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Another hotel, with another cadre of crisp uniforms and upturned noses, fell away beneath the couple's tired feet. Another elevator carried them up into the winter night, to another room and another sea view.

"Muh!" Alder grunted. "The only room they have left. A hundred pounds extra for a 'remarkable view of the Firth'," he mimicked the pompous, nasally voice of the human at the front desk. "Shitload of good it does. All sea views might as well be the same at night," the bedraggled puma grumbled, mostly to himself. Remembering that the bellhop was with them, he muttered an abashed, "Sorry, kid. It's been a hell of a long day."

"Quite all right, sir," the young deer replied with a terse, emotionless R.P. accent and a shake of his head.

The small, two-tined antlers that sat awkwardly on either side of his cap marked him for a mid-to-late teen. His manner marked him for a stuck-up twat. Alder and Cataría were glad to be rid of him when he unloaded their luggage and departed with the trolley.

Outside, a downy, grey blanket of clouds stretched over the black sheet of the water, reflecting the city's lights in sickly hues of orange and yellow as the glowing bed bugs of freighters and unidentifiable smaller vessels meandered about on their nightly business. There were better metaphors--happier ones--but the pair were too knackered to think of any at the moment. A day and a half had passed since their flight departed Sydney. Mechanical trouble with their connecting flight had extended a two hour layover in Abu Dhabi into a twelve hour lie-in. They were exhausted, sore, and desperately in need of showers that fatigue dictated must wait for morning.

Alder shoved his luggage against the wall and collapsed on the bed. His clothes were wrinkled from the long trip and his tawny fur was creased and matted. He stretched out on his belly, feeling the knotted muscles and tendons of his back and legs complain about their recent working conditions. A series of pops rippled through his spine, starting just below his ribs and ending halfway down his tail. He yawned and spread his paws, flexing the fingers and extending his claws. He could feel the soft mattress shift as Cataría crawled onto the bed beside him. The rabbit went from moving on all fours to stretched out over the mattress with a thump that nearly lifted him off of the covers. He chuckled and sighed.

"Does it always smell like that out there?" he asked, wrinkling his muzzle.

Cat laughed and answered, "Aye, pretty much. There's more'n a million people living in an' aroond Auld Reekie. Any time ye get that many people aw livin' and breathin' in one place, it starts mingin." Her accent had grown thicker since they landed and she was surrounded by familiar dialects. "Then ye mix in a bit o' fish, sea, diesel and deid shite frae the port; and throw in the distilleries and the breweries. Better than Glasgow, somethin' like ten percent of the population there are voxie dugs and it's almost never dry. Sixty-odd thousand perpetually wet dugs; just imagine. Fuckin' humans are lucky they cannae really smell the half of it."

"Hang on," Alder snickered, rolling onto his side to face her. "The town is called 'Old Reeky'?"

She nodded lazily.

"Were 'Stinkburg' and 'Fuckmynosewithaburningturd' already taken?"

Cat laughed. "Aye! The Stinkberg is a raft of frozen garbage floatin' at the junction of a coupla currents in the Arctic Ocean,"--Alder snickered at that.--"and 'Fuckmynosewithaburningturd' is in Wales. Probably sounds a lot more lyrical in Welsh and is spelled with a mixture of double-ells and transcribed sheep sounds that mean 'no, stop!'." Her ears described a slow arc behind her shaking head and she explained, "Nah, the 'reekie' bit does come from 'reek', but reek means smoke. Place used tae be riddled with smog from the fact'ries and the port. That's cleared up, but the name stuck."

"Well, the boot fits; that odor is gonna stick with me for a while," he groaned, "and I can think of plenty of things I'd rather smell."

The puma scooted across the bed and wrapped his arm over the bunny, pulling her close. He buried his muzzle between the rabbit's jaw and her dewlap and inhaled deeply. This elicited a squeak from her.

"Much better," he purred.

"Ye're fulla shite, ye cunt. I huvnae showert in a donkey's an' I smell like the arse end of a sewage farm."

Alder burrowed deeper and growled, "Bullshit. You're a prairie after a fall rain: earthy, rich, sweet at the edges." To illustrate his point, he ran his rough tongue twice from her dewlap to her chin and resumed nuzzling.

Cat giggled at the ticklish sensation as the rumbling felid nuzzled her neck. She ran a paw over the top of his head, between his ears, and down to his shoulders. The purring redoubled, causing her to cackle and cringe way. To make up for her retreat, she kissed him on the nose.

"Best we rest, tree," she yawned. "We've a long ride aheid o' us."

The big cat rolled onto his back with a tired sigh and, in a tone of recitation, softly chanted, "The priest will ring us in to the church and say the Mass of the Holy Trinity; and when he's done, we'll swing into the saddle and be off, for our time is nigh up, and there's a long ride ahead of us."

