“Food,” Vras insisted for the third time.

“Not food. Friends.”

Vras looked from Mitchell back to where Tammi and Marvin were resting in the grass a short distance away and he sniffed at the air. He brought his emerald eyes back to Mitchell’s and studied him.

“Smell food. Meat. Other meat food. This meat, too.”

Mitchell sighed. This was turning out to be harder than he’d anticipated. Allora was right that with practice it was getting easier for them to talk to each other. The magic didn’t seem to require the same amount of focus as when he originally learned it. This spell, like Allora’s shield spell, required concentration, which meant continually feeding mana into it to keep it active. It didn’t expend nearly as much effort as the shield, but it was enough that he could detect the drain on his reserves. The more practice he had, the easier it became to maintain the link.

Allora said that, unlike connecting to another humanoid mind, connecting with an animal was more difficult. Through practice, however, his mind and the cat’s would fall into sync and thus lower the demands on his mana.

Even with the spell getting somewhat easier, he was frustrated by Vras’s slow pace in understanding. Sometimes Vras displayed comprehension that would rival a human’s, at least that’s how it appeared to Mitchell. Other times the creature could be painfully single-minded. It almost always had to do with eating, of which Vras did a great deal, and he had the increased size to show for it. In the five days since they’d come across him, it looked as if he’d added a good ten pounds and was approaching the size of a retriever. He had already outgrown the original satchel Mitchell had crafted for him that allowed him to doze while they walked during the day. And the fangs were definitely bigger.

“Some meat is food,” Mitchell explained for the second time, “but other meat is friend. Am I food?”

Vras took a step forward and put his front paws on Mitchell’s leg. His tentacles probed at the exposed skin of his hand. The little hooks that grew out of the flesh plucked at his skin but didn’t break it. The cat sniffed, extending itself and licking his hand. Then, it studied him intently.

“Smell food but…,” Vras said uncertainly.

“But I’m not food, right?”

“No.”

“What am I?” Mitchell pressed.

Vras lowered his front two paws back to the ground and turned in a circle once, his body undulating in that hypnotic way as the motion was carried through the cat’s six legs. He looked at Mitchell, the women, and the yulops in turn. Finally, he settled back on Mitchell, and he could swear he saw the beast’s brow furrow in consternation.

“You are tar s’thyr.”

“What is tar s’thyr?” Mitchell asked the shadow cat, struggling with the odd syllables.

At this, Allora looked up sharply. For the most part they left him alone when he did anything with Vras. Despite her petting him, Allora still acted like he was going to rip her throat out at any moment and Lethelin was… Well, she was Lethelin and had made her stance on the creature perfectly clear.

“Did he call you tar s’thyr?”

Mitchell glanced at her and nodded.

“Do you know what it means? He only repeated it back to me as if I should understand it.”

“It is Wiavian,” Allora said. “The language of the Fey.”

“Do you understand it?”

“Not enough to speak it,” Allora replied, wobbling her head. “But there were lessons taught at the academy. Knights are expected to have at least a rudimentary understanding of several languages. It roughly translates to human pack leader. However, if you recall, shadow cats do not usually hunt in packs. They are solitary, usually only coming together to mate.”

“Well, he says that’s why I’m not food. He sees me as a tar s’thyr.”

“What does he say about us?” Lethelin asked.

Mitchell asked Vras and the cat looked to the women and then back at him and gave the answer. Mitchell chuckled.

“What?” Lethelin demanded.

“He said you are mates of the tar s’thyr.”

Allora blushed and Lethelin grinned.

“Tell him no one has mated around here in a dragon’s age,” the thief said almost mournfully.

“But he also says you smell like food. It’s confusing to him.”

Allora’s face went flat and Lethelin’s grin became an intense glower.

“I’ll show that little furball what’s food and what’s not!”

“He’s not going to eat you, Leth,” Mitchell chided her gently. He turned his attention back to Vras.

“Some people are not in the pack, are not mates, and are also not food. They are friends. We don’t eat friends.”

