The chapel was quiet at this late hour. The only things moving there were motes of dust that danced about in the multicolored shafts of light beaming down from the stained glass windows. At the far end was an altar in front of which stood a young boy. Slowly they made their way down the aisle past row upon row of empty pews that stood guard in front of the altar. The footfalls of the men boomed loudly in the silent place making all of them wince. The loud noises feeling out of place in this holy hall.
“Impressive,” Helmun said softly as he looked about. “I didn’t know there was something this grand here.”
“There wasn’t one until a few years ago,” Edmund answered as they walked towards the altar that sat at the far end.
The paladin shook his head. “Impossible. This place looks to be centuries old.”
“Kyia created this place less then two years ago and it looked as you see it now on that first day.”
“Who is Kyia?” Harrick asked. “The ruler of this keep?”
“Kyia IS the Keep,” Edmund answered. “Literally.”
“She is the spirit of the keep itself,” Terrant added.
“Nothing happens in the Keep without her knowing about it,” Terrant added. “Even moving from room to room only happens if she allows it.”
“What is she?” Helmun asked as he looked about. As if this spirit would suddenly appear.
Edmund shrugged. “No one is exactly sure but she is a force for good and her kindness knows no bounds.”
“Is she a Deadra?”
“No but she has powers that rival theirs,” the cheetah answered. “There are stories of the Lightbringers treating her like an equal. The difference is that she doesn’t claim to be a god.”
“What does she claim to be?”
“Nothing,” was the paladins blunt response. “She makes no claims or demands upon the residents here. Rarely does she show herself to anyone, even the Duke has seen her only once or twice in his whole life.”
“Truly a strange creature,” was the senior knights comment.
The feline paladin laughed his tail whipping about in amusement. “The strange and unusual are normal here at Metamor.”
“So it seems.”
The group reached the end of the aisle and found themselves in from the boy who they saw was dressed in the robes of a priest.
Edmund bowed to the boy priest and then pointed to Harrick. “This is Sir Harrick, Senior Knight commander of The Order of the Protectors.”
“Lord Harrick this is Father Hough who sees to the congregation here at Metamor Keep.”
Hough bowed to the knight who bowed in return. “It is a pleasure to meet you Sir Harrick.”
The nobleman returned the bow even though there was a look of confusion on his face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you sir. Pardon me but you are a priest?”
Hough smiled, the amusement plain to see on his face. Evidently this was not the first time the question had been asked.
“I am a fully ordained priest and I was an adult till the curse made me so,” Hough answered in a patient tone.
“Sir,” Helmun said softly. “It’s sunset.”
“Yes it is,” Sir Harrick answered. “Place all the unnecessary gear by the door and take your places quickly.”
Father Hough motioned to the cheetah. “Sir Delacot, come assist me.
I shall Break the Bread with Vespers for your knightly companions.”
While Sir Harrick and the others moved to the antechamber to doff their unneeded
gear, Edmund followed the boy priest into one of the atriums and then into a
small office in which various robes and instruments were arranged. Hough pointed
to a white acolyte's robe and said, “Don that and then hold the censer.”
Hough himself dressed in a purple alb and decorative dalmatic depicting in a
stylized cross scenes from Yahshua's most sorrowful Passion. “Have you
ever served at the Breaking of the Bread?”
Edmund nodded. “In my youth, Father.”
Hough laughed, a bright warm sound that alleviated some of the fears that Edmund
didn't even realize he'd had at Sir Harrick's advent. “You will remember
the prayers. And if not, I will whisper them to you.”
Edmund shrugged into the white robe and found it fit over his shoulders surprisingly
well. He lifted the censer by its three foot chain and watched it sway back
and forth; unconsciously, his tail matched it. “Is this all you need,
Father?”
“Everything else is at the altar already. I was preparing for Vespers
when you arrived.” Hough steadied the censer, deposited a fine powder
of incense within, and then took a long match and lit the end with a lantern.
He steadied the flame inside the censer for a moment, until a heady smoke billowed
forth.
“Come,” Hough said. He led him through another door that took them
down a short passage into a second room. Two true acolytes waited there already
dressed in their robes, one holding aloft the processional yew. Both were boys
untouched by the curse, and they looked in surprise at the cheetah's entrance.
Hough gestured to a book inlaid with gold. “Marc, please bring the Memoirs.
We will celebrate the Breaking of the Bread tonight.”
“Aye, Father,” the young boy said. He clasped the book in his hands
and held it over his head, while the other boy kept a firm grip on the processional
yew.
