FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

The line for the lift wrapped around the block, twisting and snaking through the Benz streets, like it usually did in the late afternoon. When the sun kissed the sand on the horizon, before the nighttime bustle started, that was when the grand Mjau lift was busiest.

Most were there on business. Benz cats hauled their crafts and wares in bags or small rolling carts. A few toted barrels, which had crab, mussels, or other mollusks. Others carried nothing but the fine clothes on their fur–dressed to impress with their finest garb. Ready to make their sales pitches or negotiate contracts. Tulaziya often complained about wearing stuffy attire for her own drawn-out meetings on the docks. With a pinched muzzle and a lashing tail whenever she recalled the specifics.

Kali and Mikora weren't half as nicely dressed. The opposite, as Kali forsook her dresses and dangling earrings for plain pants and shirt today. She picked a shirt with tighter sleeves from wrist to elbow. A plain outfit that contrasted with the silks around them, as always, when they went to the lift. Working clothes for this occasion. After all, whenever they went to Dockside, it's not like they were invited. No fancy meetings or parties.

They were with the minority, the other cats wearing muted colors and sturdier fabrics that were scattered through the fancy-looking crowd. Cats that were headed up to work in the kitchens, laundries, and other menial chores. Tasks that Dockies didn't feel fit to tend to themselves.

Of course, jobs on Dockside paid ridiculously well, if a cat was lucky enough to snag one. Better to sweep their lofty city streets than the Benz's rotting boardwalk any day.

Slowly, the line proceeded. One by one, cats and carts loaded onto the wood platform. Kali followed Mikora towards the far edge, where fewer cats stood. Despite a proclivity for heights, most cats didn't enjoy seeing how far the Benz and sea were as the lift ascended. This wasn't like roaming around the Benz's rooftops or climbing up a mast on a ship. These heights even made a cat shudder.

But Kali didn't mind. Much like Mikora didn't. They both enjoyed the view, watching the desert and city shrink below them. Or they usually did. Today, the trip didn't feel as easygoing as normal.

The bruises and cuts from Kali's fight with Nazhir had mended. Kali's ribs didn't hurt unless she twisted too far, and she could snarl and laugh without her lip twinging at all. But a simple brawl in the Benz streets wouldn't knock Kali on her tail for long. The fight with Nazhir? That was minor compared to her fight with Mikora. Those wounds hadn't mended yet. But Mikora hadn't brought it up again. She didn't say a word about it the next afternoon when she bandaged Kali's nastier cuts with some smelly salves. Kali didn't bring it up, either, while they ate dinner that night–or that morning, or the next night, or the night after that.

Neither of them spoke of it again. Not a word about Nazhir or Rinzaan or anything about that night. That's how their fights always went. A hiss or two, a show of teeth and puffed tails, and then nothing. A simple line drawn in the sand between them. An agreement to disagree, ignore their differences, and move on. Or to try to, at least.

Even when they stepped onto the lift, Kali could feel that tension in her pelt. An apprehension that crawled down her spine and bristled her tail. Generally, they could brush off whatever spats they had. This time, their hackles weren't so easily smoothed over.

A single jerk underfoot, the platform jostling and rattling the cats and their wares. Ropes creaked and groaned, straining through pulleys, lifting the platform up towards the rosy hued sky.

Kali felt a brush against her right leg, the tip of a tail, and she turned her ear towards Mikora.

“We'll take the usual route," Mikora said. “Through the kitchens."

“Like always." Kali turned her ear forward with a huff. She didn't need to be told.

They always took the same route across Dockside. Through alleys and side streets. Kali didn't expect this time to be any different. They'd get the same dirty looks, the same sneers, as always.

The Dockies didn't want her up there. Kali, Mikora, and every cat in Mjau knew that.

So Kali knew the routes they had to take. The precautions. Eyes low, tail tucked, stay small and negligible. She'd known since she was a kitten. Why Mikora felt the need to bring it up now, Kali could only guess. And her guess only gave her tail an irritable twitch.

“I'm just saying," Mikora continued, “We're not taking any detours."

Mikora looked out over the side of the lift, watching the lift crew dart about as they finished their last checks. A purposeful stare that wasn't directed at Kali.

Which Kali mimicked as she turned away. She waited a few seconds, in case Mikora had anything else to add. But Mikora said nothing else, despite her tensed whiskers. Only the flicks of Mikora's tail gave away what she was thinking–what she was trying not to say.

At length, Kali answered. “Okay? I didn't think we were."

“In case you did."

Kali's ears flattened. “Okay."

In case you thought we would prowl the Dockside streets looking for your fling. That's what Mikora really wanted to say. A little scoff tickled the back of Kali's throat. She managed to bite it back and swallow whatever snippy retorts lingered on her tongue.

Instead, Kali picked up her ears and turned them forward again, listening to the breeze that rustled her fur and whiskers. She watched the last hues of daytime vanish over the desert horizon and stars take over the sky. An impossible number of them. Infinite small flickering lights that illuminated the platform and washed everything in their pale blue glow.

More than enough light for a cat to see with, reflected in their eyes. There was no need for a single candle, lantern, or brazier up here. Up on Dockside, just the magnificent starlight was enough.

If she stared long enough, sometimes Kali swore she could see the stars move. They shifted in place, rippling like each was stitched onto woven fabric stretched across the skies. A sight so mesmerizing that Kali lost herself in the dancing lights until the lift shook and dropped her back into reality. A final, jarring jolt, as the platform stopped in place.

Mikora flipped her scarf forward over her ears. “Ready?"

Kali nodded and did the same, shifting her hood forward to shadow her eyes. “Yeah. I'm ready."

She followed Mikora off the lift. Unlike the Benz, the boardwalk here wasn't a patchwork quilt of browns, reds, and grays. The street, the buildings, everything was a pale, uniform brown. So pale, the city almost looked white under the starlight. And the planks that made up the streets and substructure, which once floated on the sea's waves, were massive. Larger than any cat could ever carry or work with. They stretched out before them, a perfect symmetry leading up to perfect houses. Because this wasn't a city roughed out by cat claws. This was a divine place, built by a being far larger, far more powerful than any cat.

This was Elimere's finest work, the original, seafaring city of Mjau—Dockside.

Granted, all Kali saw now were the hoity-toity houses of a bunch of rich cats with unnecessary embellishments. The gem studded vases by almost every doorsteps, rivulets of silver and gold added to what was already intricate woodwork, and there were always the infamous sparkling glassy shingles on every rooftop. The unnecessary excess of rich cats with nothing better to do.

