<html> <body> Hey look at that! It's a new Metamor Keep story by yours truly. This one is set in the current timeline (708) for those keeping track. Part 1 of 2 Metamor Keep: Driven by the Wind by Charles Matthias and Ryx June 11, 708 CR Twilight limned the jagged coast of Sathmore to their east. Charles eyed the thin sliver of moon as his fingers tightened the main stay knots, his toes curled through the rigging, and his tail dangled in the empty air above the oar locks. The familiar scent of sea salt was tinged with the murky wash of seaweed and dead fish. After two weeks at sea he'd become accustomed to both and no longer twitched his whiskers in distaste. After the first day he'd offered his services to Captain Calenti both in the oar locks and to watch at night. The Sutthaivasse seaman accepted the offer and in only two nights gave him over to a stoop-backed man half-deaf in one ear named Dandelo. Dandelo had a prodigious and inventive mastery of vulgar expressions in at least four tongues and demonstrated his talents at length when informed he would be teaching a four-foot tall rat how to be a sailor. The first week out from Menth they rowed with the current along the rocky coastline at the northern end of the Sea of Stars. Dandelo used his time to teach Charles the various knots and where each was used; he shouted obscenities and wished for a giant cat when the rat made a mistake. It was a uniquely humbling experience but after two weeks his knots were deemed “good 'nuff for dogs a–”; Charles dare not even think the last word. When they passed into the Great Western Sea they turned south and hoisted the sails. During the Summer months the prevailing winds blew southeast along the coast of Sathmore which meant they could use them to make better time than oars alone. They were blessed with a few clear nights and so as they enjoyed the last of the moon's light they risked sailing in the wee hours before the morn. Charles had not appreciated the strength of the wind and the sail, and endured more epithets from Dandelo as he scrambled across rigging to tighten his knots when a sudden gale pulled them loose. If not for his Sondecki strength he doubted he could have managed. Most of their sailing was done in the day while he slept and so he missed seeing the great city of Elvquelin though he did enjoy watching the forests and small mountain peaks of Magdalain island slip past beneath the light of a half-moon. For now the shore was too distant to make out details. Dandalo told him there was little to see, “'cept farms 'n fields.” Still, with the winds steady, he could watch the sunrise from the rigging and enjoy a moment of calm. In a few hours he would return to his chambers in the aft castle and try to sleep. He would kiss his children and wife awake and then climb beneath the warm sheets. He always slept better regardless of the nightmares when he knew his little boy would not see them. In the beauty of the twilight morning it was easy to forget the horrors plaguing his sleep. Visions of his journey through the hells were his usual fare and while terrifying they did not frighten him nearly so much as experiencing anew his smoldering transformation into a Shrieker. He could still hear the shattering cry, launched from his own mouth, echoing within the iron chamber of memory. He could endure the hells with their elaborate tortures and soul-crushing monotony; but the cry of the Shrieker – his cry – thrashed him from his bed, gasping, paws slick with sweat. But it was the new nightmare he feared seeing. Ever since the voyage began his mind conjured scenario after scenario ending in disaster on his return to Sondeshara. His punishments varied from confinement in the city which he would accept, to public flogging which crippled him, and even to having his Sondeck bound so he could no longer use it. Last night his family had been forced to watch as he was beheaded. Charles pressed his eyes shut tight and cursed under his breath. And then he lifted his gaze to the heavens above the slender lune and whispered, “Eli, spare them such a fate. Spare me! Let me remember Mother Yanlin...” Even as he traced the Yew across snout and chest, he felt a small touch of peace pierce the gloom of nightmare. It was as a grain of sand too small to see compared to the glimpse of a single ray of light from Yahshua's mother in her glory. But it was enough. Charles smiled and murmured his thanks before climbing higher in the rigging. It was time to return to his duties. ---------- Quoddy woke as the sky brightened but waited until the first rays of sunlight illumined the eastern shore before stretching his wings and nudging his brothers. On the second