Vras looked upset by this and hissed his annoyance while glancing at the slumbering yulops who had no idea that he was arguing over their continued existence.

“But… why?”

“Because they help us. Having friends makes like easier. The women are not just mates, they are friends, too.”

Vras sneezed at that.

“Tar s’thyr’s small mate not friend. Not give food. Yells. Not friend. Food?”

Mitchell sighed again.

“Leth…” Mitchell said slowly across the small fire to where she sat watching the exchange. “I need you to be nicer to Vras.”

She barked a laugh.

“And I need a week in the royal palace in Iletish getting oiled massages from the king’s own flower maidens, but that isn’t going to happen either!”

“I mean it,” he said, his voice a little firmer, and then explained what Vras had said.

“What about Allora?” Leth demanded, although there was a definite whine mixed in there as well.

“Allora doesn’t yell at him anytime he gets close, and she pets him.”

Lethelin’s eyes went wide and she stared disbelieving at the knight.

“You pet it? When? Why?”

“Only a couple of times when you were sleeping.”

“Balls and taint!” Lethelin swore looking between them. “Is this a plot against me or something?”

“Do not be absurd,” Allora said, rolling her eyes.

“I’m not asking you to sleep with him in your bedroll,” Mitchell said quickly before Lethelin could get too deep into her temper. “Just… Maybe give him a bite of your food from time to time. Don’t scream and wave Mira at him if he gets too close.”

Lethelin glared at Allora, then turned her flinty green eyes at Mitchell, then finally down at Vras, who was watching the exchange with interest, like he always did. Just how much did the creature understand, Mitchell wondered, not for the first time. As Lethelin glared at Vras his ears flattened to his head and his tentacles lowered themselves down as well. Up close, Mitchell could see the muscles in his back two sets of legs start to twitch. Whether it was to flee or pounce, Mitchell couldn’t be sure.

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The moment held, neither of them moving, until finally Lethelin broke.

“Balls!” she hissed.

She reached for a bit of meat that she hadn’t yet eaten from their kill this evening, a flightless ground bird that Allora called an athi and which tasted a lot like turkey. Lethelin had been able to sneak up on it where it sat drinking by a stream and killed it with her dagger. It wasn’t a huge bird but combined with their dwindling supplies, it was enough for tonight. Allora seemed confident they would come upon a town soon. Once they did, she could get an estimate of how far away this Gilriel’s cottage was.

She pulled a section of the breast meat off the bone and made to throw it across the fire at where Mitchell sat with Vras.

“Don’t throw it Leth. Come on. You never know, he might save your life one day. But not if he can’t stop thinking of you as food.”

She glared daggers at him but didn’t argue. Instead, she brought her arm down and held it off to the side. She was looking off in the distance, not making eye contact with Mitchell, and definitely not looking at Vras. Her lips were pressed firmly together and her body as taut as a bow string. As for Allora she was watching the whole episode with barely disguised amusement.

“Go ahead,” Mitchell said to Vras. “She’s offering you food. She’s a friend.”

Vras, ears still flat and tentacles low, looked back up at Mitchell with uncertainty. After only a slight hesitation—Vras would never willingly turn down food, especially not meat—he began to pick his way around the fire, placing each foot carefully, and never taking his eyes off of Lethelin.

Lethelin could still see him in her peripheral vision and her hand started to tremble ever so slightly, but she remained stiff as a board. Vras stopped, crouched low, and his tentacles started to sway, still low to his body. Mitchell caught the barest flicker of light from his vantage point as the shadow cat tried to summon an illusion, but it was a skill he didn’t fully control. It was something Mitchell had noticed a few times when Vras was scared. Lethelin noticed it as well and a small squeak escaped her throat. Vras twitched at the sound but didn’t bolt.

Finally, satisfied Lethelin wasn’t going to strike him, his tentacles shot forward and hooked the piece of athi meat, and he bounded back towards Mitchell’s side. Lethelin did scream then and jumped up and started shivering and rubbing her hands up and down her arms as she paced back and forth behind Allora who was doing her best to suppress laughter at the assassin’s discomfort.

