Searching for a martial arts teacher who was also an expert at feline combat presented me with a pickle. I did not want to leave my forest for long periods of time and there was no one suitable present. All the non-demonic cultivators had left, and no one knew of any famous cat heroes. Apart from me of course.

I visited Mama at her troll tavern to ask her advice. Also, I wanted to see her home. I was curious. The name of her home was the Underbridge Tavern, and it was located on the very outer edge of my territory, where River flowed fast and furious, careering through cliffs she had carved out over the course of centuries (River was older than she looked).

Mama told me that a tavern was a very big house where lots of creatures gathered to listen to music and drink things that made them merry - a bit like the Nice Mint that Maud grew for me in the garden only different. Two-leggers had taverns elsewhere, but this one was strictly for Small Folk, fae, spirits and Small Gods only. And cats. Because cats are welcome everywhere, of course.

I set off on a moonless night, padding through spring showers and across the freshly greening earth. As I went, I cultivated, the floral-charged air whooshing through my veins. I felt like I might explode into bloom at any moment. It was quite exhilarating after the peaceful slumber of winter.

With my qi enhanced body I was able to move quickly now, passing miles in minutes if need be. But there was no need, so I ambled along, enjoying the night.

As I went, I practised suppressing my qi and emitting different signatures. Being a slow, ambulating rock was still my go to, but a disguise I was keen to shed for something less mundane. A tree was a little better, at least a tree was alive, and some were sentient, but trees did not walk around often either, (at least not very often) and I did not want to replicate the qi signature of a Small God. That just seemed like asking for trouble.

While even the most simple qi signatures were difficult to replicate while moving, I enjoyed the challenge. There was currently no way I could draw qi into my body to circulate, while suppressing my own, and emitting another signature, all at the same time. Sending extra qi to my brain helped a little but not enough. No, there was no way I could cheat this, I would simply have to practise, practise, practise, and wait for my control and my core to grow in power.

Struck by inspiration, I sat for a while in a glade, and did my best mushroom impression. The damp, earthy qi circled me in tight formation. I was such an effective mushroom that a pixie came right up to me before emitting a loud squeak of annoyance and fluttering off in a glitter of dust. It was lucky I did not consider pixies delicious. This particular trick was going to make me an even more awesome hunter.

Pleased with myself, I ghosted across the remaining forest and out onto the road that led out towards the busy human settlements. The bridge that gave the tavern its name spanned a steep gorge here. I knew I was in the right place because a troll-maiden was sitting precariously atop the railings, drinking from a large tankard.

I had never seen a troll-maiden before, but from Mama’s description I was certain this was one such. Belching and singing, she looked like a large blue-striped bumble-bee (if bumble-bees were human sized, blue and made of rock). Her qi signature was very interesting - not just rock but a whole host of elements I had not yet befriended.

“Ho Jenkins,” the troll-maiden said, raising her tankard. “Yer mam said you’d be stopping by.”

I nodded to her respectfully, then set off to the entrance of the tavern.

Faint unearthly music spilled out into the stillness of the night from down below near the base of the bridge. Leaning out, I could just see it. Well I could see the door, which was the only part that was visible, the rest of it presumably built into the bridge and cliff-face. The door was dark, and peeked out from below one of the steep arches, well hidden, a secret unknown to the two-leggers who routinely crossed the bridge (and hopefully unknown to rats). It was certainly discreet, and I suspect, judging from the swirl of energy around it, enchanted.

The descent into the ravine was perilous. I needed every ounce of strength and balance, and I’m not sure I would have made it without my enhanced body, not without tumbling into the frothy waters below anyway.

Waiting for me on the ledge that led inside was a …doorman? At least I assumed it was a doorman. A doorman or a drunken customer, sleeping off his merriment? One or the other. What I did know was that he was a bit slouchy, and kinda hairy. I thought he must be another kind of troll - an absolutely massive one with rock instead of flesh and moss growing between its toes. His size was intimidating, so I puffed up my tail to make my own self as impressive as possible, and sauntered forward with light steps.

The slow-giant-mossy-troll-thing rumbled something at me, and moved aside, pushing the door open. With a graceful dip of my head, I hopped over the threshold.

A cacophony of sensations washed over me.