day of the voyage Sir Charles and one of the crew helped build a smaller nest on the main mast above the crow's nest suitable for them to watch and sleep. The same crewman, Vasco, half-dozed beneath them for a minute more before grunting and rubbing his eyes. Lubec and Machias yawned their beaks and stretched their wings, easing up and giving each other what little space they could. They slept nestled together as true birds did, but once awake the habits of men returned. “Good morning,” Quoddy squawked as he stood and wiggled his webbed feet beneath him. The wood they'd used stunk of tar and he was convinced it would stick his feet fast one day. “Sleep well?” “We're at sea, of course I did!” Machias replied. He turned and dug his bright orange beak into his wing feathers to straighten them. “And there was a pretty lady puffin...” Lubec nudged him with his wing; Machias squawked in surprise as he hopped a step to keep upright. “Hey! She was pretty.” “And you've been dreaming of her how many nights now?” Lubec asked as he looked over his black feathers. The puffin scuffed his webbed feet. “Four or five.” “Ten or twelve,” Quoddy corrected with a laugh. “Maybe we'll meet some when we return to Metamor.” “In a year,” Lubec noted. He turned his head toward the sunrise and then to the sea. “A good year.” “Aye, a good year!” “I've never been this far south before,” Machias noted, his composure restored. He hopped closer to his brothers to peer toward the shore-line and gentle sea ahead of them. “You've been here before. How's the fishing?” “Good,” Quoddy admitted as his stomach grumbled. “But don't try fishing at sea; you should always just see what's close to shore. All the fish you'll see out this far are too big to snatch. And the sharks... they might jump out and snatch you!” Machias pecked him then fluffed up his white chest feathers. “I'm not stupid; I know you're teasing.” Lubec shook his head, eyes darkening. “He's not. I've seen it.” His voice lowered, and for a moment Quoddy remembered his brother cormorant in the weeks after Gmork was killed. “A lone bird swooping low over the waters, beak jabbing into the waves to snatch a bit of mackerel, only to have a terror of the deep, a gray monstrosity whose jaw has teeth like knives, leap out of the water, bite down through his back, and disappear beneath the waves with only scattered feathers to mark the spot he perished.” The cormorant shuddered, head drawn close to his chest. “What a frightful thing to see! I'll never fly close to the surface of the sea again.” Machias gaped, blinking several times before he fluffed himself up taller and pecked both of them in the back as they laughed. “You two are terrible! Sharks don't jump out of the water to eat birds!” “Nay, nay,” Quoddy admitted as he stopped laughing. “But the fish this far out are usually too big to grab. Stay close to shore and you'll be fine. There's even some crab and mussels hiding in the rocks if you want to give your wings a rest.” Machias huffed one last time and cast his gaze toward the shore. “It's not as if we'd have time anyway. The ship's moving too fast to fish.” “But there's plenty in the hold. I think I smell some cooking already.” Quoddy leaned his head out over their nest. It was the meager-est of scents overwhelmed by the tang of the salt in the sea, but the thin strand of sizzling fish was there. “Let's go see what Mogaf is making!” He spread his wings and jumped, spiraling around the rigging toward the deck. His brothers, all scuffling forgotten, were quick to follow him down. ---------- “It has been many years since I had so favorable a wind at my back,” Captain Calenti admitted. He bore the countenance of a boy who'd found a heroic knight's banner. One hand curled about a goblet of wine and the other trailed across a map of the coast as if they were the very wind he welcomed. “We will make your city, your grace, a week earlier than expected.” Malger dae ross Sutt, once wandering minstrel and now Archduke of the ancient city of Sutthaivasse of Pyralis, tapped his chin with an appraising claw. The marten did not share the sailor's delight; he appeared a boy who'd bitten an apple only to find a worm within. “My messengers may not have even arrived by then. Nothing will be ready!” “I suppose we could drop anchor for a day or two.” Calenti frowned and tapped the map. “There are coves we can shelter in if your need is great.” Malger twitched his snout and peered past the sailor at the window. The sea rose and fell with the rocking of the ship. His sinuous body almost danced as it kept pace. “Nae, nae, Jerome's need is greater. Haste is for the best, but...” Calenti eyed him for a moment; instead of