But there was a time when Kali was awestruck. That first time, when Mikora snuck her up the lift and brought her to Dockside. When Kali was a bright-eyed kitten who didn't quite understand how this world worked, the city's blinding glamor, the pearlescent woodwork and gems, dazzled her. Kali even let go of Mikora's hand, which her small, needle-like claws had latched onto the entire ride up.

Kali wandered out into Dockside, taking the first few steps on her own. Then the first Dockie that saw them–that saw Kali–bared their teeth and hissed at her.

A hiss followed by the nastiest sneer contorting their muzzle, which Kali remembered all too well. She didn't remember clinging to Mikora beforehand, but she did remember cowering behind her after.

That incident, and pretty much any other interaction she had on the Dockside streets, had ruined the majesty of Elimere's infamous city. Especially since they had to follow the longest route around the city's outskirts to avoid such interactions. Lest the Dockies do more than hiss, if Kali's mere presence provoked them. Like calling on the guards to have both Mikora and her removed, which happened more than once when they tried to travel the thoroughfare.

A lesson Kali learned early on. Dockside's beauty was superficial at best.

So rather than risk the ire of the affluent Dockside denizens, they took the longest route, the only route, which kept them out of sight. They followed a path that circled the outermost limits of the city. An open length that used to serve as a buffer between the houses and the sea's waves. Once a necessity, now the planks just stretched into the empty air and offered a plummeting death if any cats got too close to the edge.

Naturally, Dockies didn't take this route anywhere. So Mikora and Kali were safe, as long as they stuck to the outskirts as they did now.

They traveled behind all the houses on the western side. The backs of which, of course, were just as pretty as the rest of the city. Delicate curves on the window frames, the faint glitter of those specially manufactured shingles along the edges of the roof, and carved details on the exterior trim all showed the care poured into these homes. Not a single splinter was out of place.

Still, not the most glamorous route through the city, with the tail end of houses on one side and potential death on the other, but Kali and Mikora were hardly alone. This was the best way for any Benz cats, the half-breeds and moggies, to travel without scrutiny. The few Benz cats, lucky enough to work on the docks, also traveled the same path to reach work every day. With few casualties, considering the strong breeze.

There were occasional breaks in the rows of houses. Fewer narrow alleys between them, unlike the Benz, but there were intersections where the street reached the city's edge. Kali tried to be subtle. Quick glances at the cats she could see from where they walked. She saw plenty of brown ears and pale fur, but none were exactly what she was looking for.

Mikora ignored the first three times Kali checked. Even the second time, when Kali paused for a second, when she thought she might've caught a glimpse. Which turned out to be an old, wrinkled tom, when he turned enough for Kali to see. Crossing the last street, the fourth, and pausing one more time, beckoned a stern throat-clearing. A sharp look from Mikora, and Kali focused her ears and eyes forward again.

They traveled around most Dockside, following that same path until they arrived at the north-east corner. All the small houses vanished. The boardwalk opened up, a great expanse that led up to the finest structure in all of Mjau. With massive spires that reached up into the stars, walls that seemed as tall as the stilts that Dockside rested on, and that sparkling, domed roof that Rinzaan mentioned before. From where they stood, Kali could still see the grand staircase leading up to the palace entrance; it was at least three flights high and wide enough for a dozen cats to stand whisker to whisker without touching either end. The way the palace loomed over the rest of Dockside was daunting. With massive doors thrown open, like an open invitation for any cat that walked past. Daring any commoners to ascend those stairs and enter–especially with the twelve guards stationed at the top.

Though Kali had only heard about the guards from Mikora and Tulaziya. She never had the chance to count them. They never once took a single step towards those stairs. Not a whisker into view of however many guards there were. They always stayed at the ground level, where they, and the other Benz cats, belonged–under the feet of the royal pedigrees.

At the base of the regal palace, hidden among the fanciful woodwork, was a single entrance. A door that most cats missed if they didn't look for it. The door Kali knew by heart, since it was the only way they'd ever been in the Mjau palace.

They waited a minute, as a few cats dashed past them. Then another minute, as more cats ran inside. Unfortunately, the service entrance wasn't as grand as the front door, which was inconvenient with all the staff rushing about. They always waited until they had a chance to slip inside. Unlike the palace staff, Kali and Mikora didn't have jobs on the line if they were a few minutes late.

This was where Kali started feeling nervous when she was smaller. Waiting at that final doorway, watching tails and legs dart back and forth. She would wait behind Mikora, clinging to her tail or paw, fidgeting and squirming. Her stomach twisted into knots, knowing every cat inside would greet her with a growl and hiss. The unfriendly stares. Sharp toothed sneers. Whispers following her tail at every turn. She tried to run more than once. Mikora just caught her and dragged her back.

She was glad she did. The palace cats weren't anything to fear. She learned quickly that it was all fluff and no fight. They were a bunch of gossips and cheats. One of the few commonalities Dockside had with the Benz below.

Kali followed Mikora inside, flipping back her hood the second they were out of the street's view. As always, what first struck her was the overwhelming fragrance of food.

The palace kitchens were chaotic. Cats ran in every direction in a discordant synchrony. All following the silent orders of the head chef. Kali sniffed, as any cat did when hit by the heat and scents, but she couldn't tell what underlie all the spices and herbs. Something foreign. Expensive.

“Nose down, Kals."

“Yeah, I know," Kali muttered as she tucked her chin. “You don't have to remind me. I'm not a kitten."

For the first time that night, Mikora's tail perked slightly higher, and she grinned. “You'll always be my kitten."

Kali groaned as she followed Mikora down the slim aisle between the two sides of the kitchen. And Mikora, as always, only laughed.

She stuck her whiskers into that one. That didn't make what Mikora said any less embarrassing. Though it seemed to loosen Mikora's hackles–childish and grating, as the sentiment was. Kali only hoped the clattering pots and pans prevented the kitchen staff from hearing.

“Mikora!"

Mikora came to a full stop. They had just reached the end, the doorway, when a voice caught Mikora's ears. They almost made it out this time. But, as always, someone there recognized Mikora. A friend, or a friend of a friend–it hardly mattered. Mikora's whiskers lifted with a beaming smile all the same. She strode back the way she came to greet an old tabby tom with more than a few gray hairs on his muzzle. Yet more cats turned away from their stations, hearing the name, and perked their tails. Pots and pans were taken off heat, set aside, so they could crowd around.