Father Hough gestured for Edmund to step before him. He patted the cheetah on
the back, “Eli knows of your sacrifice, my son. He will determine your
fate, trust in that.”
Edmund nodded, his nose twitching from the pungent incense. “I will, Father.”
The boy with the yew lead them through yet another set of doors, this one leading
to the rear of the chapel. Together, they processed down the main aisle amidst
the chanting of the knights and the other parishioners come to celebrate Vespers.
Edmund found the familiar words crossing his tongue, “Miserere mei Deus
secundum misericordiam tuam iuxta multitudinem miserationum tuarum dele iniquitates
meas.”
The two acolytes knelt at either side of the steps leading up to the altar.
Edmund found a place next to the one carrying the yew and knelt as best he could.
Father Hough took the censer from Edmund's paws and waved it over the altar
from one side, then another, and then back again in a complicated but reverent
pattern. Edmund knew that each position had deeper significance, but he couldn't
recall any of them.
Father Hough handed the censer back, and Edmund held it carefully, trying not
to sneeze. The incense was tickling his sensitive feline nose. The boy priest
said some prayers, and the old words came to the cheetah's tongue at just the
right moments. Yet, he found it almost impossible to concentrate on what was
being said, and what it was they were doing.
All his life he'd known he would become a soldier of one sort of another. A
scion of a minor house, and a fourth son at that, he'd two choices: the tabard
or the cloth. His years as a squire had been hard and his first years as a knight
had been no kinder. But his piety and devotion to the Ecclesia had gained him
notice in the order. When the offer to enroll as a Paladin had come, he'd prayed
prayers of thanksgiving to Eli. But had he ever asked Him if this was his vocation?
Sir Harrick rightly scolded him on taking matters into his own hands. He had
seen a need at Metamor and chosen to fulfill it without consulting his superiors.
For that act of defiance it would be proper for Sir Harrick to strip him of
his lofty title. Who did he serve as a Paladin anyhow?
Metamor needed troops if he was to keep his home to the south safe. But had
he allowed his friendship with the likes of Misha and George, neither of whom
adhered to the Ecclesia, to sully his judgment?
The assembled knights began singing as one and mechanically, Sir Edmund joined
his tongue to theirs. “Magnificat anima mea Dominum, et exultavit spiritus
meus in Deo salvatore meo, quia respexit humilitatem ancillae suae.” But
even that great paean of the Holy Mother Yanlin could not wrest his mind from
its self-examination.
Within each word he sung, his mind dredged up a hundred memories of his knightly
days and even those while still a stripling in his father's house. He recalled
the taunts of the older children steeling his resolve. He beat his anger against
the practice dummies, chipping them apart like a sculptor working blindly with
an axe. In his prayers he found great devotion, but never doubt about his part
in the divine plan. What lay before him was what was. He saw that and nothing
else, and by that he had always lived.
Now he doubted.
That the sung was done and Father Hough had climbed to the ambo was nearly lost
on the cheetah. He fumbled after the acolytes and took a seat to the side of
the altar while Hough spoke the Homily. The diminutive priest had a careful
smile and his words finally seemed to call Sir Edmund from his wandering.
“In our reading today, we hear the parable of the feast in which the guests
vie for the seats of honor. Our Lord counsels us not to seek after the honor
of the world, but to take the lowliest place. The Host will see us and bring
us to our proper place, and before all we will be exalted. The haughty will
be humbled before the world. As always, our Lord Yahshua turns the wisdom of
the world on its head and shows it for folly.”
Hough shook his head. “Yet still, seven hundred and seven years after
our Lord's Reckoning, what do we do but continue to follow the misguided wisdom
of the world. We grasp for the esteem of men, yet fail to recognize it as something
fleeting. A moment we are exalted, and the next we are humbled. No firm foundation
is this, and no solace can our exalted past be to our humiliated present.
“What does Lord Yahshua call us to instead? 'Love each other as I have
loved you.' These are His words, He who is the sole Word of Eli. So then, when
we are granted responsibility and office, to which do we aspire? To the burden
of responsibility or to the prestige of the office? It is by our acts our reward
is merited, a reward granted only by the grace of Eli. Our office merits us
nothing. The Patriarch, were His Holiness to decry Eli's name and throw himself
from the cliffs, would not be spared because of his holy office. How less you
then because of your far inferior offices!”
Sir Edmund shifted uncertainly in his seat. His tail wished to wriggle behind
him. To whom was this homily directed? Himself or Sir Harrick? Or was there
another present that the cheetah didn't even know?
