[Mkguild] A Friend in Need.

[Mark Ewing]

I know it has been a while since I have posted a story but this story is
special and I hope that you all enjoy it. As usual comments are most
welcome.


A Friend in Need



Oberon Snowcat, Chris O'Kane,

& Hallan Mirayas



            I wearily walked into my apartment in Metamor Keep and looked
around before I spotted a piece of paper on the floor. I placed my long
range scout pack on my bed before I picked up the paper and read it.

            *Adon Naharel you are commanded to present yourself in hall 1437
in the Scout Hall on June 17th 707 at 12:00 for orders concerning your
future operations.*

*George, Patrol Master of Metamor Keep*

            Oh great. That was just what I needed, him digging into my
business. I was, after all, doing things that most of the people here
probably didn't want to hear about. I just hoped that I could continue to
operate as I had. I had probably made a bigger impact on lutin operations in
the area in the past month and a half than I had in the entire rest of my
time at the Keep.

            On my latest operation, I had actually overheard a pair of them
whispering together about a strange force that was making its presence known
in the lands north of the Keep.

            "I be hearing there is new Long to be afraid of."

            "He more than normal Long. He as bad as Brightleaf with Whisper
at his side."

            "What you mean?"

            "This new one black as night and just as deadly. The chieftain
calls him Black Tiger and he carry the Icicle at his side."

            "What big deal about him?"

            "He leaves nothing but corpses and piles of heads behind him. He
also removes right thumb from all victims and keeps them, like Brightleaf
keeps ears."

            "That bad."

            "That very BAD!" They didn't say anything else ever again
because I put the same arrow through both of their necks.

            Now here I was back at the Keep for re-supply, and George wanted
to ask me what I had been up to. This was almost as bad as when I had run
into him at the bathhouse more than a month ago. He had treated my whole
attitude about my missions as a destructive thing. Well, I would show up to
his little interview and listen to him ramble on before I went out again, if
only to make the old jackal happy. I knew that the Solstice Festival was
coming up, and I had no intention of wasting my time celebrating it. The
patrol forces of the Keep would be at their weakest point during the
Festival; which would make an excellent time for the lutins to strike.
Hence, I would do my part to ensure that the Festival would be safe, and
that the lutins wouldn't be able to exploit this loosening of the Keep's
patrols.

            After I sorted through my pack, I lifted out the large
oilcloth-wrapped package of lutin thumbs that I had harvested on my last
trip. For some reason, despite my campaign of deliberate terror against the
lutins, my haul had gotten larger instead of smaller. This time, I had close
to sixty-five thumbs in the package. The stupid creatures weren't taking the
hint to clear out.  I placed the entire haul of thumbs into a wire basket
before I lowering them into a caustic solution that I normally used for
etching steel to let the fluid do its work in removing the flesh from the
bones in half a day or so. With that taken care of, I looked out the window
at the sun sinking in the west and decided that I needed to get some sleep.
I had been operating on short sleep for the past two and half weeks, and had
been looking forward to sleeping in my own bed for a change instead of up in
some tree at odd hours of the day.

            The next morning, I slept in quite late before I finally pulled
my ancient carcass out of bed. For some reason, I was feeling every single
one of my seventy-two years this morning, though few people realized my age.
Only my eyes showed people how old I really was. Once I finished with my
normal stretching, I quickly got dressed and put on my latest necklace. This
one was made with twenty lutin thumbs and one ogre thumb. The ogre had
probably been the most challenging opponent that I had run into yet north of
the Keep. Even though he was a little smaller than the troll that I had
faced before I started my hunts as the Black Tiger, he had been a much
better fighter. Instead of a great clumsy club, the ogre had used a two
handed sword, a weapon much more suited to the kind of fighting that I
preferred. In the end, he had ended up making a stupid mistake that I had
been able to capitalize on for the kill.  I dressed for hunting, black on
black, since I planned on leaving again immediately after the interview. The
only things that relieved the black was the silver buckle on my sword belt
and the hilts of my weapons: the Claw of the Dragon, a short sword, and a
dagger, all attached to my belt.