Mikora wasn't a Mjauzi for long, considering, but somehow she befriended every cat in the palace. Which sometimes worked in their favor. Sometimes it just delayed them–like now. But Kali was used to it. Her mom was famous–even before she took Kali in. This was how every trip to the palace went. How it would always go. Because Mikora was a great cat, a legend even without her Mjauzi title now, and–even if she was annoying–Kali couldn't really argue with that.

And as long as the cats in the kitchen kept Mikora busy, she wasn't policing everything Kali looked at or did. Her hackles were down and her tail was up. Usually, any delays annoyed Kali, but she was glad that the kitchen staff stopped them today. She welcomed any misdirection and the momentary respite from the tension festering between them. And, maybe, at this rate, Mikora might lighten up about the sleeping-with-a-Dockie thing. So she hoped, at least.

Kali's tail flicked while she scanned the kitchen. Simmering pots lined one wall, billowing steam up vents in the ceiling. The other side had rows of plates laid out with leafy greens arranged for whatever meal the kitchen was preparing. Something else foreign–it didn't look like any seaweed Kali could recognize. The leaves were too frilly and curly. Not dry and crispy, like most of their desert plants.

But by all the weird smelling vegetables was someone familiar, at least. Even if she couldn't recognize any of the food around, she did recognize a dark brown tortoiseshell pelt. At least, Kali recognized the bits of fur she saw past the high collared, long-sleeved shirt and the long pants. The tail she recognized for certain by the large light brown patch near the tip.

Kali prowled over, already donning a mischievous grin as she circled behind the counter and knocked her shoulder against the tortie's. A solid bump that made her almost drop the frilled leaves in her hands.

“Hey! Watch–" the tortie's surprise vanished the moment she tore her eyes off the plate in front of her, and she sighed as she finished plucking another leaf with her claws. “Whatever, Kali. Who let you in here?"

“Nobody. We let ourselves in like usual." Kali shrugged. “What are you up to, Samirra? Working?"

Samirra scoffed and waved at the long row of plates. “Obviously? What else would I be doing here?" Samirra dropped a chosen leaf–from whatever vegetable she was toting around–on a plate. She swiped at the edge with the corner of a napkin, at some offensive speck of dust Kali couldn't even see, then she turned and wrinkled her nose at Kali. “And if you're gonna be over here, you need to cover up. You'll get hair in the food."

“There's already hair in all the food. The palace fanciers are just too nipped to notice." Kali nodded at the plates. “What's this stuff?"

“Dunno. Something from the mainland. Really bitter."

“Gross."

Samirra shrugged. “Palace kitties like chewing on it. Cleanses the palate or something."

“Sounds like it would clean out your guts afterwards." Kali grinned.

Samirra tried not to, but she giggled at that one. Though she hastily corrected herself and straightened her whiskers. Kali turned an ear back, but all she heard was laughter from the other side of the kitchen. Mikora was still busy being popular. She was probably trying to score them an early dinner while she was at it.

“You're here to train, right?"

Kali turned her ears forward again and nodded. “Yeah. No other reason I'd be here. That's for sure. Are you coming with?" Kali asked. She drew back her mock arrow and let it fly at Samirra's nose.

Samirra's tail dropped lower as she stared down at the plate in front of her. She wiped at the edge, whipping her rag at the end. “No. Some of us actually have to work."

“I'm sure you could skip out for a little while."

“Tell that to the head chef." Samirra rolled her eyes. She plucked another leaf off the bundle and dropped it onto the next plate. “Not gonna happen."

Kali's tail lashed. She certainly wasn't going to ask on Samirra's behalf. She tried once, and the throatiest, most vicious growl she'd never heard answered her. Worse than Mikora's–than any of the Dockies or sailors she'd worked with. The head chef was a mean cat.

“You have to take some time off to practice with me, eventually." Kali lowered her voice as she checked around for that same nasty chef's orange ears. Fortunately, they weren't around. “You know you'll never be a Mjauzi, if you don't practice."

“Does it matter?" Samirra said. “There's only one bow up for grabs, and we all know who's gonna get that one." Samirra bumped Kali with her hip before she continued down the line and wiped off the next plate. “I don't really stand a chance."

Kali frowned. Despite the playful wish of Samirra's tail, she still heard that bitter note in her voice. Since they were kittens, they both always aspired to join the Mjauzi. They used to get into fights when they were younger. Who was going to earn their bow first? They used to argue, now and then, when tempers or frustrations flared. But they were older now, and they didn't argue anymore. Since Samirra was better at arranging greens on a plate than shooting a bow and arrow, she stopped competing the way she used to. Even if there was some resentment, some bite, in Samirra's voice when either of them brought it up.

Kali waited until Samirra had a plate in her hands, and she bumped her back. Samirra's claws squeaked against the polished white porcelain. “Hey, there's always the next one," Kali said. “Old Jorian has to retire soon. His hand shakes like crazy when he draws."

“His aim is still great."

“If his hand shakes any worse, it won't stay great."

Samirra sighed. She wiped down her last plate and swung her rag at Kali's nose. “You're not supposed to say stuff like that."

“What? It's true."

“Kals!"

Kali's ears flattened. At some point, Mikora's fan club had disbanded, and she now waited by the door. Her gray and tan tail lashed impatiently, as if she wasn't the one that stopped them. And Kali's hopes that Mikora might be less ornery evaporated.

“And that's my cue," Kali grumbled.

“Hold on a sec."

Samirra tossed her rag aside and turned to another counter, where she rooted through a couple of crates.

Kali's tail twitched nervously. She could feel Mikora's eyes drilling into the back of her gray ears. Luckily, whatever Samirra tossed together didn't take too long. Samirra wrapped it in one of the kitchen's bright white napkins and shoved it into Kali's hands.

“Am I allowed to take this?" Kali asked. “I thought these napkins were expensive."

“No. So hurry up and get out of here." Samirra grabbed Kali by the shoulders, spun her around, and shoved her towards Mikora.

Kali smirked. She flipped her tail, and Samirra did the same before returning to wiping down her spotless plates. Doing so right on time, as a surly orange tabby paced over to inspect her work.

Kali joined Mikora at the exit, keeping her bundle tucked under her arm so none of the other chefs noticed. Though only the mean head chef would've said anything about it. The mean chef, and Mikora, as her hawk-like eyes picked out the white peeking out at Kali's side.

“What's that?" Mikora asked.

“I don't know. Something to snack on, I guess." Kali shrugged. “Samirra gave it to me."