asking he merely sipped his wine. Overhead they could hear the shouting of his men and the squeaking voices of the Matthias children. He thought of the Dreamer boy and a smile touched the edges of his muzzle. He turned his head so the Captain would not see. “It is merely an inconvenience. To enter my own city unannounced without preparations made for my arrival? It is not done.” “Send one of the birds. Or Kurgael. Or one of the dragons!” Malger chuffed. “The birds would struggle to reach the city ere your vessel does. You retained Kurgael, not I, I cannot trust him with such a mission. And Pharcellus... I fear my people would shower him with arrows before the message was delivered. Although, if I must arrive unannounced, he would make a mighty herald!” And there would be little time for any assassins hired by the many schemers in the city to prepare their own welcome for him. But no time for his few trusted men either. He chittered a curse beneath his breath and turned back to the Captain. “There is nothing to be done for it. Very well, Captain, continue your course and let the wind guide you.” Calenti's delight returned. “Thank you, your grace! You will not be disappointed.” He wasn't. Minutes later he stretched in his hammock with flute to his snout. He whistled a wandering tune and stared at the tar-black wood above him. Dragons, birds, a dreaming rat, a wolf struggling to be a man, and intrigue beyond count in the city of his birth. What a splendid adventure this was turning out to be! ---------- Garigan no more finished a meal of fresh-caught fish then he raced up the deck to start his shift for the day. Like his master he had volunteered to serve on the Venture Swift after their first day at sea. He already won grudging admiration from the seasoned men for the way he slithered through the rigging and pranced over the narrow cross-beams; it seemed little different to him than cavorting amongst the treetops of the Glen, and any reminder of home was a pleasant one. He was impressed with how much there was for a sailor to do and he did all he was bid without complaint. But with the wind behind them and the sails full and steady, he had a few minutes to relax. A young sailor – younger even than the ferret – stood next to him in the rigging, checking and tightening the knots, all while smiling and sighing in relief for their respite. “So, Garigan, what's it like?” “Hmm?” He flicked his tail and stretched his toes, careful not to nick the ropes with his claws. “What's what like, Marco?” The youth appraised him with an anxious glance. “Well... fur... you know.” Garigan chuffed and picked at the gray fur of his arm. “This? Well, I have been this way since my thirteenth year. After so long I cannot imagine not having fur, claws, fangs, a tail. I suppose I remember I could see better before I changed, and my nose was not as strong. Winter's were colder before I had fur. I need to eat meat or fish as often as I can. In Metamor it is just how things are. Here... it was awkward at first, and I heard some speaking behind our backs when they thought I couldn't hear them.” Marco's eyes widened. “Now I am glad I can be of help and being like a ferret makes it easier.” “And your claws? And fangs? They look sharp...” He laughed and waved those claws in front of Marco's startled face. For a moment he was reminded of the incorrigible pine marten Marcus and the way he would stare in awe and fright whenever Garigan made a threat in his serious voice. “They are. I need to be careful I do not cut the ropes as I climb. But I am used to them and very good with them. I remember one time while fighting Lutins I lost my sword and learned how strong and sharp these really were. All the blood...” Marco's eyes were bigger than his head and knuckles white as plaster. Garigan patted him on the back and laughed, squirming between a square in the ropes to climb a little higher. “Oh, don't worry Marco. We of Metamor are very careful about matters of fang and claw. I like you and look forward to sailing this voyage with you. Now come; it looks like the wind is shifting.” Marco blinked and offered a nervous laugh. “Oh aye, aye, it is. Of course!” Together they climbed up the rigging to ready for the next gust of air. ---------- Pharcellus remembered well the twists and turns he'd made in his efforts to fight off a dozen or so Lutins when they'd freed Fjellvidden a little over two months ago. As a dragon, even while in human guise, he contorted and snatched at anything near regardless where his attacker struck. A blow or two might land upon him with so many against him, but it would take many more such blows to fell a dragon. Yet to the four Matthias children