            At exactly noon I arrived at Hall 1437 in Scout Hall, my orders
in my belt pouch along with the most recent report of my actions. When I
opened the door, I found myself in a room full of people seated around a
long table, all of whom I recognized: George, Misha, Drift, Caroline, and
Finbar along with at least a dozen others.  There was only one I did not:  a
female pine marten morph seated beside Finbar. George stepped forward and
said, "Sit down, Oberon. We have some things to say which I believe you
would do well to listen to."

            I looked around at them all before I sat down, weighing the look
of each in turn.  "Alright, then."  I said, tailtip twitching with annoyance
at my wasted time.  "You've called me here when I could be getting ready for
another hunt.  What do you want, and why should I wait to hear it?" Finbar
went over and closed the door, which I had left open, before he sat back
down beside the pine marten.

Misha fixed his eyes on mine and said, "We are your friends, Oberon, and we
want to help you."

            "Over the past thirty years, I've found that friends are a
luxury that I can do without," I replied coldly.

            "All you need are your weapons?"

            "At least they are reliable and they won't die on you like
people."

 Finbar glanced over at Misha before he sarcastically said, "They're not
generally chatty, though, at least when they don't have some spooky thing in
them."

I looked the ferret over, lifting my chin in disdain.  "The Claw isn't
spooky, he's dignified and sombre almost all of the time. Which is more than
I can say for you."

            "But he's still just a weapon. A tool meant to kill people
with," Caroline countered.

            "And I have to wonder how he feels about massacres," Drift added
thoughtfully.

            "He's never uttered a word to me against my actions in the past
couple of weeks."

The Samoyed looked over at me with that same thoughtful expression on his
face, "Don't get me wrong: I'm glad to see fewer lutins around, but...
Something's not right, Oberon."

            "When was the last time you worked in you forge, Oberon? When
was the last time you relaxed and didn't think of killing?" Caroline added.

            "More than a month and a half, and that was before my unit was
ambushed by those little fiends."

            "So since then, your whole life has been just killing things,"
Misha pointed out.  "No friends, no enjoyment. When was the last time you
got a good night's sleep with no nightmares?"

            "I don't have nightmares."

            "Do you ever dream?" Caroline asked softly. Drift looked away
suddenly and his ears started to dip, but he forced them back up. For some
reason, it seemed that Drift didn't dream, either. However, that wasn't
something that I was about to point out.

            "I haven't dreamed since I left my homeland, more than thirty
years ago."

            "And you don't think that's a little strange?" she went on.

            "Not really."

Drift shook his head, "You think you've got it all locked away, then? It
must be nice. Right up until that lock breaks.  Which it will.  It always
does."

            "Believe me I've had my troubles, but they are all long gone
into the past."

George laughed openly.  "That's what you think. We know better."

I growled low in my throat before I countered, "What do you know about me?
NOTHING, really."

George was slow to respond, but when he did he said, "I know that you
stopped being alive thirty years ago. Since then you've only existed, but
not really lived."

            "How in the name of the Three Forsaken Ones can you possibly say
THAT?" I shouted

            "You don't drink, you don't laugh, you don't enjoy going out
with friends. That is living."

            "I tried that here, but all it got was people KILLED. They were
my responsibility but they DIED." My ears were by now flat against my skull,
and my tail, which had been lashing in anger, fell to the ground with an
almost audible plop as I remembered the faces of those who had died under my
command.,

            "And you think that all of them died because of you? You didn't
stab them in the heart. Your enemies did."

            "If I had been paying attention, they might not have died."

George snorted.  "That's a lie, and you know it."

            "HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?" I roared, causing nearly everyone in the
room to clutch their ears. George, however, didn't even flinch.

            "I can see it in your eyes. I've spent my whole life burying
friends and enemies."

Drift had flattened his ears against his skull and closed his eyes at my
roar.  He waited until the echoes died down before replying, "You're not the
only one here who's lost people."  His head was bowed, his hands flat on the
table as if to steady himself, his expression sad.

            "You think that any of you has anything to compare with the loss
of an entire clan of relatives?"

Drift's head came up, eyes flashing in anger. "Don't talk down to me,
Oberon. I am the last child of an only child. Yes, I do know what it's
like."