“Ah." That smoothed Mikora's fur, and she pivoted on her tail to lead them out of the kitchen. “I didn't see her there. How's Samirra doing?"

“Busy. Like always," Kali answered. “Too busy for training."

“That's a shame. She'll have to come with us next time."

Kali nodded. If Mikora said anything else, she didn't catch it. She wasn't listening, even while she followed Mikora up a staircase. Her nose was pointed down at the napkin-wrapped tidbit Samirra had given her. It had a savory scent, but it didn't smell like shellfish. Lightly seasoned, as most meals at the palace were. Too many spices upset the pedigreed and their delicate palates. Except bitters–palace cats loved their greens.

But this didn't smell bitter, like the leaves had, so Samirra had left those out. The scents left Kali puzzling as she tried to parse through them. She didn't pay attention to Mikora, or where they were going, until Mikora yanked her hood up over her ears. Suddenly blinded, as her scarf covered her eyes.

Kali stopped and fixed it. She growled under her breath, but she kept her grievances to herself. There was a reason Mikora pulled their scarves up. While she was busy fruitlessly sniffing, they had arrived at the end of the service hallway. They had arrived at the palace proper.

Mikora's eyes and ears stayed pointed at the hallway in front of them, waiting for the sets of footsteps and shuffling cloth to pass. Once clear, she flicked her tail up and darted out. Kali followed suit, keeping her steps light on the polished wood floors. Smooth and waxed, they gleamed under the starlight that streamed in through the large arched windows.

She saw little else. The most of the palace she ever saw was the shiny floor. She always had her hood up and her eyes down, following the tip of Mikora's tail to wherever they headed.

Two hallways, then a left. Then a quick right, down a narrower service hallway. After that, a few more steps, and the polished floors vanished.

As suddenly as they were inside the palace, they were back outside. The far side of the palace opened up with tall, curved archways.

Kali sighed with relief as she stepped onto the short, warm grass. She tossed back her hood and flicked her ears. Once again cast under the starlight's hazy glow, since the tarps that shaded the lawn during the day were rolled back and stored away. They were safe here, at the Mjauzi's training yard, and alone, it seemed, with the empty field and relative quiet.

Mikora stalked out into the middle of the field, surveying the area with eyes and pivoting ears. Arriving at the same conclusion Kali had, but more reluctantly. She seemed determined to find someone, anyone, as she peeked down the nearby hallways.

Kali took the chance to unwrap the bundle from Samirra. It looked like some sort of sandwich. Tasted like it too. A thin, doughy shell, imported wheat, and some chewy meat between. She was right before. It wasn't fish. Something foreign for certain. Red meat.

Kali turned one ear when Mikora returned and tapped her on the shoulder. “I'm going to see if I can find Jorian," Mikora said. “You can get started."

Kali quickly swallowed her mouthful, so she could scowl with all her whiskers. “Jorian? Seriously?"

“Hush." Mikora flashed her teeth. “He's not the fastest, but he's one of the best. Behave."

Kali's tail flicked. She continued eating the last of her sandwich, mulling it over while she chewed. She waited until she finished her last bite, and, when Mikora was out of earshot, muttered under her breath, “Was one of the best. Now he's just shaky and smells like greens."

Apparently, she hadn't waited long enough. Mikora halted mid-step at the palace hallway. A tan ear twisted around. Kali tucked her tail and ran in the opposite direction.

She didn't stop until she crossed the entire grassy lawn, where two smaller buildings sat opposite the palace. A newer structure built with different logs than the palace. A darker wood. Something with more burls and knots, imperfections that were rare in the palace or anywhere else in Dockside. The logs weren't hewn down to the pale, featureless interior. If anything, Kali always wondered if whoever built it, Elimere or otherwise, had left the bark on it. Although she'd never seen any trees with such gnarled bark, so she was never certain.

Granted, she hadn't seen any actual trees before. The desert wasn't hospitable for most greenery. Even the occasional oasis had kelp and little else. Maybe some cacti. She only knew what trees were supposed to look like from books Mikora had read to her. But, regardless, none of the trees described sounded anything like this.

Kali paused at the first building, since the doors were left open, and checked a row of stalls on one side. If Mikora was looking for Jorian, she wasn't going to find him. The stables were empty. The faint scents she could glean were stale. All she could smell were the beds of sand piled at the back of each stall. The Mjauzi were gone, and they'd been gone for a while.

At least that would keep Mikora busy for a minute, scouring the palace for cats that weren't there. That lifted Kali's whiskers a slight. Maybe she wouldn't be stuck training with old Jorian after all.

She left the stables and pushed through the next door. A quick tuck of her tail to dodge the door's back swing, and she faced the Mjauzi armory. A towering room with walls that sloped up to a domed roof. High over her ears were large beams, five of them, carved into the likenesses of all the colossi the Mjauzi had slain. Touzim, with her rows upon rows of sharp teeth bared at the small archers. Jindaizi, with their impenetrable shell plowing through the waves on a crash course towards Mjau. All the terrible beasts the Mjauzi had defeated to protect their beloved city, each accomplishment carved as a record into the building itself. All leading over to where Elimere's countenance, a statue of their revered prophet, waited for their safe return.

Made of clay and glass, the Mjauzi added the statue after he swept the sea away. He covered the far wall, long serpentine body coiled and angular face pointed down, as he stared at whoever dared step into the Mjauzi armory. Long, branching wings spread on either side of him, pointed tips touching the curved ceiling, and hung across his wings were each of the Mjauzi bows–had the Mjauzi bows been there. Currently, there was only one bow on his lofty branches.

High up, at the top right, the singular bow was almost out of reach. But standing on her toes, as Kali did now, her fingertips could barely brush along the edge, tracing along the grip towards the curved limbs. As always, the wood was smooth under the pads of her fingers. Rippling grain, twisting and winding delicate spiraled knots, curled like flowers down a vine. The dark red limbs, like pooled blood, lightened to a rosy brown at the ends. Like the other Mjauzi bows, the tips where the string hooked and tall ridges and curves had a subtle green tint. The mark of a living weapon that Elimere carved from his own branches. It breathed with an unnatural life that Kali could feel at her fingertips. The enduring persistence of a living piece of Elimere, a powerful relic. A weapon that Kali had to earn the right to wield. Just as Mikora had.

For now, Kali settled back on the pads of her feet, and Mikora's old bow was yet again out of reach. Instead, she turned to a rack of longbows, picking through the different weights. She skipped past the slim bows towards the more average bows at the middle, searching for something more appropriate for her draw.