he lost each battle with ever-increasing delight. Under the watchful eyes of their mother and Kimberly and the vixen Misanthe, the little rats cavorted about the poop deck and scampered under, up, and over Pharcellus. For his part he would stomp around and make menacing dragonish sounds, waving his arms at times like forepaws and others like wings as he sought each one. Those he caught in his arms he would nibble upon their necks or tummies before they squirmed free of his grasp. The rest of the time he let them slip through his fingers only to have them jump on his legs and back, clinging with sharp little claws, and from time to time biting with strong incisors. Their mother would reprimand them each time they bit the dragon, but even though their teeth could injure his soft human flesh, he paid it no mind. It was no different than the play of hatchlings deep within the great caverns of the wyrms. These four had the incisors, claws, fur, and tails of rats for a reason; through play they would learn how to use them. And while their energy did seem boundless, Pharcellus knew it was only a matter of time before he could corral them into the lady's laps and then regale them with a dragon's tale of adventure and mischief. The two boys were particularly eager for each story, especially when their was fighting involved. The girls were more apt to hide their faces at the scary parts, but their ears were always perked to hear what came next. But they always squeaked a laugh when the dragon lunged forward startling the boys deeper into motherly arms. And when the tale was done the chorus of earnest squeaks would commence, all of them asking the same thing. “Can you fly us, Master Phar! Can you, can you! Please1 Please! Fly us! We wanna fly! Fly! We wanna fly! Mommy, please tell him to take us flying! Please Mommy!” The answer from Kimberly was always some variation of, “If you want to fly you had best eat your lunch and take your nap like good rats first!” Pharcellus loved his new daily routine. ---------- “Ah, there's nothing quite like flying, eh Lindsey?” The young dragon turned his serpentine neck to offer the gryphon a toothy grin. They glided through the air, the winds as a gentle hand lifting them higher and higher until the Venture Swift was no larger than a pebble. Kurgael's golden beak was cracked in what long years at Metamor taught him was an avian's smile. “In sooth! And with this wind... Ah!” Lindsey swung his head back and in his delight belched a tongue of flame. He could do no more yet and suffered a dragon's indignation at so minor a fire, but his brother assured him it would grow as he did. At least he felt confidant enough in flight to serve as both scout and defense for his friends. Kurgael beat his wings until he flew beside Lindsey. His avian forearms gripped a wrapped bundle tight to his chest. Even as he spoke his piercing eyes scanned the waters below. “I heard it said you are not a natural dragon but a Keeper cursed like me; yet you call Pharcellus brother and are also said to be a young dragon. How is this so?” His nostrils tightened; they'd only ever told Calenti and the crew he and Pharcellus were brothers and friends of Sir Matthias. Perhaps Kurgael overheard the birds discussing it. After what they endured together, he could never hold anything against those three. “I am Pharcellus's half-brother. We share the same dragon mother, though I have a human father.” He banked his wings and began a slow turn toward the empty expanse of sea. “It's a long story with a terrible villain, but in the end the villain died a fitting death and I became a dragon. Perhaps Phar can tell it some evening when the seas are calm.” He wondered how his father Alfwig and his human mother Elizabaeg were faring. Had the men of Fjellvidden reclaimed the southern coasts yet? And what of Yajgaj the Lutin? Was he really his brother Andrig or was it a ruse of the Blood Harrow? One day he and Pharcellus would return to Arabarb and learn. And afterward he would need to meet his true mother and his dragon kin; it would be many years before he ventured back into the world of men. Pharcellus had never said so but the dragon in Lindsey knew. Kurgael offered a whistling screech and clacked his beak together as he followed the crimson-touched gray-scale in his turn. “Do I get nothing more until then? This sounds a fantastic tale!” Lindsey closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. “It is a fantastic tale, but a painful one too. And for Jerome and the birds Lubec especially. I don't know if they are ready to hear it told.” The gryphon bobbed his head and then scanned the sea below. “Then I shan't pry. But, ah, to fly... even