The tavern was loud and merry, the room was dark and light, and golden, and pink and green and … it kept changing colour. It smelled rich - of lightning and flowers and mint and gooseberries, all of it laced with the sharp, nose tweaking scent of alcohol. And magic. Lots and lots of magic.

The Small Folk here were not just small but medium and in some cases big as well. Spirits of all shapes and sizes, a few goblins, brownies, boggarts, and horsey-kelpies dripping water over the furniture as well as the hordes of tiny pixies and fairy-folk I was more used to.

I did not have to hunt far to find my Mama. She was headed towards me right that second, a rosy cheeked gnome dangling from her jaws, a bemused expression on his round, knobbly face, his small wings buzzing ineffectually as he swung. She chirruped at me as she passed, a noise I interpreted as ‘one moment, my love’.

Pushing open the door with one paw, she spat the drunken gnome out into the empty air. He dropped into the void like a stone.

“Have a good night, Al!” Mama yelled. The massive doorman troll rumbled something. “Too right,” said Mama.

She sashayed back inside and turned to me, her eyes gleaming. A purr rumbled up her throat. “Hello, my darling.”

After we had greeted each other we retired over to the hearth to chat and catch up. A score of brownies vacated the cushions as we arrived, without being asked, leaving us the prime spot by the flames. I approved. Mama was clearly well respected here.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

The fire burning in that hearth was not the fire I knew from my cottage that coiled within my dantian now. This rainbow fire spirit was wild and fey, contained only by stone and the markings around it that I did not understand. I could feel its qi, but knew I would have to start from scratch to befriend this being. Or maybe not from scratch, since Mama and it seemed to be well acquainted? It was beautiful, and a little eerie, changing colour, seemingly at whim, from deepest crimson to burning bright sapphire to golden sunshine one after the other. As it danced the other lights in the tavern flickered the same colours.

I was able to tear my eyes and ears away long enough to enquire after my mother’s wellbeing. She assured me she was happy and content. She seemed well, and quite at ease the way she laughed and joked with the patrons. I was glad, even though the tavern was a little rowdy for my taste, the noises making my ears twitch.

We caught up, and ate a fine meal served to us, courtesy of yet another troll (a medium sized one)- pink salmon on silver platters. I enjoyed every mouthful.

Once we were done, I got to the meat of my worries.

“Montadie wants me to find a martial arts master,” I said. “A feline one. And I don’t know how or where to look. And I don’t want to leave the forest. But she is right, my fighting skills are not progressing at the speed I need -”

Mama shushed me. To my surprise, she had a solution at once.

“Travel in your dreams, my love” she said. “That way you can find the perfect tutor without leaving the forest undefended.”

“Travel… in my dreams?” I said, a little weakly.

“You are already doing it. What do you think is happening when you visit me? Or your brothers and sisters? Or Montadie? You are projecting your consciousness out into the world. The body you manifest is not real, but a projection. Well your soul is real, but physically you are safe wherever you are sleeping. This is what it means to be a dreamwalker, and this is your birthright skill.”

“That sounds wonderful but… how? How do I even start learning how to do that? I do not know this person yet.”

“The ability will grow with your cultivation,” she said. “Of course. You are already doing well, and your instincts are good, even borne as they are of circumstance. Expanding your dream circle is a good move, and you have already proved you are able. Starting with loved ones, then friends and acquaintances. Find more, more and more. Practise hard, and you will soon be able to visit the sleep of creatures you do not know yet. Eventually you will be able to visit places and dreams completely foreign to you. Do this, and you will be able to explore safely. Somewhere out there, someone will be able to teach you.”

“That will take a long time,” I said thoughtfully.

Quite frankly, the thought of lying in front of the fire, warm and toasty and safe while I explored the world from my dreams sounded wonderful. But it had taken much effort to get as far as I had. I let out a big sigh at the work ahead, but then I knew I would not grow staying in my comfort zone. Greatness lay in another direction.

“I believe in you, my son,” said Mama. She paused, licking a paw. “You might also seek the guidance of a lynx,” she said.

“A lynx?”

“Mighty hunters,” she said. “Wild, wild cats who keep their secrets in the mountains, bigger than you or I. Occasionally they hunt in the forests.”

That sounded optimistic, and I told her I would seek one out.

