We’re almost home. I exchange glances with Bastet and we both find our pace quickening as we recognise familiar landmarks. Here, a giant of a tree which lost its leading shoot early on in its life and has been growing slightly crooked ever since. There, a collection of rocks piled together to almost form the shape of a face when looked at from the right angle. We’re less than an hour from the den. At last.
It’s odd to think that of our entire group, probably only Bastet and I recognise where we are. Lathani has probably rarely left the den; certainly not often enough to be familiar with the surrounding area. The raptorcat cubs are currently walking, their ability to keep up having progressed in leaps and bounds since we left. They probably don’t recognise the area either, having spent most of our outings previous to this trip in a sling against my chest.
As for River, Fenrir, and Sirocco, they’ve never even been to the den before. I did check with River, but he wasn’t part of the party who attacked Kalanthia and captured Lathani. I have to admit that I’m a little worried about the reception she will give him: she may still consider him complicit. All I can hope is that, being one of my Bound, she will be as accepting as she was about the others I’ve brought home with me.
Due to the lizog’s surprisingly canine characteristics, one of the most famous wolf legends in Europe was an obvious choice. The lizog himself was rather indifferent regarding his name: it isn’t something that’s part of lizog’s culture, so he only embraced it because I wanted him to; the name itself was irrelevant.
In complete contrast to his attitude, was Sirocco, previously known as ‘the bird’. She had been picky to the point of distraction. I’d run out of names of goddesses linked to the wind and just started listing off other words I knew that were vaguely wind-related. She’d liked ‘Zephyr’, though hadn’t been completely satisfied. I kept going, but when I came up with ‘Sirocco’ out of the depths of my memory, she’d sent a very clear message: the search was over. Finally, all of my companions, Dominated or Tamed, have names. Call it a human failing, but I like to have a specific name to think about each of my Bound. Thinking about a creature in terms of its species just feels awkward to me after a certain point.
The sun is well on its way to the horizon, but we’ve covered a lot of ground. After sating ourselves on water and enough food to keep ourselves going, we quickly set off. Despite walking for hours through the forest, we’ve barely seen a single other creature, let alone been attacked by one. I’m not complaining, especially without my healing Skill being available to us, but it’s strange.
It’s not as though the animals are not there: I've seen plenty of tracks, many very fresh. I even picked up the traces of another small pack of lizogs which had probably only recently gone through. They didn’t show hide nor hair of their presence. I’d actually asked my companions why, a bit unnerved by the lack of attack. Not that I want to be attacked, but neither do I want to walk into something the local denizens are specifically avoiding.
They’re afraid, is all River says, like that explains it all. Afraid? Of us? I mean, I suppose that we’re a bit of an imposing group, looked at from the outside. A lizog, a raptorcat, a human – not that the locals probably know what that means, but I’m taller than most in this area – a juvenile nunda, and a flying predatory bird. A bit different from me walking alone through the forest, I suppose.
It’s odd to think of how far my little party has come in such a short time, I muse to myself as we get closer to home. We’ll have to see how dynamics change once we’re not under threat of attack at any moment. War and peace are very different things.
My train of thought is disrupted as a massive shape suddenly emerges from the bushes ahead of us. How she managed to hide in foliage which only comes up to approximately hip height on her at its tallest, I don’t know. All I know is that a tumult of emotions break free at my first sight of Kalanthia.
Relief, exhaustion, fear, joy, relaxation, emotions I cannot put a name to… I’m briefly overwhelmed, freezing in place for that moment, torn by wanting to give her a hug – her shoulder, at least – and fearing that she’d dislike and reject it. Bastet is far less conflicted, immediately trotting forwards to butt her head against Kalanthia’s, the great nunda obligingly lowering herself to enable the contact. The cubs quickly follow suit.
Broken from my temporary stillness, I decide to follow them, pausing at arm’s length in front of her, suddenly uncertain again. Kalanthia simply rubs her head against my torso, strongly enough that even with my fifteen stat points in Strength, I’m almost knocked over. I laugh and bury my face in her soft fur. Tears come to my eyes, the sudden release of the last few days’ tension a relief of immense proportions. I blink them back, though – I’m not going to cry from happiness, come on.
Stolen story; please report.
You were successful, Markus Wolfe, Kalanthia says warmly. Her tone is in no way a question: she knows we found Lathani. Is it because she knows I wouldn’t have dared show my face again without the cub? Not without being significantly stronger than I am even now. Or perhaps it’s just that she can smell her cub’s scent on me. Or...how did she know we were coming in the first place?