Hough set his delicate hands on the ambo and lowered his eyes. “Our responsibilities
are a form of suffering. By sacrificing who were are for the good of others,
we unite our suffering to our Holy Redeemer. It is in this humility, this recognition
that our solemn duties and how we embrace them define us that we gain the honor
of the office. A man who does not suffer for others, has no love for them. A
man who will not give up family and friends for the Lord has no love for Him
either.
“You are each called by name in Eli's service. Do not quarrel amongst
yourselves as the Apostles did as to which among you is the greatest. You each
have your responsibilities. Labor in them with love, and you will have what
Eli wishes to give you. You will have that which surpasses all the exaltation
of this world. You will have the heart of Yahshua beating within you.”
Hough turned from the ambo and motioned for the acolytes to attend him before
the altar. Sir Edmund almost forgot that he was an acolyte, so moved was he
by the boy priest's words. Slowly, in pieces only, he was beginning to understand
both Sir Harrick and himself.
Hough stood facing the altar and recited the prayers before the consecration. Edmund watched and listened, the liturgical language so familiar to his ears. So familiar in fact that they tumbled away even as he heard them, lost amid the jumble of his own thoughts. The magnificent Eli, his lord and creator, was even now sanctifying the altar in preparation for the remembrance and participation in the sacrifice of His son Yahshua. But Edmund wasn't really there for any of it.
He watched the service pass before him as if he wasn't there. He even took the bell when one of the other acolytes offered it to him. He felt its curve underneath is fingers, but it was no more there than anything else. All that mattered were the words of Hough's homily. Who was that little sermon aimed at? Was it meant for himself or the Knight Commander? He had to admit to himself that his decision to remain at Metamor had been as much a personal one as anything else. HE had wanted to remain at the Keep but had the Great One also wanted it? Being here felt so correct but was it God’s will or his own selfish desire?”
Edmund managed to snap his attention back to the priest when he saw the other acolytes bring the unconsecrated hosts and the wine. Hough lifted the large circular host and pronounced the words of consecration, "Et elevátis óculis in cœlum, ad te Deum Patrem suum omnipoténtem, tibi grátias agens, bene díxit, fregit, dedítque discípulis suis, dicens: Accípite, et manducáte ex hoc omnes hoc est enim Corpus meum." And then Hough knelt, signaling to all that the bread had become Yahshua's body and blood for them.
Almost without thinking Edmund swung the bell lightly in his hand so it would
ring softly as befitting the solemn ceremony. It rang clearly and loudly, it’s
pure, sweet tones echoing through out the entire chapel. The note was so warm
and sweet and for a moment Hough faltered and he fell silent. All that could
be heard was the soft echoes of the bell as it drifted through the air like
the memory of a pleasant dream. All eyes turned to Edmund and the bell, their
faces amazed that such a sweet sound could come from so small and simple a think
as a bell. The tone seemed to linger in the chamber forever before it slowly
faded away.
Edmund felt a renewed vigor and hope surge though him and all his doubts disappeared.
All his doubts had disappeared, his body straightened and he lifted his head
in pride.
For a long time no one spoke or moved until Father Hough coughed once and
continued with the ceremony.
He heard none of it and Edmund wasn’t sure how he got through the rest
of the mass. Suddenly he found the young father standing in front of him and
holding the bell. Next to him was Lord Harrick. The remaining paladins and knights
were clustered around them in a tight circle.
“You wanted proof of Edmunds choice being the right one. Well here it
is,” Hough held up the bell and shook it repeatedly but there was no noise.
The bell which had played such a sweet sound so recently was now silent.
The father handed the bell to Harrick and the knight commander examined it carefully.
It was a small hand bell with a leather strap handle and a bell of highly polished
brass. It was simple thing and similar ones must be in use in thousands of chapels
and cathedrals across the Midlands.
“Note the clapper,” Hough said.
Edmund looked closer at the upturned bell. The clapper did not move as Harrick
moved the bell about. A closer examination showed that the clapper had been
fused to the bell wall.
The Knight commander looked at the bell. There was a grave and solemn look on
his face but he didn’t say speak.
The audience chamber was quiet and Thomas was enjoying the rare moment of peace that came with that silence. He would have preferred to not have this meeting but there were certain things a nobleman had to do. George rarely bothered Thomas except about the scouts. So the Duke was surprised when the old scout approached him about meeting with Lord Harrick. Small groups like that were always coming to the Keep usually on private business and Thomas paid them no mind. But George had been most insistent that he meet this group. The old scout rarely showed much respect for rank and privilege but he had never interfered with how Thomas handled the Dukes official business. His explanation on how important it was to Edmund finally convinced his grace to meet with this group.
