Quietly…quietly…
I see you all.
but so apart
am I
spread apart:picked apart: far apart
am I

On a tower of juxtaposed metal and refracted light, I saw the span of a great and perilous land, squirming beneath three small suns. They battled each other in the sky, their forces pushing and pulling in perpetual conflict. They were locked in an eternal dance of fire and flame, and their anger illuminated our helpless world. I stood, nose to the wind, taking in the wind-rushed scents of damp rosewood and fertile soil, pearled barley and bay leaf, musty fur and chimney smoke. I crouched on the platform and the lids of my tawny eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun-lit Earth. The village of Toah lay in the valley below; it was a small and peaceful place, nestled like a babe amid those cold forests. Children played kickball near the horse stables and the women washed their laundry in the nearby stream.

Clouds rolled forth from the horizon reaching hopefully Westward as the storm before me fell over the village and claimed daylight in its smoky fingers.

Carefully with bandaged hands and sure boots, I climbed down the watchtower. This place would suit me fine, I thought to myself. The rainfall that was soon to come would cover my trail and mask my scent, and none of the villagers here would realize right away their stolen hens and grain when they were cowering from the downpour. If I was good about it, a jug of mead could very well be part of the meal. My mouth watered at the thought of biting into the hen’s neck-snapping it-the hot blood splashing over my parched tongue as I tore it apart with my claws. The thought of all I would be tasting almost made me fall out of the tower.

I wasn’t an excitable Ailuran, normally. I was quiet, cautious, and unassuming. I was in control of myself at all times-had learned to be in the face of threats-and knew when it was necessary to tap into my other self. The feline half.

My fatigue was making it harder to keep from slipping.

My feldgrau gambeson bunched as I fell from the last foothold and landed onto the uneven dirt, the shock of a twenty-five foot drop piercing up through the soles of my boots. A cloud rose at my feet-scents came with it-the typical wildlife smells: sparrows, local cats, rats, spit from a small boy who had recently had cider, as well as the faded smell of a drunkard’s piss. To Toah, this tower was a place of congregation and socializing. I took a risk climbing it, but I had to see what I was to expect. My luck had not been good to me recently and I didn’t want to take the chance of running into a large dog, or worse, a small militia.