Even if Kali joined the Mjauzi right now, she couldn't use Mikora's bow. She didn't have the sheer strength required to draw its string yet–if she could even string the bow to begin with.

But someday she would be strong enough. She'd already come a long way from when she started with the short kitten bows. She was at the second-highest middleweight. Another year, and she would move up to the heavyweight bows. Then, and only then, Mikora's bow would be within her grasp. And it would still take another couple of years to master its draw.

Kali picked up on a middleweight bow. One with less bend, less flex, than she used before. One with enough draw that her shoulder would assuredly be sore tomorrow. She could tell as she strung the bow, with how reluctant it was to bend so she could hook the string on the top-notch.

With her chosen bow ready, Kali swiped up one of the old quivers with dulled practice arrows, flicked some of the frayed feathers, and slung it over her shoulder. She strolled back into the grassy clearing, plucking the string on her chosen bow. Last time she didn't check, the string snapped free, and a limb hit her straight in the whiskers. Much to everyone else's amusement. It wasn't so fun for Kali. Her cheek stung for days after. With her lip finally mended after her bout in the Benz, she would rather not get hit in the muzzle again.

But the string held up to test pulls. The loops stayed in place on either end. If it was going to snap on her at all, it would be rotten luck rather than carelessness. As Ziya would say, that would be Elimere's will at work.

Kali found the old, splintering planks left atop the grass–the lazy makeshift firing line. Made for aspirants, like her, since the Mjauzi practiced from as far back as possible. Often, their elbows almost touched the far palace wall on the follow through. Even then, sometimes it wasn't far enough. As evidenced by the pile of targets with holes blown through the middle, and the several dents on the steel plates on the opposing wall.

Kali set her eyes on the intact targets ahead of her. A sand-stuffed bull's-eye, with vivid black rings painted onto it. Maybe not even dry yet, by the sheen. A shame to mar the fresh paint job.

Kali raised her bow anyway. A little paint wouldn't stop her. Not when Mikora's bow was waiting.

She nocked an arrow, balancing it on her fingers as she drew back. She felt the strain. The reluctant curve of the solid wooden limbs of the bow, and her own limbs. There was a slight tremor in her arm, as she struggled to pull the string. Kali pulled in her whiskers flush against her cheek–yet another lesson she learned early on. She took aim.

She never understood why, and she could never explain it to anyone. Not even the Mjauzi, who practiced their archery every single day. In that brief moment, right before release, everything seemed so clear. Every sound faded away. All the distractions, chirping gulls or voices and music from the palace halls, all deadened on her ears. And all she saw was the vivid target ahead. Like the world brightened, in that instant, with a powerful pull towards that singular point.

And then the arrow would fly from her fingers. The target dimmed. She could hear the world around her again, just in time to hear the solid thunk as the arrow hit the perfect center of the target.

Or almost the center. As Kali approached, she saw she hadn't quite hit the mark. She was on the line. She grimaced, as she grabbed the shaft and tugged the arrow out. Only embedded a third of the way into the target, too. She wasn't blasting holes into bags of sand like the other Mjauzi were. Not yet.

Kali flexed her arm and rolled her wrist. The heavier draw, and the slight tremble of her arm, must have thrown her off. She had hit targets dead-center since the first time Mikora brought her to the Mjauzi training yard. Though the first time was partly luck, since every shot after missed. But the Mjauzi saw potential in her, the same way they had seen potential in Mikora. Her knack for archery was the reason they still visited the palace together, despite the dirty looks, and that Kali still practiced when at shore.

Even if the palace denizens frowned upon it, the Mjauzi weren't subject to the same rules they were. This wasn't a place where breeding and fine features ruled. Pedigree alone wasn't enough to join the Mjauzi. This position, this honor, was earned.

And with Kali's natural talent? Even if her pedigree was objectionable, the Mjauzi wouldn't turn her away. Not with an unclaimed bow hanging in Elimere's boughs.

Kali strummed the string as she went back to where she started, as though it might prove the bow's tension and difficulty was to blame. Though she had worked with stronger bows before, and she hadn't missed that first shot. Often, when she missed her target, it wasn't the bow's fault. It probably wasn't the bow causing her aim to drift. She might be distracted. Or irritated, with the way her tail flicked even now, while she wondered when Mikora would come back and ruin the tranquility. It wasn't even the things Mikora did say to her that were really getting on her nerves. It was what she didn't say.

Kali thumbed the feathered end of the arrow. She nocked the arrow on the string and heaved a sigh. Like maybe she could exhale all the tension from the past few days and focus on the bow in her hands.

She lifted the bow again, arm loose as she checked her aim. Her vision wasn't wavering. The target stayed clear. It had to be her draw at fault. Her fingers or elbow in the wrong place. Her placement of her hand, as she drew the string back, at the center of her whisker pad. That's all it was. Not distractions. Not from Mikora or anyone else.

Kali took a slow breath. She started to pull on the string, whiskers tucked again, when an icy breeze ruffled the scarf at her neck.

The string snapped early. Her arrow tumbled through the air and landed short of the target.

A chill spread through Kali's pelt. An ice that bristled her fur and made her shake all at once. Next to her ear, there was a slow, steady hiss. A deep, husky sound, like rocks scraping against the hull of a ship.

Kali would've been terrified, if she hadn't realized what, or who, loomed over her shoulder. Whose cold breath seeped into her skin and made her fur stand on end. As it was, she recognized the tone. The deep, sorrowful rasped note, with a lilt at the end.

Kali turned to face the beast behind her. She was met, nose to nose, with a long, slender skull. Bone that was carved along the cheeks and bridge with a filigree pattern of branching, swirling vines. An intricately designed skull that was attached to the thin scaled deer-like body which stood on taloned bird-like feet. Dark gray, leathery legs and black taloned feet that shuffled closer, as it lowered its head, its four-point antlers, and jabbed its face into Kali's shoulder with another stern hiss.

Another feature of the notorious Mjauzi steeds–Bryburkels were always as stubborn as could be.

Kali grunted, shoved a step back, but she set a hand atop the smooth skull. A more satisfied, churning sound came from the back of the Bryburkel's throat. Grating and clicking like tumbling rocks.

“Hey, Grynkeel," Kali mumbled. “I know, I know. I missed you, too." She looked around the grassy lawn, searching for the Mjauzi. No one else was there, but she heard voices past Grynkeel's happy rasps. Sounds echoed from somewhere in the palace halls. Clicks, too, of yet more taloned feet. Leaving yet more scratches on the floors the palace staff would have to buff out later.