“Nine hells that was awful!” Lethelin swore. “Balls and hairy fucking taint!”

Mitchell tried not to laugh at the woman’s obvious fear and discomfort, but it was a little hard not to. He scratched Vras just behind the ears, which the animal enjoyed just as much as cats on earth did, and told him how brave he was.

“And thank you, Leth. I know that was hard for you.”

She didn’t respond, but her face softened, if only slightly. She paced a little longer and once the shivers stopped she reluctantly sat back down and took a bite of her remaining athi. Vras, already finished with his morsel, looked at her expectantly.

“You had your piece, leave me alone,” she warned.

Vras sat back on his haunches and lowered himself to the ground and watched her from across the fire.

“I should have asked for more money,” Leth grumbled as she ate the last few bites.

“I would have paid it,” Mitchell said with a wink.

***

The group cut overland rather than stay on roads. Allora didn’t want to take the chance of running into a patrol. They could be local forces, a sort of forest guard that Allora said policed the wilds and worked to either deal with bandits or hunt dangerous threats that sometimes emerged from the Shadow Glen, or they could be a mercenary patrol. Either way, she didn’t want to risk exposure.

Having gauged roughly where they were after catching sight of the Orna River, Allora had guided them in a southwesterly direction.

“It is one of the main tributaries of the Aurix River, the largest waterway in Awenor,” Allora had explained. “The Aurix meanders west for nearly six hundred leagues from its headwaters in the peaks to the Olydian Ocean. The capital, Lorivin, also sat along its banks, and it was a vital trade route. Gilriel’s grove is within the Shadow Glen two or three days walk from the Orna near a settlement called Clayfaire.

“That is what we need to find. We will walk to the river, stay hidden, and once we get to the nearest town, I will find out where Clayfaire is.”

With that in mind, their party set off. Vras, having out grown his satchel, was forced to stay awake during the day, which he clearly didn’t like, but Mitchell told him he needed the exercise. Mostly, he kept pace with Mitchell as they walked, but he would sometimes bound off after picking up the scent of something, and more than once he returned with some small forest creature in his teeth. Each time he offered it first to Mitchell. Allora speculated it was a sign of respect and deference to a tar s’thyr. Mitchell always declined, and Vras swallowed it down whole before resuming pace with them.

“What kinds of things live in the forest?” Mitchell asked as they trekked across a small field with waist-high grass.

“You don’t want to know,” Lethelin said from behind him where she was bringing up the rear.

“It is home to some terrifying creatures but also many beautiful things as well,” Allora said. “It is an ancient place of spectacular beauty but also great danger. Some people make their home within its depths as there are many plants and animals that can be found nowhere else. Logging is also done as there is a special tree that grows there called the Blackmoor Oak. It is shockingly strong while also being flexible enough to be used in crafting. It is dangerous to harvest, however as it only grows in the Blackmoor, which has several deadly predators.”

“So, expensive?” Mitchell asked.

“Extremely,” Lethelin remarked. “Rich people are always wanting it to craft their furniture with it or make pleasure yachts. You should see them move in and out of Varset harbor, like glitter fish doing a mating dance.”

Mitchell had no idea what a glitter fish was, but he thought he understood well enough. She seemed to have a strong dislike of the ostentatiously wealthy. She certainly loved stealing from them, at any rate.

“No one gets that kind of wealth honestly,” she had explained once, “so I’m just stealing back what they already stole.”

This had prompted an argument that had lasted several minutes between she and Allora about the morality of theft, and Mitchell had not bothered to try to get them to stop. He had decided it was good for them to go at it once in a while. It made managing their clashing personalities easier when it counted. And, despite their petty squabbles, he knew they had genuine respect for each other at this point. The three of them had endured far too much together not to. He had begun to think of them almost as sisters in the way they fought.

“We do not need to go deep into the Shadow Glen to get to Gilriel’s grove, but caution is advised,” Allora explained. “No place inside the forest is truly safe.”

“Noted,” Mitchell said.

