That night, happy, exhausted, and warm, I tucked myself into my blanket by the fire and set to dreaming. My family gathered in our hazy dream home. It was a rowdy meeting, to say the least. In between the excited clamour of Hush and Thimble’s boastings, and the petulant annoyance of the pair left out, I managed to ask Mama where she lived.

The discovery of Hush and Thimble so close by had made knowing seem even more important. And I missed her. I wanted to cuddle in real life.

“I found the barn where we were born. With the horrible booming murder-man who tried to drown us.”

Mama pulled me in close.

I noticed then, that I was nearly as big as her, so much I had grown. The sunshine-ginger-tortoiseshell patchwork of her fur was very pretty, and she smelled like sun-beams.

“You should stay away from there,” she murmured in my ear, “it is not safe.”

“I am fine,” I said, “Really. I was very careful. But I would just like to know? Where are you? Are you safe?”

“Yes, my son,” she said warmly, “I am safe and well. I found a good place to live, at the troll tavern under the bridge over the gorge to the west.”

“The… troll tavern?” I asked, confused. I was not sure what answer I had expected, but a troll tavern was not it. The others stopped to listen as well. “What’s a troll?”

“One of the Folk,” said Hush. “A bigger one, well bigger than the pixies. Some of them are like giants, some of them are bigger. They look like rocks, kinda. There's a troll that lives near our village, under the low mossy bridge that leads east.”

“Looks like a big rock,” said Thimble, helpfully, “until it moves.”

“I said that already,” growled Hush.

“Not the bit about them moving,” said Thimble. “Our troll is a bit grumpy though. I fell asleep on him once and he grumbled at me a lot when he woke up.”

“I thought trolls ate cats,” said my other sister. The one who wasn’t Hush. I didn’t know her name yet either - in my mind she was sister-white-socks. I should ask everyone all the things.

“My troll is a troll maiden,” said Mama, when she could get a word in edgewise. “She certainly could eat cats if she wanted too but prefers other delicacies. I do not inquire. She is mostly good natured but prefers… not to deal with the little people more than she needs too. The tavern can be quite lively, with a lot of dancing and singing and drinking. No one can carouse quite like the Folk. I toss out the little ones that get too drunk, when it amuses me to do it, of course. The troll maiden appreciates my presence for the blessing it is upon her establishment. In return I get a warm bed in front of the fire. It is safe like no other place. And I am fond of the music.”

“No two-leggers giants?” asked Thimble.

“Strictly no two-leggers,” said Mama. “No men. Only Folk, and those who can see them, like cats.” She paused. “I suppose a human person could frequent the tavern, if they could see it, and if they could access it. And if they were not afraid. But all of this is quite unlikely.”

There was silence as we digested this information.

I knew of the gorge, of course, I had passed over it several times. It was very high, and sides steep, dropping down to where River rushed along the bottom. I had not looked down too carefully, being unappreciative of the elegance of water, and so I had never noticed a building hidden there. Next time I would find it and visit Mama.

My heart lightened at the thought of visiting.

I am not sure why I felt it was so important - perhaps I had some premonition that our way of meeting might not always be viable. The thought of not being able to find my family in dreams was like a pain in my heart. I did not want to contemplate it, not even for one moment.

“Montadie said we were half fae,” said Hush, thoughtfully, interrupting my reverie.

“We are cats,” said Mama, sternly. “We don’t need labels. We are as we are - perfectly formed, austere scholars, ardent lovers, comfortable in our skins, both wise and sensitive. Never forget, my children. We do what we want. We are ourselves, whatever that might be. What other people think does not matter. Even what Montadie thinks, although she is, admittedly, wise in other matters.”

“What about names?” I asked. “Are names labels? What is your name Mama?”

“Ah,” said Mama, drawing herself up. “A name is a label of sorts. Names have power. They have meaning. Intent. Names can shape a destiny. The naming of cats is …a difficult matter. Not something to be taken lightly. Not something to be thought about casually, like some of the lesser creatures. A cat should have a minimum of three names.”

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“Three?” We asked, eyes wide.

“But we each have only one!” complained Hush.

“So far you only have one. You will acquire three, maybe more. Names and titles on a cat are like leaves on a tree. But I will explain further now. Names come and go with the seasons, they change with the cat and their deeds. Some are given - gifts from loved ones, and the outside world. Some are earned. Some are spat with a curse! Hateful spewings of your defeated enemies, yet still worn with pride. Some are given, only to be discarded. Others are whispered in awe, growing with your legends. As the cat changes, so do the names.

“The first acquired is a mundane name. An everyday thing, a useful thing, a sensible name. Not too long, not too thoughtful. It can be given without an excess of contemplation. You all already have those names: Jenkins, Hush, Thimble, Mirabel and Quickly.”