if I had the chance to become human again I would not take it. I do not even like taking the more man-like shape Sir Matthias and the Archduke use. This is what I like to be, and in the air is best of all!” Lindsey's turn brought them around north so they could see the ship in the distance. The sails were full of the wind and even after only a few seconds it appeared larger. “I do wish I could walk on two legs again. But I'll never give up flying either!” His eyes scanned the sea between them and the ship, settling on a darker patch of water on their right. “Look there, what do you think?” He gestured with his head at the spot and Kurgael followed his gaze. “A school. No doubt.” One avian claw unfurled the netting he carried. The lead lines snapped in the wind, trailing behind him threatening to tangle in his legs. Lindsey backed his wings and fell behind the gryphon, snatching the ropes with his forepaws. Once he had a grip he dove forward, drawing the net taut between them. Together they circled down through the layers of wind closer and closer to the rippling ocean. The net tugged and burned his fingers but he held it tight. The dark patch proved to be a school of snappers. Most were too far below the surface to reach, but the pair dropped the net, holding only the guide lines as they flapped their wings hard, sluicing through the water and scooping the net through the surprised fish. When they lifted back into the air away from the sea more fish than Lindsey could count bounced and flopped within the net. “Hah!” Kurgael squawked in triumph. “This should keep the crew for a week! At least until we reach Sutthaivasse.” Lindsey grunted under the strain but kept beating his wings. “Indeed!” “I think we're getting good at fishing.” He could only nod once. Why couldn't he have been a full grown dragon like his brother? ---------- Gmork's Prodigal reclined against the gunwale near the prow and stared at the small clouds drifting across the sky. He sat upon his haunches and rested his snout on the oiled wood, black nose sniffing the briny air, sweaty sailors, and the pungent catch dragon and gryphon had deposited on the main deck an hour past. He kept his hands as human as he could make them, but his black Sondeckis robe had disappeared into the silvery-black pelt of the wolf beast he'd become. The wolf-beast his father had made him. Gmork's Prodigal licked his nose and breathed in the same scents, golden eyes moving without haste to another cloud. There was nothing for him to do on the ship – the sailors kept their distance from him and even his friends were uncertain how to act around him, more often than not treating him as if he were an invalid at best and an untamed hound at worst. Charles and Lindsey always spoke to him as a man and dear friend and it was only in their company he found any comfort. The rest of the time he yearned to slink away and hunt the feral rats infesting the hold. He'd already eaten three – he spat the carcasses over the gunwale rather than let any see what he'd done – but it was not the same as hunting game with his father and brothers. He turned his snout toward the sea; even thinking about loping through the woods felt a torture. With nothing else to do he stared at clouds and smelled the sea, letting each wash all thoughts from his mind. He heard every word uttered by the sailors but understood none of it. He would have nothing in his mind but sea and sky. And so it took a few tries for his friend Charles to stir Gmork's Prodigal from his contemplation. The big rat kept calling him by that name. “Jerome!” He flicked his ears and lifted his snout. The rat waved his chewstick at him and gazed with palpable concern in his protruding eyes. “Charles,” he garbled with his wolf tongue. He shifted on his haunches until he was almost sitting on his tail; his snout withdrew halfway into his face. “Charles. Forgive me. I wasn't listening.” “I see,” Charles noted, stepping closer and gnawing on the chewstick for a moment. He bore baggy pantaloons an a tan vest much like many of the other sailors, but no undershirt as if he wanted to show off the brown fur covering his chest and arms and the muscles beneath. “How many clouds have you counted today?” “I stopped counting hours ago.” He shrugged and managed to pull his snout in the rest of the way. He could even feel the cleft in his lips closing. “How did you sleep?” Charles leaned against the gunwale, long tail thumping against the side as his eyes followed the latest cloud. “Well enough. I should have something to eat but I'm not ready for another fillet of fish.” “There is a fresh catch.” “I saw.” Charles stuck his tongue far out of his snout and