Off in the distance, maybe a few more miles, Mitchell could see a dark line of foreboding trees that signaled the start of the Shadow Glen. Allora said that, by her estimate, the Orna was maybe only a few leagues beyond the boundary of the wood. They passed the time mostly in silence, with the occasional conversation about Mitchell’s world, or some bit of information about Awenor. By the time the sun was setting they were only a few hundred yards from tree line. It was as good a place as any to make camp for the night.

As they went about setting up, Mitchell noticed Vras. He had gone perfectly still and his head was hunched low, his ears pressed back flat and his tentacles still against his body. His back to legs were crouched to spring. He was staring hard at the tree line, and his eyes were flitting back and forth. A low growl was coming from his chest.

Mitchell went down on one knee and scratched at the spot just behind his ears that he liked. Vras, so focused on the tree line, jerked and hissed at the sudden touch. His head snapped around and his teeth were bared until he saw it was Mitchell. Then, if it was possible for a cat to look embarrassed, he did. The creature’s eyes widened and ran his tongue through his mouth, almost as if he was trying to get stuck peanut butter off the roof of his mouth. His tentacles came up then and plucked gently at the back of his hand as he pet him.

“What’s wrong,” Mitchell asked, after casting the language spell.

Vras bumped his head into Mitchell’s knee and rubbed it around before staring back at the forest.

“Very old,” the cat said. “Powerful. Strange magic.”

“Are you afraid to go in?”

Vras hissed.

“Not afraid. I am gratha,” Vras said, almost indignantly. “I do not fear.”

Mitchell had learned through their talks that gratha was what they called themselves. Allora wasn’t sure about the meaning in Wiavian, but she said it was similar to grathena, the word for demon or devil. Shadow cat was merely what the people of Tewadunn called them in Common.

“Allora says we shouldn’t have too much trouble.”

Vras didn’t answer, merely stared, eyes once again flicking around, tracking something.

Mitchell studied the tree line, but he couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. He wondered what the shadow cat saw. He was reminded of a feline they’d had when he was young. His father had named it Polgara, after a character in an old fantasy novel. It was a big shaggy thing, some long-haired breed. Shedding season had been a hoot. Polgara was always staring at nothing, and it would exhibit similar behavior to Vras just now. As if it could detect things no one else could see. Sometimes it would bolt across a room and jump on some bit of furniture as if it was going to attack something, but then it would stop, look around as if confused, then climb down awkwardly and go sit in a corner and start grooming itself. It was the weirdest thing.

Mitchell could feel the muscles in Vras’s back twitching as it stared into the twilight at the forest edge.

“Come on,” he told the cat. “Keep me company while I finish setting up, and I’ll give you some of my meat.”

Vras’s ears flicked at that, and it licked its chops again. Almost reluctantly, he turned his gaze away from the forest and trotted next to Mitchell as he went to Tammi to begin unloading their provision. Tammi chuffed when he got near, as the yulops always did, but they had gotten somewhat used to Vras’s presence. More than once the cat seemed to enjoy spooking them.

“Is everything okay?” Allora asked as she cleared ground for their fire.

Vras approached the firewood she had assembled and began to sniff it.

“He says the forest is very old, with strange magic. I think he’s feeling a little–”

Vras’s head turned and he gave Mitchell a hard stare. Mitchell blinked. He’d dropped the language spell, but if he didn’t know better, he would swear Vras was warning him not to say he was afraid.

“Um,” Mitchell stammered, shocked that Vras had apparently anticipated what he’d been about to say and disapproved. “He, uh, he’s feeling we might need to be careful once we get into the forest.”

Vras held the look another second or two, flicked his ears, and then went back to sniffing the firewood.

Allora, not missing the exchange, gave them both a curious look but didn’t comment.

“Vras is wise. The forest is a dangerous place.”

Vras studied her, his tail swishing, and then closed the distance with Allora before bumping his head against her knee, and then walking away in what Mitchell could only describe as a strut. The knight went stiff at the contact, but didn’t otherwise react.

Mitchell could only chuckle at the display.

“Cheeky fucker,” he said in English as Vras stepped into the high grass and vanished.