            "I had brothers, I had sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles,
grandparents, parents, and hundreds of others who died, and yet I alone
survived."

            "At least you had them in the first place."

            "We've all lost people, Oberon. Not just you," George softly
said.

            "Do you have any clue what it's like to see your youngest
brother lying on the ground, dying from an arrow wound while you hold him,
unable to do anything?"

            "How does being trapped in sight of your home burning and under
siege, unable to get to it or do anything for three days but hide and pray
that you'll have something to come back to strike you?" Drift asked again,
ears flattening and his hackles rising.

I growled again, my temper rising before a small figure tugged on my tail.
It was Guy DeHarancourt, and he looked frightened. He held out his arms in a
silent request to be picked up, but I coldly turned my back on him and
concentrated on the conversation.

"This is Metamor, Oberon.  I'd say over half the town has been through a
similar scenario."  He paused.  "And at least you got to say goodbye," the
Samoyed continued bitterly. "I didn't even get that much."

            "How did I get to say goodbye? If you mean I got to watch as the
life drained from him like a sieve, then yes, I did get to say goodbye," I
roared.  "But he was only seventeen years old! He was barely even a man!!"

Drift rose snarling from his chair, eyes snapping, ears down, and his
hackles up all the way down his back.   His bared teeth flashed as he yelled
back, "At least you got to hold him! Do you know what I would have given for
that chance? When my mother died, my father wouldn't even let me in the
room! -He- was murdered outside Glen Avery! My brother-in-law froze to death
while I was trapped outside the Keep during the Yule attack! I -fought- with
my sister the last time I saw her! Who do you think you are, you
self-centered son of a-."

            "Sit down, Drift," Misha warned coldly. As Drift shouted, Guy
tugged on my hand once more.  This time I could hear him crying softly.
Without even thinking, I picked him up and placed him in my lap, like I had
done so long ago for my youngest cousin. At the same time, Drift checked
himself and sat down, though not without a growl of anger. His hackles
stayed up.

            "Why did you just do that, Oberon?" Misha asked me softly,
looking to the young wildcat in my lap.

            "I don't know.  For some reason he reminded me of my youngest
cousin, Jacques Naharel, but he died more than thirty years ago," I replied
in an equally soft tone.

            "For someone with no family, you're treating him an awful lot
like family," Caroline commented.

            "I'm sorry, but I just have a weakness for children.  To see one
killed is the worst thing that you can possibly imagine."

Drift smoothed down the fur of his hackles with one hand. I could see that
he was bringing his temper back under control for the time being. For some
reason I was glad of that, but I didn't really know why.  I looked him in
the eyes and apologized, "I'm sorry for angering you, Drift."

He nodded before responding, "I shouldn't have let my temper get away from
me like that. It's going to get me in a lot of trouble someday."

Misha nodded.  "Both of you need to control your anger better."

I nodded in response to Misha before I looked around the table and said,
"It's just that you don't understand what could happen to you if you insist
on this course of action."

            "Then explain to us what could happen," Misha asked, though I
could sense that it was really an order.

            "There are risks in my life that none of you are even remotely
prepared to deal with."

            "Oberon, in my life I have faced death a hundred times. I have
been personally attacked a dozen times JUST by someone who wants to get a
hold of my axe. What could be worse then that?"

            "Well I can think of about a hundred things, but assassins from
my homeland are the biggest threat that come to my mind right now."

            "Is that all?" George asks. "You're worried about some knife-
wielding killer?"

            "I've dealt with assassins before," Misha added. "Killed a few
of them too."

I shook my head before looking at him in a patient manner. "These assassins
are unlike anything that you have every experienced. They operate in cells
of four and use a drug called Narrelat to enhance their reflexes and speed.
They will not stop coming until their target is dead or their employer
impoverished."

            "So? If you cut off their heads, they'll die just as easily as
the rest of us," George commented. "But we will need to come up with a plan
to deal with them."

            "That will be hard to do, because their employer is the richest
man in the Kelmar Clanlands.  He can afford to send assassins until the day
I die, more than four hundred years from now."

            "When were you planning on telling Misha and George about them,
Oberon?" Drift asked me pointedly.

