a little stronger, a little faster. Healthier, quicker. Would I be strong enough to fight off whatever it was the moth thought was lurking in my woods? The solution was to open the rest of my meridians as soon as possible.

My stomach gurgled, reminding me that I had not yet feasted, and so I set off, doing my best to slip between the raindrops. I disliked the wet, but it did wash whatever remaining foul scent that clung to my fur away.

I kept my eyes open for trouble, any kind of trouble.

River was full, almost bursting her banks and I eyed her cautiously. Her girth was wider than I had ever leapt. I made a flying jump, and landed with room to spare, landing easily, gracefully. The spirit applauded as I streaked into the bushes on the home side, and I could not help it, my tail perked up.

I pranced the rest of the way home, being careful, but still bouncing. Despite the rain. Despite the dangers. The rain eased up, and with it the weight on my mind. I was a cat. I might not be able to fly - not yet, nor could I poison people with my bite. I might not be the biggest, or the strongest, not yet, but there was no denying I was the best. I had opened a meridian. I had eight lives left to live. There was nothing to worry about.