Little Damian woke the next morning to find his new family nicely dressed for what seemed like the Medieval era.

His grandfather could have passed for a naval officer. His attire was a white robe with a straight row of gold buttons running from the left shoulder to the waist. His stubble from the night before was cleanly shaven, and the thin, curved sword on his hip may have been ceremonial.

Dillion had on, under a lime green vest, a white poofy sleeved shirt with flared cuffs and a laced “vee” neck. It didn’t look silly at all, rather he look pretty sharp clean shaven with his fancy shirt tucked into brown leather trousers and trousers tucked into shiny black boots. The sword on the wall was now hanging from his right hip. His left hand, encrusted by a thick layer of rock hard calluses, was probably adept at using it.

Rose wore a new, short puffed-sleeved, lavender colored blouse. A white knee high skirt covered her freshly shaven legs. The young mother gave the impression she was attending Sunday School. Then she checked to see that she could easily draw the ten-inch dagger strapped to her thigh. Her swiftly drawing a blade through the pocket of her skirt a few times shattered the illusion.

Though little Damian was only one day old, it seemed like the Dagger family was getting ready to go out and about. It was scary but he was burning with curiosity as to who or what was outside the walls of this crude little house. That answer came in the form of a knock at the front door.

“That must be Victor and Mary. I can’t wait to meet little Theressa,” Rose said, scooping up little Damian, who was still pretending to be asleep. He too was eager to meet this little Theresa but they would have to wait. As the Daggers filed out the door, Rose and little Damian were at the back of the line.

“Victor. How’d everything go last night?” he heard his father ask.

“Morning Dillon. Everything went smoothly,” a hearty voice replied.

“Everything went smoothly, other than Victor’s panicking,” a sarcastic man’s voice chimed in.

“I wasn’t that bad.”

“He was hyperventilating.”

“She’s my first, it’s normal to be a little worked up about it,”

“‘A little worked up?’ At one point I thought he was going to have a heart attack. I had to restrain him.”

“Fine, I panicked. Are you happy now?” Victor said indignantly.

“Yep.”

Dillon chuckled saying, “scaredy-cat.”

“Everything important went smoothly,” Victor said and changed the subject, “How’d things go on your end?”

“Things went well. Little Damian’s unusually quiet, which gave us somewhat of a fright last night, but everything seems to be fine,” Dillon replied.

“Is that the little guy? Let me get a look at him,” little Damian heard Victor say, and suddenly, the one day old, lost adrift through time and space, was staring down two rows of large, sharp, white fangs, just eight-inches from his face.

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“This was a short trip,” he thought, noticing the two-inch incisors’ wet enamel gleaming in the soft morning light.

“Back off Victor!” the sarcastic man said commandingly, “You’re scaring him.” Heading those words, the beast’s fangs moved away from little Damian’s wide eyes.

Cat ears, check. Cat nose, check. Black fur, check. A mouth full of sharp white cat teeth, check.

This Victor fella was a talking cat-man. “I was just trying to get a look at him. It’s not like I’m going to eat him or anything,” he said in his own defense.

“Yeah, but he don’t know that,” the other man who looked a lot like Victor rebuked.

Victor scratched the back of his head and gave Rose apologetic looks. She made a quick assessment of her newborn and said, “Oh he’s fine, and he’s going to have to get used to seeing beast-kin sooner or later. Really Vance, you shouldn’t be so hard on your brother. It’s a big day for him.”

“Yeah, but he still shouldn’t go around frightening babies,” Vance said, shaking his head disapprovingly.

Rose rolled her eyes at Vance’s very accurate characterization of his brother’s behavior, and got the attention of the young human woman holding a baby of her own. “Hi Mary. How’s little Theressa?”

“She just fell asleep a half hour ago. Since then she’s been a little angel,” Mary said. Blonde hair and a fair complexion made her green eyes pop, while a cute yellow sundress covered her disappointing chest. She was definitely pretty, but she looked awfully tired.

She brought her babe closer, allowing little Damian to finally see this mysterious kid who shared the same birthday as him. What he saw was so cute that his, “being reincarnated in another world,” concerns completely slipped his mind for a moment. Little Theressa had a human face and less fur than her father. She looked like any other adorable sleeping newborn nestled in her mother’s bosom, except for a full head of calico fur, two oversized cat ears, and a calico tail wrapping around her abdomen curling up to rest gently on her face.

Rose was enamored. “Awe, her ears are adorable.”

“She has her father’s good looks,” Mary said, figuratively glowing. “Little Damian’s cute too. He has your eyes.”

While the mothers exchanged pleasantries old Dean greeted the older human lady there, “Good morning miss May. I expected to meet you at the church.”

“Good morning old Dean. I expected to go home when little Theressa settled down, but that just happened minutes ago,” she said, and shrugged her shoulders as though nothing could be done about it, “So here I am.” Though the years had been kind to miss May’s gentle appearance, the dark bags under her eyes and frizzed hair highlighted her age. A shade paler and bit pastier, her skin’s usual youthful luster was absent. Still, a genuine smile graced her attractive but tired face.

Old Dean gave a sympathetic smile and said, “Then it is my fortune to have your company while we walk.” Miss May was flattered but she seemed like the kind of nice old lady who’s easily flattered.

After some more greetings and pleasantries, the procession set off, and little Damian’s first outing officially began. Dillon and Victor were leading, followed by old Dean and miss May. Then Rose and Mary with Vance trailing behind.

Mary peeled her eyes away from little Theressa for a moment and asked Rose, “Dillon said you had a fright last night. What happened?”

“When little Damian was born he didn’t cry. He still hasn’t made any noise,” Rose said, her voice shaken.

“But he’s fine right?”

“Old Dean said he seems perfectly healthy.”

“What about you? Are you alright?”

Rose nodded. “Just, I didn’t know that he was alright at first, and for a while, I thought he was,” her words, interrupted by a sharp inhale, were left unsaid.

“Everything’s fine.” Mary seemed like she was reassuring little Damian when she said, “He seems perfectly healthy,” to him with a peppy nod.

“I hope so,” Rose, said as if she were pleading with him.

“I’m fine, so please don’t look at me like that,” little Damian thought. He would have cried for his concerned parent but he wasn’t sure if he could make a convincing baby cry on the first attempt. His silent birth was already weird enough, how would it look if her odd child didn’t cry, but started yelling the next day instead?

Mary was correct in saying, “Him being quiet just means he’s special. It could be a really good thing, you know.” They didn’t know if little Damian’s uniqueness was a good or bad thing, but the involved parties could still hold out hope for it to be a promising foreshadowing.

Rose looked like she wanted to respond but was interrupted by a newcomer trotting up to the group, riding on the back of a two-legged monster.