            "It is my own danger to face, and I wouldn't want any of you to
risk your lives trying to help me."

            "And what if they came after others to get at you?" Drift went
on.

            "They WILL come after us no matter what you think," Misha
commented. "So we are already targets."

            "These assassins are completely devoted to their targets, and
they virtually ignore other people unless they get in their way."

            "Killers like that WILL kill anyone that gets in their way, and
we Keepers ARE in the way," Misha pointed out.

            "Do you really think people are going to stand by and do nothing
if they see you in trouble?" Drift asked, his expression suggesting the
question was rhetorical.

I reached into my right side belt pouch and pulled out the vial of Narrelat,
that I had taken from the body of one of the assassins that had tried to
kill me more than two months ago, and flung it onto table.  "If you want to
help out, then it's your funeral, but in any case you should all get a good
sniff of that.  I can guarantee that you will be smelling it in the future."

Misha picked the vial up, worked out the stopper and took a sniff.  "Smells
like vanilla=85 and something else."

He handed it to Drift, who also took a sniff before asking, "What is it?"

            "It's called narrelat.  One swig of it and you'll be moving
three times faster than normal. It is one of the reason why the Racteganect
are so dangerous."

Drift's ears tipped forward with interest.  "How does it work?" he asked.

            "I'm no physician, so I don't know how it works, but I can tell
you that it does, and that the results are scary. The Racteganect have
cultivated the herbs used in it for millennia, coupled with magic that they
have developed for that very purpose."

            "A trick," George commented in disgust. "A mere trick. A trick
will never replace skill."

            "Narrelat isn't the only reason that these assassins are so
dangerous. They are trained like every other Kelmar Warrior, from childhood.
"  I looked over and noticed that Drift's tail had started to wag. From the
look in his eyes, I could tell that he was thinking over some ideas
involving narrelat, and maybe he was trying to puzzle out what it was made
of. Sir Saulius, who was sitting beside Drift, gave him an elbow in the ribs
at that point to get his attention back on the matter at hand. I looked
around at everyone before I asked, "So can you all see why I can't socialize
too much?"

            "No, I don't," Caroline answered flatly. "Life is full of risks,
Oberon. I've survived three attacks on my town, and I've..." She paused at
that point before she finally said, "I've been raped. Life is hard
sometimes." As soon as she finished saying that Misha hugged Caroline and
kissed her gently.

At her mention of rape my eyes went flat and I quietly, with deadly intent,
asked, "Who was responsible for that travesty?" I noticed that Drift turned
to look at Caroline with shock written on his features. Apparently, this was
news to him, too.

            "Doesn't matter," She answered flatly. "They're all dead
now."  Misha
nodded and gave a feral grin that suggested he had seen to it personally.

Drift's ears flickered, and his head bowed slightly.  "I'd heard something
about that, but I never knew it was... you. I'm sorry."

            "Thank you," she answered softly.

            "That is the second most despicable crime in the world. The
first is killing a child."

            "We got through that, Oberon. Those enemies died. All that's
left of them is bones and the terror that the lutins have for me," Misha
pointed out grimly. Just then the door opened and a young woman came in
bearing food on a large tray,

            "I though that you all would want something to eat," she said
cheerily.

            "Thank you," George answered. "Now, please leave." She placed
the tray on the table and left. I shook my head and looked down at the now
sleeping figure of DeHarancourt before asking Father Hough, "Do you mind
taking him out of my hands now?"

At the same time Drift glanced over toward Misha and George. After a second
he took his cue from their reactions, or lack of reaction, and reached for a
piece of cheese from the tray.

            "Who ordered the food?" Finbar asked. "I don't remember anyone
asking."

 Father Hough stood up and took the sleeping child from me, before returning
to his own seat without waking the little guy up. I thanked him before I
grabbed a piece of smoked meat off of the tray and then said, "If that is
all that you folks want to talk to me about then I think that I'll be
bidding you a good day. I have to get ready for my next patrol up north."

As soon as Finbar made his comment about the food Drift's hand had stopped.
He looked over at me and said, "Oberon, wait. Don't eat that."

            "What's wrong with it?" I asked before I took a sniff of the
meat. It smelled fine to me.