Thomas waved a hand to the page that stood at the door. “Bid them enter please.”
The large door opened silently and a small group of men entered. At the front was Harrick. Like all the rest he was dressed in the long robe of dark blue. Upon his chest was a large, gold Follower cross. Although he wore a belt of simple leather to hold his scabbard the scabbard itself was empty. The weapon usually in it had been left outside the chamber.
The knight bowed deeply. “My Lord Thomas, I, Jacob Harrick, Knight Commander of the order of the Protectors present myself to you.”
Thomas bowed in return. “It is an honor to have you here at Metamor Keep.”
“Thank you Sire,” the paladin answered. ”I have long heard tales of Metamor and I am honored to be here.”
“Thank you. I hope you enjoy your time here. What brings you to the Keep” he already knew the answer but courtesy demanded he ask anyway.
“On business of the Order. One of our number has taken residence here and we have come to consider whether that choice was correct.”
Thomas nodded. “Ah! Edmund is a fine man and I am very pleased to have him and his people here. Already they have proved their worth several times over.”
The paladin smiled and nodded. “Edmund is a fine man.”
“I will admit I was at first uneasy with having a paladin here. We have in the past had .. ” the Duke paused for a moment looking for the right words. “People claiming to do the Great ones wishes but more interested in killing then helping them.”
Lord Harrick nodded. “All too often we have heard of such Slayers and there are orders that openly accept such killers. But not our order. We prides ourselves on being more accepting. The great one decreed Thou shall not kill and we do try and live by that.”
“Edmund has shown us that. “Thomas explained. “He has surprised many with his open mindedness. Also he has done many good works here.”
“I am pleased he has done well here so far and shown the order well.”
“You are of course aware of the time limit imposed by the curse?” Thomas asked.
“Yes I am. Edmund was most clear on it’s limits but duty comes first,” the paladin answered honestly.
“We will assist you any way we can to see that you are done here before the curse takes hold of you,” The Duke commented.
Harrick bowed deeply. “Thank you Lord Thomas. I do appreciate your hospitality and forbearance concerning my people and me.”
Misha stood as still as stone. He was in the large open area that lay before the gates leading to the inner ward of the fortress. In good times it was a place of celebrations and meetings. And it was here that many of the Dukes proclamations were often read out loud.
Nearby a beautiful fountain burbled and bubbled lightening the mood and atmosphere but Misha didn’t hear the joyful noise and paid no attention to the people who moved past him on their errands. What he was looking at stood some ten feet from him. His eyes were solely for a four sided, stone column whose tapered form rose some twelve feet above the pavement. The stone was of the same gray as all of Metamor but was new and bore no weathering. Potent magic protected it and the monument would be the same in a thousand years.
Carved into the gray stone sides of the monument were over a thousand names each incised carefully by a master stone carver. One thousand, four hundred and thirty seven names to be exact all arraigned in neat rows running from the tip to the base.
They listed the names of citizens of Metamor, young and old, male and female. What held Misha’s attention was on the east face, the 237th line from the top. Above it was the name Philip Barquez and below it was Cassandra Philips. Lines 236 and 238 had the names carefully chiseled into the stone. But line 237 was different. It was blank. It wasn’t that the lettering had been removed or worn off. That one line had been deliberately left empty, only the smooth gray stone where a name should have been.
He stared at that blank line seeing not the stone but the person whom that line represented. Why? Why had a person he had trusted done so much damage. Killed so many of his fellow Keepers and betrayed them all?
“You shouldn’t dwell on it,” Caroline said softly. The female otter morph was standing next to Misha, her right arm looped through the foxes left. “You will just drive yourself insane.”
“Why did he do it?” the fox asked in a tight voice. “Why?”
Caroline shrugged her shoulders. “We’ll never know.”
“I’ve removed his name from all Long scout records,” Misha said suddenly. “Where his name was is now only a blank space. Just like this column. That is his final punishment from me – oblivion. His name will be forgotten by all but the Longs.”
“Misha, that’s harsh even for him. He was our friend.”
“No!” Misha countered harshly. “We thought he was our friend but he wasn’t. We gave him an honorable burial. That was more then the traitor deserved.”