I stayed a little longer, chatting to Mama about the best way to utilise my small fae army (bribery and bargains), then at last, bid her and her rowdy tavern farewell.

As I scrambled back up the steep incline of the riverbank, I heard another drunken patron being expelled into the ether. I waved farewell to the troll-maiden, and set off for home, thinking hard all the way. Once there, I settled in for some serious dreaming.

I would learn to walk in dreams and then I would find myself a lynx teacher.

Now, who did I know that I hadn’t visited yet? Maud. That was easy. I was currently sitting on her feet. Almost too easy, it felt like cheating. Her dreams were mostly filled with yarn and cloth and sewing, and weirdly, an occasional shirtless man with lean muscles that I didn’t recognise. The man was boring but the rest was pleasant enough.

Who next? The bees!

The bees dreamed of flowers. The nanny-goat dreamed of hay.

The Small Folk’s dreams were wild, filled with dancing and laughter. Berryman Devil-lad dreamed of exciting adventures. He was bigger in his dreams, as big as me, and there was a lot of washing and gold and chickens to be stolen, and small, chicken sized dragons to be defeated. We had a lot of fun.

The next night I visited Moððe. Slightly more challenging, the Radiant moth’s dreams were anxious, he was clearly feeling the responsibility of watching the forest. They involved scary shadows, violence and death of those I held dear. I did not stay in his dreams long and resolved to visit him soon to cheer him up.

Next, from the safe confines of Hush’s barn, I attempted to visit the dreams of all the surrounding village folk and creatures, starting with all of Wuot’s flock. This was a significant challenge. I was in close proximity but many I only knew by name or appearance. The two-leggers I knew hardly at all, one or two having stopped to pet me or admire my beauty as I passed by.

It was not so bad, as my skills were growing. Wuot’s relatives dreamed of goose world domination. The chickens dreamed idle dreams of food and comfort. Thimble’s children dreamed of sweets and festivals. The tall, well-muscled blacksmith dreamed of the pretty baker with the curly hair. The pretty baker with the curly hair dreamed of freshly made bread.

I was making progress.

The ease with which I identified and entered people’s dreams was growing. Once I had touched the sleeping consciousness of every two-legger and creature in the village I felt confident branching out even more. I visited River, who dreamt of places and people she had known in her youth, of fish, and lilies, of tumbling rapids and the sea spirits who sang longingly to her as she mingled with them in the brine. It had not occurred to me that spirits had dreams, and this opened up a whole new area of exploration.

I visited the Old Man Willow, then the Oak tree spirit, dreaming on his hill, and briefly, briefly touched the dreams of the earth below. But the trees were awake now, after the winter, and bustling with energy, I suspected their dreams would be deeper come winter. They dreamed of the sun, which I enjoyed very much.

Butterflies dreamed of pollen, birds dreamed of nests and babies.

Looking up at the dark, velvet night I wondered? Could I dream with the stars? Did the stars sleep?

“Yes,” one of them whispered.

But their dreams were currently beyond my reach. That was okay, there was always time to grow. There was plenty with which to entertain myself with, here on the ground and my reach was growing every night. Before long I was reaching all the way to Montadie’s glade, to visit the dreams of my favourite mean toad girls.

“Jenkins!” said Hangbelly, in surprise. “Is that you? Are you really here?”

“Kind of,” I said, looking around at the vibrant green swampland she was dreaming. It looked a great deal like the one she had left behind. “I am dreamwalking. You look very nice.”

“Thank you,” said Hangbelly. “Am I not a jade beauty?” She asked coyly. The mean toad girl was wearing bright orange leaves on each of her long, stringy toad arms. They were stretched out behind her like fairy wings.

“What are you doing?”

“Look!” she said, flapping her arms madly. Rotund green belly protruding, she soared through the night air, wheeling and diving like a kingfisher, her wings outstretched, long legs elegant behind her. A look of profound concentration filled her face.

I had never noticed how long her legs were before.

“I wish I could fly,” I said, thoughtfully, watching the happily flapping toad.

She looked strangely majestic. A fly buzzed past, and she grabbed it out of the air with her tongue, slurping it up contentedly.

“Why don’t you then?” she asked. “This is a dream, you can do anything.”