wriggled his whiskers and nose in distaste. “I think we ate better in the swamps of Marzac.” “Well, we ate different things.” “In sooth!” Charles laughed and shook his head. Gmork's Prodigal wagged his tail once as he tried to remember some of the worst things they had to scrounge on the last miserable miles of the swamp. Even the wolf's nature seemed revolted by them. “Are your litter sleeping?” “For now. They gave us no trouble for once. The promise of a ride in Pharcellus's claws seemed incentive enough. His wing is looking much better.” “He still mopes over it.” The rat shook his head and lifted his free hand to brush across the black scar over his right eye. “How anyone can grumble about a scar earned in battle I will never understand. I keep telling him it marks him as a warrior true.” “Dragons are different.” Gmork's Prodigal felt a twinge of disgust as he said the name. Father hated dragons. “Aye, they are. Even Lindsey seems different now.” Charles shrugged and turned his back to the gunwale, the root of his tail dangling over the edge. “Speaking of scars, how did you come by the ones on your chest and back?” Gmork's Prodigal forced the fur to recede into flesh. The tatters of his Sondeckis robe spilled outward and billowed around his haunches with only his tail and paws protruding. He lifted the edge of the robe and rubbed his fingers along one of the ragged gouges crisscrossing his flesh. One claw caught on the pink scar and he yanked his hand away. “Ah... these... you should know, Charles.” He tried to lick his nose again but his tongue was too human. “It was Marzac.” The rat's countenance darkened and he gnawed on his chewstick for several seconds. “The corruption scarred us all it seems. I had thought...” “My Father did this?” He winced at his own words. “Gmork... aye...” Charles gnawed again, eyes staring at nothing. A few seconds more and the rat forced himself to turn back to Gmork's Prodigal. “Do you feel him?” Now it was his turn to look away. His snout grew an inch from his face, nose darkening to black leather. The cleft in his lips returned as his jowls swelled. “Sometimes. Not like Marzac. Marzac was pitiless and never relented. My fa... Gmork does not always think of me.” Charles twitched his whiskers and nodded. “Good. Perhaps I can help you not think of him too. Care to practice with me? I've a little while before my children wake and I'm sure we both need a little time with our Sondeck.” Gmork's Prodigal wagged his tail. ---------- “Mind if I join you up here?” Malger asked as he poked his head into the crow's nest. “Your grace!” Machais cawed, hopping backward on his webbed feet and almost off the rim from which he watched the sea. Lubec stretched a wing to steady him, while Quoddy gestured at their wooden nest in welcome. “You are most welcome, Malger, but I do not think you will fit.” “Then this will suit me fine.” The marten was used to stretching out in odd positions and so with paws propped on the main crow's nest and side pressed against the main mast he only needed rest his elbows inside the trio's smaller nest to be comfortable. “I am sorry you have not been able to fly much this last week. Good for the voyage; not so good for you.” “Oh, it's all right, your gra... Malger.” Machais bobbed his colorful beak at the correction. “Even in the flocks we stood around for hours on end. At least this time we have somebody to talk to.” The marten blinked and shook his head. “I am impressed you could spend so much time living as normal birds.” “The first year was hard,” Lubec admitted, shrugging his wings. “What brings you up so far, Malger?” “It's my charter and I will go where I please!” He laughed and leaned his head back. “I also wanted to talk to you some. You've done very well delivering my messages so far. When we near Sutthaivasse I'll have more for you, but for now we have only to enjoy the sea air and the rocking of the wind and waves. Have you ever sailed before?” Quoddy shook his head. “Sailors usually don't like flocks of birds pooping on their decks. Every time we even neared a vessel they'd chase us off or try to catch us in nets. After the first time I always kept away.” His brother nodded and the gull continued, “It's not a bad way to travel, though I do wish we could fly a little more.” “This wind will not last forever,” Malger assured them. “And you are in my employ now. I promise you on our return to Metamor you will not lack for occasions to fly!” “You'd like it if you could do it,” Machais noted as he lifted a webbed foot and clawed at his belly. “I'm sure Pharcellus or Kurgael could you fly you about.” Malger laughed again. “I'm sure they could. I'm happy standing on my paws