A rough nudge from Grynkeel, again almost knocking Kali off balance, reminded her to keep petting their smooth forehead. Which Kali did with yet another sigh. “Did you run off without Darshan again?" She tutted once, but Grynkeel didn't care. They never did.

At least it was Grynkeel who snuck up on her this time. Better than some of the other Bryburkels. She would rather see Grynkeel's black mane and pale yellow scales most days. Some of the other Bryburkels weren't so personable. One of them, in particular, wasn't.

But Grynkeel was always a favorite of Kali's–or maybe she was a favorite of theirs? It was always hard to tell.

“There they are!"

Kali perked up her ears. She turned and perked her tail in greeting for the returning Mjauzi, a broad smile lifting her whiskers when she saw Ansa and Bellagyr at the front. Ansa's solid chocolate brown fur was unmistakable–as was the leggy, amber scaled Bryburkel walking beside her. Both wearing their riding garb, Ansa with her long sleeves and pants bound by leather bracers and Bellagyr wearing a similarly styled saddle to Grynkeel.

Bellagyr loped ahead, long talons tearing up grass in their haste. Kali was ready this time, and she grabbed Bellagyr's skull before they knocked her over.

“Well, Darshan was right," Ansa said, laughing as she joined Kali in the clearing. “He thought you and Mikora were visiting. Gryn doesn't run off unless you're around." She swatted Bellagyr's flank, once she was close, but the Bryburkel didn't even acknowledge with a huff. “And Bellagyr, too. They only misbehave when you're around."

“You didn't see Mikora on the way here? She went looking for you." Kali said. She rose onto the tips of her toes, but all she could see past Bellagyr's red mane were the tips of Jorian's old gray ears. She might've seen the tips of another Bryburkel's antlers, too.

Ansa shook her head. “Haven't seen her. But we didn't take the usual entrance. Melganzi was tired, so we didn't want to make them travel as far."

Kali's ears flicked. “Melganzi?"

She felt the cold, piercing stare the moment she said their name. A fourth Bryburkel loitered on the outskirts of the training yard. One with sandier colored scales, more yellow than orange or brown, with a greenish tint under the blue starlight. Flowers were carved into their skull, intricate overlapping petals carefully arranged around the empty pitch black sockets and down their cheeks. They didn't follow Grynkeel or Bellagyr, and they didn't follow Jorian or Cenbaal over to the stables. They just stood by the hallway, glaring at Kali with its hollow eyes. And Kali glared back.

“Melgi!"

Kali recognized Mikora's squeal. As did Melganzi, who immediately raised their skull and trotted over to the opposite hallway. They almost knocked over a servant carrying linens, but they didn't care. All they cared about was Mikora, who threw her arms around Melganzi's neck and buried her face in their golden mane. She rubbed her cheek against Melganzi, purring and chirping like they were a newborn kitten, and Melganzi responded with a delighted, high-pitched hiss through their teeth.

Kali heard a low rasp behind her. A tap on her shoulder, a softer nudge, and she set a hand on Grynkeel's smooth nose again. “I know," Kali grumbled. “Don't worry. You're still my favorite."

“Don't say that too loudly," Ansa said. She tapped Bellagyr's shoulder, and they lumbered towards the stables with a weary, rattled sigh. “You know how she is."

“How who is?"

Kali's ears swiveled around. Mikora had stopped cooing over her old steed and walked over. Melganzi followed on her heels, their skull slightly inclined to the right. Just far enough so they could fix a single black pitted orbit on Kali. A silent challenge that ruffled Kali's hackles. “Nothing," Kali muttered. She tried to keep from snarling in annoyance, but her nose scrunched and her ears pinned, regardless.

Mikora's whiskers twitched. “Why are you making that face?" She set a protective hand on Melganzi, who rumbled delight at the attention, and narrowed her eyes. “And why are you leering at Melgi?"

“Because they don't like anyone except you?" Kali scoffed.

“That's not true. Maybe if you tried to spend more time with them, they would be friendlier with you." Mikora turned and pointed her scowl at Ansa. “Right, Ansa?"

Ansa's tail twitched. She took a breath, twice, before she answered. “Melganzi–" Ansa sighed through her teeth. “Melgi has particular tastes, when it comes to cats. Very particular tastes."

Mikora's tail lashed. Clearly, that wasn't the answer she wanted. “And what do you mean by that?"

“She means they bite," Kali said, with a pointed glare at Melganzi. “And you're the only one they don't bite."

Mikora chirped, as if she had never heard such a baseless accusation before. Both hands were on Melganzi now, petting their mane, like she was reassuring them. “That's not true at all. Melganzi would never! They've never bitten anyone before." Mikora stared at Ansa–at her brown furred tail. Then she looked at Kali again. “Are you both tucking your tails right now?"

“Yeah, I know to watch my tail around Melganzi," Kali grumbled. “They're not getting the tip of my tail again."

“That was one time! And you were a kitten," Mikora said. “You shouldn't even remember that. And it wasn't a real bite. Melgi was just playing with you."

Kali rolled her eyes. “They weren't playing. They were trying to bite my tail off."

“No–" Mikora's tail lashed. Her ears lowered. “Well, you're both wrong. Melganzi is a lovely Bryburkel. I'll prove it. Here, Ansa." Mikora held out her palm towards Ansa, who stared at Mikora's pink-tipped fingers with wide, round eyes. “Give me your hand."

“What? Why me?" Ansa asked, her voice small. “Why am I involved in this?"

“You can show Kali that Melganzi is perfectly fine. Show her the right way to pet a Bryburkel. You're a Mjauzi. You know how to do this." Mikora flexed her empty hand. “Just give me your hand, and give Melganzi a pat."

“I wouldn't do that, if I were you."

Kali's ears darted upright. She turned towards the voice, and the cool, level-headed gaze of the white-furred cat behind her. A different sort of nervousness prickled at her skin now, as she dipped her muzzle while flipping a quick greeting with her tail. She bowed the same way Ansa and Mikora did once they saw him. Though Mikora's tailed greeting was a little more hasty and irritated.

Still, they bowed until the cat tossed his slim white tail in return. A reverence owed to none other than the leader of the Mjauzi: Darshan.

“And why wouldn't you?" Mikora asked with a warning growl to her words.