“We were,” I confirmed, but frown as I look around. Where is Lathani? Looking back, I spot her skulking behind River and Fenrir. “Come on, Lathani,” I encourage. She shifts, but otherwise doesn’t move. Kalanthia shifts as if she’s about to go to her cub since Lathani won’t come to her. “Wait,” I ask the adult nunda. “Let me speak to her.” Kalanthia’s massive head descends a little so it’s once more level with mine.
You haven’t… she asks, a growling threat in her voice.
“No!” I yelp, realising what she’s asking, and not wanting to have my head bitten off. Literally. “No, it’s just...well, you’ll see. She’s a little nervous, that’s all.” I trot forward a few steps before pausing and turning back to look at the giant leopard. “Just, don’t move, OK.” I see her vibrating with tension and indecision, but with an unhappy grumble, she subsides a little. The sword-like claws scything in and out of her paws tell the tale that her patience isn’t anywhere close to infinite, so I’d better get my skates on.
I jog to the back of the group, crouching down next to Lathani. The juvenile nunda is pressed to the ground, her ears back and teeth slightly bared. It’s not aggression, though – nothing of the sort. She’s terrified. And I’m pretty sure I know why.
“Come on, Lathani,” I say quietly. “Your mum’s right there. She wants to see you, greet you.”
But what if she…? Her voice is the equivalent of a mental whisper, barely audible despite appearing directly in my head.
“She won’t. And if she does, remember what we discussed?”
Yes…. She’s silent and unmoving despite her acknowledgment. I wait for a few moments, but can see Kalanthia’s shifting increasing. Her patience is wearing thin. I understand: this is her cub we’re talking about. A cub who’s only a short distance away, but who she’s not allowed to see or go near.
“You can’t hide here forever, Lathani,” I tell the nunda cub. “I promise you, the tension you’re putting yourself and your mother through is far worse than any outcome could be.” Unless Kalanthia killed her, that is. But I reckon the possibility of that is extremely unlikely. It’s not like Kalanthia is some dumb animal, unable to recognise her own offspring after having been away from it for an elongated period of time.
Lathani doesn’t respond, but I see her girding herself through her body language. With a determined air, she pushes herself to her feet and slinks towards her mother. And ‘slinks’ is the right description: her ears are still pressed back against her skull, her tail droops low, and she looks like she’s hauling herself to her execution through sheer force of will.
From a few metres’ distance, I see Kalanthia take in the sight of her cub, much changed from how she was when she was taken away. She’s worried about your reaction, I think, directing it as much as I can at Kalanthia. When the giant leopard briefly sends me a glance, I’m pretty sure that she’s received the message. Not that she probably needs it – if I can see how Lathani’s feeling in her body language, her telepathic mother will know far better about her emotional state.
Slowly, delicately, as if she’s approaching a fearful animal which she doesn’t want to startle, Kalanthia steps forward towards where her cub is once more frozen in place, even the determination which pushed her forwards to that point unable to make her take another step. I empathise with her: it’s not easy to stare the possibility of your life being changed forever right in the face.
Kalanthia leans her head down and rubs it across Lathani. Despite growing significantly, Lathani is still so small in comparison to her mother – the head which brushes over her fur is almost half the size of her entire body. Still, I suppose it’s a better relative size than being the whole of her body as it was before.
You’re home, my cub, Kalanthia says, her voice projecting to all of us. It must be intentional – she’s far too in control of her telepathy for it to be otherwise. Whether it’s meant as reassurance to Lathani that she’s still considered to be Kalanthia’s cub, or as a warning for the rest of us, I don’t know. Maybe both. I’m happy to see you, no matter what changes you have undergone.
Lathani holds her stiff posture for a fraction of a second longer, the meaning of the words perhaps taking some time to properly sink in. Then, with a strangled sound, she runs forward to bury herself in her mother’s belly fur. The chirrup she makes is enough to bring those tears back to my eyes: with her still-shaky grasp on her mental projections, Lathani also sent all of us a snapshot of how she was feeling in that moment. The same kind of relief that I felt earlier, but a hundred times stronger as her worst fear is so clearly cast aside by her mother’s immediate acceptance. The scene is beautiful.
And then Kalanthia looks back at us and the sheer rage filling her eyes is enough to almost make my life flash before my eyes once again. She’s clearly holding herself back from openly baring her teeth at us, but I’m confused as to why she’s suddenly so angry. Then I see the true direction of her gaze: River.