Misha wondered what it would like in a thousand years. Would someone else stand here and wonder at that blank space? Would there be others? “The rest of the world will not remember his name but we Longs will.”
The two figures were alone in the room seated side by side at a large wooden table. Edmund was dressed in a tunic and pants of wool cut in a simple pattern. The paladin had stoked the fire in the fireplace and the room was toasty warm. Usually he wouldn’t allow himself such luxuries but being a cheetah, a warm climate creature meant the winter cold effected him all the worse.
Seated next to him was another animal form Keeper, this one a female. She was slightly shorter then Edmund but with a stockier build. Her body was covered with short, thick red fur. The color was a shade darker then Misha’s fur but it still reminded him of the fox scouts own fur. The body under the fur looked like a foxes down to the pointy ears and long, bushy tail. What really caught his attention were her legs which were long and spindly. It was like she was walking on fur covered stilts. She had not seen the new arrival yet. Her eyes were glued to Edmunds muzzle.
The feline paladin held up a small wooden cup. “Cup,” he said slowly. Her eyes following every movement of his mouth and lips. “Cup,” he repeated. “Now you say it.”
The woman looked at the cup and then at Edmund for a long moment.
“Cup,” he said in a slow, steady voice.
She opened her mouth but didn’t say anything in spite of her lips moving.
“Cup,” Edmund pronounced.
“C . . . . C . . . C. . . cup,” she stuttered.
“That’s good Bridgette!” Edmund told her cheerfully. “Cup!”
“C . U . P.” she repeated.
“I see the curse has not dulled your skills as a teacher,” a voice said from behind them.
Turning to the sound Edmund found a familiar figure standing in the doorway.
“Brother Helmun!” Edmund exclaimed. “What time is it? Did I miss Vespers?”
“Yes you did. Vespers was over an hour ago,” the elder paladin explained.
“I’m sorry Sir. I got involved working with Bridgette and lost track of time.”
Helmun waved his hand in dismissal. “No need. You are in the midst of honorable work. That’s more important than simple prayers.”
“Thank you Brother,” Edmund answered. “I just wish I could help her more. I can’t even return her true name to her. We call her Bridgette but that’s a name given to her by the priests of Caralore.”
“What happened to her?” the elder asked as he stepped closer.
The cheetah shrugged and shook his head slowly. “That’s unknown. She escaped from Nasojassa, Nasoj’s citadel with her life and nothing else. I do not like to contemplate what foul things she went through in that evil place. No one knows for certain. Not even her. She has no memories of anything at all. She doesn’t even have any languages or skills. We’ve used magic to try and help her remember but even that did not work.”
“Does she have any family?”
“None in the valley. We think she might be from somewhere in the Giantdowns but no one is sure. Spells were unable to locate her home or family. The best we got was an indistinct answer several hundred, square miles in size.”
Helmun nodded his head. “Magic has it’s uses but also it’s limitations. Have you tried prayer? Sometimes the Great One answers.”
“I am aware of that Brother Helmun,” Edmund answered with a tinge of annoyance as the tip of his tail flicked back and forth quickly. “An all night prayer vigil to learn her home gave an unexpected answer.”
Helmun smiled. “Metamor?” he asked.
“How did you guess?” the feline asked.
“It makes sense in this odd place,” the elder knight answered as he waved his hand about the room.
Edmund looked at Helmun with his head tilted to one side in puzzlement. “What does it mean?”
“What it means is this place is her home now and her past,” the older paladin paused for a moment. “Is the past.”
Edmund turned to his pupil. Bridgett had stood quietly through this all and was looking at them both calmly with bright intelligent eyes. Her ears were directed straight at them. It was clear that she had missed none of what they had said. “Bridgette, this is brother Helmun. A good friend of mine.”
Misha and looked at the scene arrayed before him. The fox morph was standing on the north side of Euper’s main square. In previous years this place had held a three story tall, wooden building. It had been a fine inn known as the Jolly Collie until the Yule attack. When dawn had come on the day after the attack all that had been left was a tumble of burnt and charred timbers. For the last several weeks the land had remained that way. Priority for rebuilding went to homes first and then needed businesses like the carpenter and the mason. The inn was but one of several in the town and simply had to wait. Finally that was going to change.
“You want what?” the woman asked.
“Stone walls,” Misha answered. “At least ten feet thick and a roof of fireproof slate. The doors are to be made of oak three inches thick reinforced with steel bands.”
“That’s going to cost a lost. The old inn was wood,” Caroline
said. “Why not rebuilt it that way?”