My siblings and I all exchanged looks. I thought Jenkins was the best name, by far, but I was too polite to say so.

“Given to you by your people,” continued Mama. “I assume?” Four of us nodded. “Apart from Hush.”

“How did you get your name?” I asked my tabby-sister.

Hush sat up extra straight and licked delicately at one pleased paw. “I named myself,” she said. “I don’t like too much noise. The two-leggers are too loud, and I don’t trust them. The peace and quiet is nice. And the sound of ‘hush’ is nice. Husssshhhh.”

“These names are all fine and lovely,” said Mama, with a purr, regarding us all fondly. “Those given and those found. You have adopted them as your own. The names are lucky to be graced by you. Although-” She looked at us sternly. “For those of you who live with two-leggers. Make sure not to come when you are called, unless you wish it. Make sure the giants understand that you are blessing them with your presence. Names have the power that you give them. Never forget that.”

“Ha,” said Hush, radiating smugness.

“Your second name should be…particular,” said Mama. “More dignified. A unique name. A name that has never belonged to more than one cat. This name is important, and requires more thought. Perhaps you will find it, perhaps it will find you. There is no need to hurry the acquiring of this name, it will happen in good time. However - this name is not as important as your third name.”

We all leaned, in, eyes bright, feeling the gravity of the lore Mama was about to impart.

“Your third name is sacred. Private. No one but you knows it. It is your true name, never to be confessed. Never to be discovered by any other. Not even to be shared with your family. Not to be shared with those you love the most. This name shapes your Intent. This name shapes your soul.”

She gazed around at us, her face serious.

“How will you discover your true name? It will be uncovered through profound meditation, through rapt concentration. This will take time. Do not worry if it takes time. It should take time. It takes energy and contemplation to truly know yourself.

“Once you have accomplished this you will at last know your deep and inscrutable, singular name. You will know your Intent.”

“Deep and inscrutable…” murmured Thimble in awe.

“Ineffable, effable, effanineffable,” said Mama. Her eyes were warm and slitted as she watched us. “You asked about my name, Jenkins. My name is Mama,” she said. “Given to me by yourselves - those I love the most. It is a name and a title I wear with great joy.” She took a deep breath. “I no longer recognise my first name, given to me by the murder man. I will not sully your beautiful ears with its utterance. I rejected it when he took you from me. Know, my darlings, that I fought him. I kicked, and bit and spat, trying to stop him, and that he broke two of my legs, and cracked several of my ribs that terrible day to keep me from you. I tried to save you my darlings. I tried, crawling on broken bones but I could not. I thought I had lost you. That I had failed in my duty. Please forgive me.”

We crowded around her, purring and nuzzling and assuring her of our love, and that there was nothing to forgive.

I made a mental note to go back and do bad things to the murder-man’s house as soon as I had time.

“I will be forever grateful to whatever vagaries of fate helped you escape. But I believe you are special, that you are all destined for great things. I left that place as soon as I could. I spent some time in the forest, healing, broken, living off the land. Some of the little Folk helped me, when I was still unable to move much. Through them I met the troll maiden. She knows me by my second name, which is Sigellíc Sunchaser.”

Sigellíc Sunchaser. It suited her, although it was strange to think of her as anything but Mama. I rolled the name around my mouth, and decided I liked the way it tasted.

We talked for hours, but then, once more, it was time to go.

After saying goodbye to my family I drifted off into true sleep, and dreamt of finding my own names.

I had no idea what they could be but it was fun to imagine. For now I was Jenkins, and that was good. I also dreamt of drowning, for the first time in ages, but I shook off the feeling with the morning. I had not drowned. I was here.

Upon waking I lay next to the fire and cultivated, easing the ache of my wounds.

Since I had arrived home in the darkness, my Maud had not noticed my state.

Her sharp eyes noticed this morning however, and I endured her well meaning fussing, and the application of one of her herbal salves to the nasty wound on my belly. I did not enjoy the slathering, but I will concede it further sped up the healing process. So I let her do it, and sat in her lap for a while to express my appreciation.

The next few days passed in blissful, restful meditation, and soon enough I was back to full strength. With the arrival of autumn I knew I had serious work to do. The mornings were colder, the sunlight was weaker, the qi harder to gather.

I continued my lessons, pleased with the way my circulating qi keeps my body warm from the inside out. With the shorter days my Maud had more time for training, and together we wiled away many hours in front of the fire engaging in deep meditation.

Despite the lack of sun I found the crackling fire qi a satisfactory alternative.

All through the days I practised as the heat slipped away and soon enough the promised winter laid its shroud of white upon the land.