A growl that went unheeded by Darshan. He clicked his tongue twice, and Grynkeel pulled their skull away from Kali's hands. They trotted over to Darshan, dipping their head so he could rest his hand between their antlers. “Because Melganzi bites," Darshan answered. “They only tolerate your company."

Mikora frowned, her tail lashing harder now and almost whipping against Melganzi's leg. “You're supposed to be on my side."

“I'm not on anyone's side."

“Clearly you are! And you're not on mine." Mikora tossed up her hands. One of which she dropped back onto Melganzi's mane to stroke idly. “Fine, then. I'll just keep Melganzi to myself."

“Melganzi wouldn't behave with anyone else." Darshan clicked again, and Grynkeel followed him to the stables.

“Fine," Mikora relented, and she pointed a finger at Kali. “While I work with Melgi, since nobody else will, Jorian is going to train you." Mikora's ears flattened against her head. She dropped her voice and hissed, “Kals, do not make that face!"

Kali lowered her ears, but she didn't lower her voice at all. “He's old!"

“Kali!"

“Well–"

Both pairs of ears lifted and turned to Ansa, who shuffled a couple steps back. Mikora showed the pointed tips of her teeth. “Well?" Mikora asked.

“He is getting pretty old," Ansa said. “And I'm pretty sure he was going to take a nap after we got back. And he said something about being too old for frolics like this. Kali isn't completely wrong." Ansa shrugged. “Sorry, Mikora."

Mikora sighed. Her hand slipped off Melganzi's mane, and she pinched her temples. “Okay, then can you–"

“Nope. I have a date." Ansa spun on her tail and trotted over towards the stables, where Bellagyr waited. “Sorry, Mikora!"

“You're no good for anything!" Mikora called after. A jest that Mikora frequently made, though not with as many teeth showing as did this time. Mikora huffed. “Then it'll have to be me and Melganzi again–Kals!"

Kali wrinkled her muzzle up to her ears. “No, I'd rather wait for Jorian."

“You can't be so mean to Melganzi!"

“Melganzi started it!"

Kali picked her ears up, hearing a set of talons leaving the stables. She lowered her muzzle and swept a hand down her hackles.

Darshan stared out at them, with Grynkeel following behind him. Wearing only one of his bracers, the strings dangled off his forearm as though he was interrupted while removing it by the commotion outside. He rapped on Grynkeel's shoulder with his knuckles, a silent signal letting them trot back over to Kali. Though Grynkeel didn't prance over as eagerly as they did before. Not with Melganzi eyeing them. Cats weren't the only victims of Melganzi's sharp teeth.

“What's the problem?" Darshan asked.

“Other than everybody bullying my poor Melgi?" Mikora scoffed. “Nothing. It's fine. I thought someone else might be available, but I can train Kali myself. Melganzi and I can do it."

“Melganzi isn't a good choice."

Mikora tossed up her hands again. “I know that! I know Cenbaal is more patient with new riders, that's why I was trying to get Jorian to help. "

“Jorian left to take a nap. He's not going to wake up for a few hours." Darshan grabbed the dangling strings and tucked them back into the bracer. “Even a short ride takes a toll on him. He doesn't have the stamina he used to."

Mikora's snarl lapsed, and her hand almost fell on Melganzi's neck. “Did it?" she asked, her tail halting mid-lash and dropping. “That can't be right. He's not actually that old, is he?"

Darshan nodded. “I'm afraid he is. He's going to hang up his bow in the next couple years."

“But–" Mikora's whiskers twitched, as she bit back a frustrated snarl. “It hasn't been that long, has it? He was training us not that long ago. All of us." She shook her head, but the sorrow in her eyes was still there when she looked at Darshan again. “He can't be ready to retire already."

“It's been a long time," Darshan said. “Longer than you want to admit. We both have gray in our pelts now."

Mikora's drooped tail whipped again. All sorrow gone in an instant, as she answered Darshan with a short, surly hiss. “Speak of your own pelt," Mikora said. “I'm as gray as I was born. Don't say otherwise."

“My point stands. Jorian is old, Mikora. We can't push him like we used to. He's earned his naps, after serving the Mjauzi as many years as he has. Let him rest." Darshan nodded over at Kali. “I'll train her."

Kali chirped this time. She looked over at Mikora, whose eyes seemed just as wide as hers were.

Darshan never offered to train Kali. Not once, in all the years they'd visited the palace for training. He rarely spoke to her–even when Mikora was around. Just a quick greeting flip of his tail and then he went about his own business. Mikora always said that's just how he was. She said that 'he was a straight-whiskered cat.' That a cold shoulder and cold eyes were how he treated everyone.

Which wasn't entirely true. Seeing Mikora's tail fluffed and her jaw hanging for a moment, she never thought Darshan wanted anything to do with Kali either. “Are you sure? I can just do a quick brush over Melganzi. Then maybe I could ask Jorian if I could borrow Cenbaal–"

“Melganzi needs more attention than that," Darshan said. “I can't get their tangles out. They won't let me try. You need to handle them."

Mikora's whiskers dipped with a frown. Her ear turned towards a wavering, woeful hiss from Melganzi. Like a needy poison to Kali's ears, equivalent to begging mewls from a spoiled kitten. But it worked on Mikora. It always did.

Even after leaving the Mjauzi and hanging up her bow, the bond between the Bryburkel and their rider stayed. It was etched into their bones, with every loving petal Mikora carved into Melganzi's skull. A skull that was starting to crack and weather down, the longer Mikora was away. The shiny white veneer had dulled and darkened, and Mikora's delicate carvings were fraying and crumbling around the edges.

That was the only reason Kali couldn't harbor too much of a grudge. She didn't need Mikora as much, the older she got. But Melganzi did. And they all knew it was just a matter of time until Melganzi took their last bite at someone's tail and returned to the sand they rose from.

Mikora brushed her fingers across Melganzi's cheek, the faded ridges of her old handiwork. “If you're certain." Darshan nodded, which was confirmation enough, as Mikora pat Melganzi's neck. “Then I'll let you handle today's training. Kals, make sure you behave." Mikora narrowed her eyes. “Don't get distracted. You're here to train. Don't forget that."

Kali did her best not to roll her eyes. If she had, they would've rolled far enough to lodge into her own skull. She lashed her tail once, but Mikora was too busy fawning over Melganzi again, as they headed to the stables with promises of thorough scale scrubbing, glossing, and mane brushing. Again, cooing like the half skeletal steed wasn't almost twice as tall and just as vicious as she was.