“You talked me into buying this inn a little more then a year ago, honey
and I’ve never regretted it. I am not going to loose this building to
raiders. I want something that is fireproof.”
“But this will be more a castle then an inn,” Caroline said.
“Exactly!” Misha shouted. “No one is ever going to burn THIS place down again. EVER!”
The room was quiet in spite of all the people gathered there. Sir Harrick stood in front a of group of the forty knights who had come to the Keep with him. In the front row standing closed to Harrick was Sir Edmund and Sir Terrant.
“I have made my decision and the Knight Master has already sworn it as law,” Harrick paused at this moment. He looked down at Edmund who was standing two steps down from hum. The paladin was as still as ice and his feline face and body betrayed no emotion that Harrick could understand.
“Sir Edmund Delacot the taking the very serious decision to stay here without proper consultation was very serious. But it is apparent that it was the right decision. You are hereby permanently assigned here to Metamor Keep, to uphold your oaths and protect the faith and the innocent.”
“Are you still mad because of the ransom you paid me?” George asked.
“You killed my horse and that ransom almost impoverished my family,” Harrick shot back angrily.
The two were alone in the room. Edmund, Terrant and George had gone off together, undoubtedly to celebrate and the rest were readying their horses and gear for the long journey home.
“And that is my fault?” George growled. “Your people were stupid enough to charge straight into our pikes. What did you expect to happen?”
The paladin unexpectedly nodded in agreement. “That was foolish. We were young and foolhardy.” He looked at George hard for a moment. “An old bandit turns into an honest and loyal officer and a loyal and honest paladin disobeys his superiors and betrays his oaths. What is it about this place that draws people in so?”
“Edmund never betrayed his oaths and you know that for a fact,” George countered harshly pointing his finger at the man. “Edmund and I are alike in that we’re both needed here.”
“The Great One agrees with you it seems,” the man said nodding his head slowly. The scowl on his face betrayed his unhappiness with that truth. “I had expected that deciding Edmunds fate would have been a difficult thing taking a long time and yet it came easily to me. So much of this trip has strange and none more then their seeing how well Edmund had adapted to being partly an animal.”
George gave a small yip of laughter. “What did you expect? See him racing around on all fours and eating animals live?”
“I had expected the new feline instincts to interfere with Edmunds holy duties. And yet Sir Delacot seemed no different in spite of all the fur and tail. His soul was the same, even if the vessel it was in was different. It’s taken a trip to this strange place to remind me of that simple lesson.”
“Metamor has always been known as a place of learning,” George said calmly. “You learn even if you don’t want to. It taught me loyalty and trust.”
The knight nodded his head slowly. “They have always called Metamor a place of great learning. It seems it must be true if it can teach an old bandit like you loyalty.”
“And what did you learn?” the jackal morph asked.
Harrick was silent for a moment and his face was hardened in thought. “Humility. It taught me that no matter my rank or privileges I am still just a man. And often the Great One works in mysterious ways.”
“Tell me one thing,” George asked suddenly. “What animal?”
“Excuse me?” the elder paladin asked his face showing puzzlement.
“If you were in Edmund’s place what animal would you want to be?” George explained. “And don’t lie and tell me you never considered it. EVERYONE who comes here thinks about it.”
“Well. I have pondered the idea,” he answered slowly and deliberately. “Just theoretically.”
George gave a short yip of laughter and leaned closer. “And?”
Harrick smiled for the first time since his arrival at the Keep. “A mountain leopard,” he answered in a conspirator’s whisper. There was an embarrassed look on his face.
“A cougar? Why do you paladins seem to prefer the big cats,” George said shaking his head.
“Why not? They are some of the most powerful and skillful hunters I’ve ever seen. And unlike lions they are loyal to their families and take only one mate.” Harrack paused at this point. “Are you and Terrant, a couple?”
George laughed. “And if we are? I am a man and she is a woman.”
“Terrant was a man until a few months ago. Doesn’t that bother you that she was once a he?”
“It gets confusing sometimes,” George admitted. “But how do you think she feels?”
“How is Terrant adapting? She seems calm and in control.”
“Don’t be fooled the change to a woman shattered his whole life. She had a difficult time but she adjusted well enough,” The jackal answered. “We’ve all had our lives shattered and changed these last few months. First with the Patriarch’s death and then the attack during the Yule. But life goes on.”
Harrick nodded in agreement. “Such is the way of things. We all have to adapt to the changing times, pick up the pieces and get on with life.”