            "You're under an assassination threat, and you're going to eat
food that nobody ordered, without testing it?"

George picked up a piece of cheese from the tray and sniffed it before he
popped it into his mouth. As soon as he swallowed the morsel he said, "I
trust the girl.  It's safe."

Misha looked at me as I laid the piece of meat in my hand back on the tray
before he asked, "Why exactly do they want you dead, Oberon?"

I sighed and looked into his eyes before I slowly said, "I wasn't just some
simple warrior in my Clan: I was much, much more. The reality is that I am
the fourth, and last surviving, son of my father. He held the position of
Lord of the Sundering Stone Clan."

            "And," George asked, "why did they wipe out your clan and yet
still want you dead?"

            "Since my father was the Lord of the Sundering Stone, and I am
his only surviving heir, then I am in fact the Clanlord of that clan, and I
can prove it as well." I reached into one of my belt pouches and pulled out
a thick gold ring, tossing it onto the table with a heavy thunk. It was a
signet ring that I had held onto of a long time, the engraving on the ring
depicted an eagle holding a lightning bolt cracking a stone in half. Misha
examined it without picking it up.

            "Family ring?" George's pronouncement on the safety of the food
appeared to have satisfied Drift and he snagged some cheese, tipping his
ears towards Misha to listen.

            "That is the hereditary treasure of the Sundering Stone Clan,
along with this." I unhooked the sheathed Claw of the Dragon from my side
and laid it on the table in front of me. George picked up the ring with one
hand while holding a second piece of cheese in his other.

            "This is the symbol of your whole clan, isn't it?"

            "Yes, the eagle sundering a stone with a lightning bolt is the
symbol of the Sundering Stone Clan."

            "Who is attacking you, and why do they want you all dead?"

            "As the Clanlord of the Sundering Stone Clan, I have two things
that my enemies wish to possess. My sword," I laid my hand on the Claw, "and
my life."

George placed the ring on the table with a loud clack. "Who wants you dead?"

            "I suspect that it is the Clanlord of the Bleeding Sun Clan.
He's already broken Kelmar Law by killing four other Clanlords."

George shook his head.  "I don't need to know why. People like that always
seem to find some stupid reason to butcher others."

            "In this case, it is because he wants to rule the Kelmar
Clanlands with no opposition in any form."

            "It doesn't matter what language they speak =96 a tyrant is a
tyrant, and they always wind up dead sooner or later."

            "I certainly hope so, because this man has broken so many Kelmar
laws that he is in dire need of killing."

            "There are a lot of people who need killing," Misha answered.
"Nasoj for one."

I looked at each of the people around the table before I said, "If that is
everything that you want to talk about George I have better things to be
doing than sitting here rehashing the past." With that said, I stood up.

            "Sit, cat!" the jackal ordered. "That door stays closed until I
decide to open it."

            "WHAT do you want from me?" I roared out, my temper rapidly
rising once more.

            "We want you to stop cutting yourself off from everyone who
cares about you!" Caroline shouted.

            "What if I like myself the way that I am?"

Drift, unlike the others maintained a normal voice.  "How long before you
snap, Oberon? Any bets?"

            "What do you mean SNAP? I am in PERFECT control of myself at all
times."

Drift laughed. "Says the guy who's making my ears ring with all his
yelling."

George shook his head. "You're as taut as a bow string."

I could think of nothing to say in reply and my anger was rapidly rising. In
response, I let out my loudest roar yet, shaking the fittings on the window
in the far wall. This roar wasn't coherent; it was merely an expression of
my frustration at what they were trying to do.

Drift rubbed his ears.  "Yeah, that's about what I thought."

At the same time that I roared, I felt my finger-claws flex out of their
hidden sheathes and penetrate into the thick wood of the table. These people
were really trying my patience. I was about to let out another, louder roar
when I felt something tug on my tail. It was Guy DeHarancourt; I guess that
the noise that we had been making had woken him up. This time I didn't take
any prompting; I picked him up and settled him on my lap before I looked
over at Misha

            "You know that you can't-" Guy's finger snuck up and placed
itself on my lower lip.