for now, but perhaps. So I am told you know Kurgael?” Th puffin nodded. “We visited him in his home in the cliffs south of the valley when we returned to Metamor each Winter. There are many Keepers who have chosen to live more like the beasts the Curses made us.” “It can take many years to learn what we can do to earn our way,” Lubec added. The cormorant groomed one wing for a second and then said, “And for many of us we have to earn it by being what the Curses made us.” Malger nodded, remembering Versyd and the other horses he'd hired. He wiggled his clawed fingers. “I am blessed to still have these then. I am very glad I could help you three. If you wold be so kind, tell me a story of one of your adventures. I will gladly share one of mine.” The brothers glanced at each other for a moment before Quoddy turned his beady eyes back to the marten. “Well, we've only truly had one adventure worthy of the name, but we could tell you about things we've seen men do when they think we are only birds.” The marten laid his arms atop one another and rested his snout upon his wrists. “Now this is precisely what I wish to hear! Continue my friends!” ---------- “Sir Matthias,” Captain Calenti said through clenched teeth and purple cheeks, “I must insist you keep your children from chewing holes in my ship!” ---------- “Do they ever truly rest?” Misanthe stretched her legs and arms as she leaned against the gunwale on the aft deck. Her slender snout lifted, golden eyes fixed upon the four little rats climbing through the rigging with their father and Garigan. “They are so curious, adventurous, and precious. I love them dearly already. But do they ever truly rest?” Lady Kimberly favored the vixen with a knowing twitch of the whiskers. “I wondered the same thing when they were first born. They kept Charles, Baerle or I awake all hours of the night for the first few months. They wanted to sleep during the day! By Autumn they finally started sleeping through the night; I fear it is the only time they do rest. But at least we lived at the Glen; we have many friends and there were always eyes to watch them when care for other things took me away.” Misanthe watched with steady eyes as elder rat and ferret helped them scramble up the ropes. Bernadette missed one and dangled for a moment by her arms, squeaking in alarm, until her father's hands cupped her back and tail, hoisting her up to where she could place her feet. The vixen let out a little gasp of air. “It still amazes me how old they seem.” “Lady Avery told me her two boys also matured quickly their first few years. It slowed in time, and I believe theirs will too. It has something to do with being part animal. Still, they are beautiful to me and more precious than anything else I own.” Her fingers lifted to the stone medallion creased with purple lines that rested in her bodice. “Before I came to Metamor I never thought I would ever call a rat beautiful! Yet they are.” “It has not always been so kind... the last time I was around so many humans I hid myself in the beastly guise.” “And I heard it said you can talk even as a normal fox?” Misanthe nodded, looking away from the children so as not to watch their father dangle them one-by-one from the yard. “Aye. It was not easy, but my... former master,” she resisted the urge to spit in from of Kimberly, “demanded I master it. Whether for his use or amusement...” “But it is useful! I know of no other Metamorian who can claim such a feat.” Misanthe favored the noble rat with a flick of her tail and lifting of her ears. “If you would care to learn, I might be able to teach you.” Kimberly's whiskers drooped. “I am not sure if the voice of a rat could speak so.” “Perhaps not. I wonder if there is not some magic about my skill but I have no way to know. But if you should change your mind...” A chorus of squeaks overhead made both ladies lift their snouts. Charles and Garigan were bouncing one child at a time in the top of the wind-full sails. The girls squeaked their delight as their tails and legs flailed in the air. The boys squeaked their impatience as they stood unaided on the yard. Kimberly gasped and wrapped her hand tight around the medallion. “Charles! Garigan! What are you doing with my children?” Her husband waved down to her with one hand as he lifted Baerle back up to the yard. He cupped his hands around his snout and shouted back down, “They're doing great! Don't worry!” She shook her head and stifled a tremble. “I suppose if you are going to teach me, we should find somewhere to change without prying eyes.” Misanthe rolled her eyes at the men and followed Kimberly beneath the deck. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>