Kali watched them leave. She swore, at one point, Melganzi looked back at her with a victorious glower. Like they had won whatever competition it thought they had.

Kali let the last flicks of her tail go. With Melganzi gone, her tail could lift away from her legs. Even Grynkeel seemed to hiss with a palpable relief. But her ease didn't last for long, as she recalled who was in charge of her training today. Darshan. Leader of the Mjauzi.

The decision-maker, wielder of the first bow, in charge of defending Mjau and the surrounding islands. He was the cat that decided who, if anyone, joined their ranks. And he would decide if Kali was worthy, when that time arrived and they held a trial to earn Mikora's bow. The fate of her years of training all rested in his claws alone.

Suddenly, Kali rather missed old Jorian's whitened muzzle and gray whiskers. Now she couldn't afford to miss her shots. Not with Darshan watching. And her first attempt hadn't been great.

A loud thump drew Kali from her fretting. Grynkeel settled into the grass. Long bird legs folded underneath them, perched, and they let out a low rasp once they were comfortable. Of course Grynkeel was getting cozy. Grynkeel had nothing to be nervous about.

Darshan nodded in the target's direction. That was all. He sat down next to Grynkeel, leaning back on the Bryburkel's scaled side. Somehow, even with both of them lounging there, Kali still felt a prickling in her pelt that wasn't there before. Because even seated, she could feel Darshan's eyes picking apart her every move. How she picked an arrow, how she nocked it–down to how each granular hair on her pelt moved as she took aim.

At least the arrow flew true this time despite the light tremor in her arm. It landed in the target's center. A list towards the right, but still within the confines of the center ring.

Kali waited a minute, her tail flicking, but Darshan said nothing. He nodded once. Approving? Disapproving? Kali couldn't tell. She just picked up the next arrow. And the next, and the next.

Not all of them hit the center. A couple flew too far left. Several landed on the center ring's edge. Not her best showing, but not her worst. Still, she couldn't tell what Darshan was thinking. When her quiver was empty, she turned to him. And all Darshan did was gesture over at the target with a wave of his hand. Still, he said nothing.

Kali could only assume that meant she was to retrieve her arrows and start again. At least, she hoped that's what Darshan's gesture meant. Because that's what she did.

He didn't say anything to correct her, so Kali assumed she was right. Though, up close, the results of her practice were more disheartening. Only a few arrows found their mark in the center. The rest all strayed. Veered off-course because of the shaking of her hand. Though she couldn't tell if the shaking was from using a higher draw strength bow or from her nerves.

Kali tugged the first arrow free. She frowned. Her shots were weak, too. The arrows barely made a dent in the sand-filled target. She was lucky they didn't fall off on their own. If they had, her whiskers would've caught fire from embarrassment.

She reached for the next, her fingertips brushing across the feathered end, and Kali froze. Her hand half-grasped onto an arrow. Something caught her ear. Laughter. A light jingling of thin chain necklaces and bracelets, and a familiar, nasal voice that echoed through the palace hallways.

Kali turned an ear first, then she looked over where the archways led into the palace halls. Six robed cats shuffled through. Their tall, slim ears were perked and attentive. Gaunt faces, most of them older, and vivid eyes followed a singular figure though the halls. A cat that towered over them on slender legs, with a narrow muzzle and tall ears that could brush the stars, if she chose to. Perfection in the eyes of every pedigreed cat in Mjau. The epitome of perfect breeding. A silver pelt, the perfect hue, with beautiful black spots that dotted her face down to her tail, forming uniform slim bands down her arms and legs.

Wearing her royal garb, a blue silk lined with gold, and jewelry covering every other inch of her silver pelt. Rings on every finger. Dangling golden chain earrings draped from her ears onto her shoulders. All the unnecessary garb that befit her station, because her sheer presence, the way she commanded a room–even that very hallway–was enough to declare who she was. The Empress of Mjau.

A pretty smile, a laugh at something one of her fanciers whispered into her ear. Then nothing. She stopped at the edge of the grassy field. All mirth gone, as she stared across it. A frigid silence, that made every hair on Kali's pelt stand on end.

Kali immediately turned away. Back to the target, to the arrows–to anywhere else. Her tail tucked between her legs, and her ears flattened. Anything to make her smaller. Less noticeable.

She could still feel that cold, merciless stare prickling at her hackles. Different from the stern looks Mikora gave her. Different from the disgusted leers from Dockside cats, or the perturbed glances from Benz cats who were unnerved by her eye.

The hate the Empress seethed with, seeing Kali there, was as black and vicious as every perfect spot on her pelt. A thousand knives aimed at Kali's back–at her neck.

Kali tugged another arrow from the target. Her hand shook as she dropped it into her quiver.

Then someone was beside her—something walled her off. Grynkeel stood between them, thick scaled body and long legs blocking Kali from seeing the palace hallway. Blocking the cat that stood in the palace hallway, whose perfect green eyes stared at Kali with all that malice simmering beneath her cool gray fur.

Darshan was beside Grynkeel. One hand on their scaled shoulder, a step ahead where he could see the palace hallway. His eyes never left the Empress, even when he spoke to Kali.

“I'll return when I can," Darshan said. “Keep practicing, as you were."

He said it with the same level tone he always spoke with. A calm facade that never cracked. Or, perhaps, it wasn't a facade. Maybe nothing phased Darshan. Not massive beasts the Mjauzi were once revered for slaying–or even the deathly stare of their Empress.

Darshan clicked twice. Grynkeel cast a sidelong glance at Kali, as they turned their skull away, then they followed Darshan over to the hallway.

All that mattered, was that they left. Darshan and Grynkeel left with them. Kali could breathe again, as she took the last arrows from the target. One at a time, until her quiver was full again. Even if her hands still shook, and she had to pick up a couple arrows that slipped from her fingers.

But just as her ruffled fur started smoothing down, she was stopped again. Her ears skewed back.

Someone else had snuck up on her. So softly, she hadn't heard them. Not until their muzzle was over her shoulder and their white whiskers brushed against her ear.

A different silver muzzle. Still spotted, like the Empress, but with a broader nose. Still a perfect symmetry to his features, befitting a prince of Mjau.

But the prince had a certain gray hue to his renowned silver pelt. In the dim starlight, it shone similar to Kali's, like a silver mirror. Two green eyes reflected back at her.

There was a broad smile, with all his pearly teeth, as he towered over Kali. Spotted tail perked and dancing with a playful menace.

“It's been a while," the prince said. “My dear, elder sister."