Misha laughed and even George snickered.  "It seems that Guy has a comment
to make," Misha said.

            "What do you-" Again the finger came up and placed itself on my
lip.

            "What?" Caroline asked softly. I noticed that Drift had put a
knuckle to his lips to hide a growing smile.

            "I'm not going-" Guy stopped me again with his finger. Finally,
I looked down at the kid and saw nothing but love come back at me from his
eyes. "Why does this-"

            "It seems that you have a family. Whether you want it or not,"
Caroline said softly.

            "But I don't-"

Misha shook his head.

            "Just accept it my friend. He won't take no for an answer."

            "Why should-"

            "Tell him no," George said simply and pointed at the young face
of Guy. I looked down at the child's face, and I could still see his open
feelings on his face. I tore my gaze away from him, but he did something
that brought all of the pain that I had buried for the past thirty years to
the surface. He said a word, one word that brought all of my suffering to
the surface, "Papa." I crumpled on the spot, hot tears running down my
muzzle as the pain of my life ever since my Clan had died came to the
surface. I didn't even look up as I felt another pair of arms wrapped around
my shoulders. After a moment of letting the hot tears run down my muzzle I
managed to say, "I don't know what I would do without people like you around
me."

            "You will never need to find that out ever again," Misha said
calmly from behind me, his arm around my shoulder. My voice betrayed me and
I could do nothing more than let the tears course their way down my muzzle.
I could just barely make out Drift sitting across from me at the table,
nodding his head in apparent empathy. I felt a second set of arms wrap
themselves around my shoulders and I tried to bring my emotions back under
control. The control that I sought, though, was as elusive as a roach in a
barn full to the rafters with hay.

            "You're as tense and taut as a drawn bowstring."

I tried once more to regain control; I got enough back to respond, "Would
you expect any less if you-" That was all that I got out before I was swept
away in another heavy bout of weeping.

Someone hugged me tighter and then I heard Caroline's voice say, "Let it all
out." Then a strong pair of hands slowly began to massage the huge muscles
behind my shoulders. After a few moments the storm began to fade and I
managed to get back some of my control.

            "How can I ever thank you?" I finally managed to ask.

            "No thanks needed. So long as you are well." I finally managed
to sit up and looked into the eyes of the child on my lap. His eyes
reflected nothing but love. He opened his mouth and uttered one word that
almost caused me to lose control again,

            "Papa."

            "It looks like Guy has made up his mind. You are his family
now."

            "Do you know how long it's been since I've had a family that has
loved me?"

            "Too long," George answered my question. I looked up at the
people around the table and realized that the best friends that a man could
ever ask for surrounded me. Slowly, I stood up and smiled, with my tail,
ears, whiskers, and a grin. This was the first time that I had really smiled
in a very long time.

            "You are right there, George. It has been far too long since I
was able to truly call someone my friend." As I said that, I stepped from
where I had been sitting and held out a large hand to George to thank him
for what he had obviously arranged here. George took my hand and shook it
with a strength that surprised me. I smiled down at the jackal while a
series of soft snores announced to me that Guy had fallen asleep once more.
I continued going around the room, shaking everyone's hands. When I got to
Misha, I said, "Even though this has changed me, don't expect me to stop
with my object lessons out there when I'm on patrol."

            "No, I don't expect those to stop. We need to put the fear of
you into the lutins. Just understand when to back off."

            "Yes sir. When do you want me to return to my patrol duties?" At
that, George came over to where Misha and I were standing,

            "At least a month. Do not come back to my office for duty for a
least a month." The jackal ordered.

            "What am I supposed to do? Sit around and twiddle my thumbs?"

            "You are supposed to relax, Oberon. Drink, sleep late, write,
play, go fishing and hunting. Relax!"

            "Relax? I haven't done anything like that in..."

            "Then you are long overdue," Misha added.

            "I guess that once this month is up, I'll go report to you
again, George."

            "No. When you do come back, report to Misha, not me. We've
decided to change things a little."

            "Why?"

            "We've decided to let you join the Long Scouts."

I felt my ears perk forward and I smiled before I finally said, "I would
consider it a great honour.  I will do my best to ensure that I will live up
to your standards, Misha."

            "You will have to work a lot to uphold that honour, Oberon, but
you do deserve it."

I nodded slowly before I sniffed the air. "Do either of you know where
Father Hough is, I think that his charge needs him right now."

Misha laughed.  "I'm not sure that he wants him right now, but I do know
that he is nearby."

            "Well nonetheless, unless either of you is in possession of his
supplies, I can't really do anything about this little problem."

George shook his head and backed off. "I am the scout master. Not a baby
changer."

I looked at George, "You've never had any children George? That is a real
pity; you would make someone a very good father. Even with all of your
faults."

            "Thank you. I have no kids," George said.

            "At least, none that you know of," Misha added. George gave a
slight cough and I could see from the look on his face that he was a little
chagrined. He quickly took a couple more steps back before he turned and
went to the door, which he opened before leaving the room.

            "I see that he doesn't really like to stick around when there is
a question that involves children."

            "He's never been good with kids," the fox explained.

            "That's a real pity. In my homeland, a man is considered a
success if he has a good family and numerous friends who would trust him
with their lives."

            "George hasn't seen any of his family in twenty years," Misha
answered. I shook my head slowly before Guy began to whine out in distress.
The cries were almost heart-rending, and also highly disturbing because of
their pitch.

            "What's wrong with him?" I wrinkled my nose and replied with a
sarcastic comment

            "What, your nose stopped working?"

            "Eh!!!!!!!" came the groan, and everyone stepped back.

            "He seems to be in desperate need of a change."

            "Well, I would, if someone would tell me where Father Hough has
vanished off to."

            "With that smell here? He's probably halfway back to the
cathedral by now."

            "How are we going to deal with this then?" Then there was a
shout from the far end of the table, and Caroline pulled a large satchel out
from beneath the table.

            "I think that you'll find all of the supplies that you need in
this bag." I rolled my eyes as the rest of the people retreated from me like
I was carrying the plague.  Drift even had a hand over his nose.

            "Is everyone in here afraid of a little work?"

            "Work, no, but clearing poo off of someone's butt is NOT taught
in scout training," Misha commented.

I rolled my eyes again and then moved closer to the table.  "Well, having a
family as big as I used to have, this was something that I had to learn
before I was fifteen years old."

            "I was an only child," Caroline commented. "Thankfully."

I chuckled softly.

            "Misha, you and Caroline will probably have to deal with
something like this within the next couple of years."

            "I'll worry about that task when the time comes, but not before
then!" Misha joked.

I shook my head and quickly finished with the distasteful operation as
quickly as possible before I said, "Well I guess I had better get this
little guy back to his caretaker." A small babbling childish voice spoke up
then.

            "No, Papa."

Misha laughed.  "He has other ideas for you, Papa."

            "What about when I have to go out on patrol?"

            "Perhaps the good Father can let you share in raising Guy.
Helping out while you can."

            "I will certainly think about it, Misha. What do you think about
that, Caroline?"

            "I think that you both need each other," the otter explained.
"You are now a big part of his life."

I could do nothing more than nod my head before I asked myself rhetorically,
"How did I get myself into this mess in the first place?"

            "Life has a way of sneaking up on you and smacking you on the
back."

            "That's for sure, Caroline." I shook my head slowly. "Right now,
though, I'm not really prepared to take care of a child."

            "If not now, perhaps later. I'm sure Father Hough will be
willing to help with the child until you are ready." I could do nothing more
than nod before I headed for the door, pausing only to pick my ring and my
sword off of the table.   I reattached the sword to my belt and looked at my
ring for a second before I slid it onto my right middle finger. With that
done, I headed for the door, stopping once more to shake Drift's hand.

He looked up into my eyes before he said, "Welcome back, Oberon." I laughed
at his comment and then headed out the door with the child in one arm and
his bag in the other. Before I went home to my own apartment, I stopped at
Father Hough's chapel to drop off Guy and explain to him the situation. He
fully understood me and told me that everything would work out in the end.
Guy didn't take our parting well, but I had promised Father Hough that I
would be by in a few days to take Guy out to see the first day of the
Solstice Festival. That was going to be a real experience, and I was looking
forward to it.
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