She looked at him in amused interest and quipped, "What, Catholic cowboy poetry, noo?"

"Nah," he grunted. His eyes opened and he regarded her with a smirk. "It's something I recalled when you mentioned a long ride ahead. It's from a translation of the Poema de Mio Cid." He paused and mumbled to himself, "Poema? No...cantar? Fuck it, could have been either." He yawned wide.

"Eh?"

"High school reading. Epic poem from Spain about a knight who is exiled unjustly and has to fight to regain his honor. Like an Iberian Beowulf, but with no monsters or magic and more Moors."

"More Moors?" she snickered.

"More or less," he grinned.

The rabbit laughed again and snuggled up to him. They fell asleep holding each other to the lazy drone of the heater fan.

***

Cataría awoke to an empty bed and yawned. Clearing the sleep from her eyes, she spotted the puma by the window, where he leaned against the frame and watched pink light slowly swell over the horizon. The window was open a crack and a cold draft crept in. In the dim light, his lanky form was shirtless and tense. His ears lay awkwardly at the sides of his head and the fur of his back was oddly fluffed, describing a slight ridge down his spine where it met a thrashing, puffy tail. The scent of fear clung to the covers where he had lain and drifted on the air.

"Alder?" she whispered.

His ears flicked upward and he turned with a weak smile.

"Mornin', bun," he whispered back. "Sorry about the window. Is it too cold?"

She sat up and tilted her head, saying, "Nah, it isnae. Ye arite?"

The puma strolled across the carpet, soft paws making no sound, and sat on the edge of the bed. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

"Yeah," he said quietly into the fur of her head. "Nightmare. Better now."

"Ye sure? Wannae talk aboot it?"

He shook his head. "It was nothing, really. The usual stuff: scenes from back in Australia. It turned into stuff that hasn't hap--won't happen. Talking about it will just make it feel real. Thanks, though."

She nodded and they cuddled for a few minutes as the sun continued to rise. They each let their paws wander over the other's arms, neck, chest, and back. The aimless tracks they left in each other's fur were accidental runes of affection and reassurance, rather than the traceries of passion. In no time, his pulse had settled and a faint purr whispered in his throat and chest. Eventually the toilet called them both out of there reverie. Due to the small size of the shower, they washed in turns.

Alder stood by the now-closed window, toweling off as Cat dressed, and resumed staring at the seascape below. It was one hell of a change from the bright gradient of deep blue to pale green that one found in the waters off of Australia. The Firth out beyond Edinburgh's harbor was a cold, slate grey bitch in comparison and its shores were fringed with a white lacework of ice. Tossing the towel over a chair and slipping into a pair of boxers, he mentioned his observation to the rabbit.

"Aye," she replied with a smile sparkling in her brown eyes. " The Firth's just a wee finger of the North Sea. Grandad used tae tell us that the North Sea isn't a mistress, she's a wife. Ye don't put yer cock in her because it's fun; ye do it because ye love her."

The puma laughed and remarked, "Was your grandfather Poseidon?"

"Nah, before he took over the distillery from his dad, he spent a few years working on one of the oil rigs oot there. He'd usually toss out that line when we complained aboot going on holiday tae a beach up north."

Sliding on a pair of pale green hiking pants and fastening the buttons--one above the zipper and another above his tail--he glanced back out the window at the dull, cruel-looking water and muttered, "Beach? Farther north? Shit, y'all swim in that? It looks worse than the north shore of Lake Superior, and that fucker will often as not keep ice until summer."

"The sea up at Peterhead stays around 14 degrees in the summer. Ye dinnae really swim in it. Just sortae staun in it, shivering so hard ye whip the sea tae a foam, until your parent's tell you that you can come oot or you succumb to hypothermia, purging the clan of weakness." She laughed at his aghast expression. "That bit was a joke, tree. We'd usually just play in the sand and dare each other tae see how far we'd go in withoot cryin'."

Alder clicked his tongue and said, "Y'all are some tough, crazy sons of bitches."

The pair checked out of the hotel and took a taxi to the city center to grab a light breakfast before departing Edinburgh. Cat kept close watch on the puma as they walked along the streets, fully expecting to catch signs of shivering. His light pants, t-shirt, and simple hiking boots struck a sharp contrast to her winter gear. She had on dark denim jeans, a green wool jumper, insulated boots, and her coat: a waterproof job in a navy blue that bordered on black, with a micro-fleece lining. From time to time, he caught her eyeing him and smirked, guessing the purpose of her glances.

As they waited for their orders at the coffeehouse counter, Alder reached up from behind the rabbit and pressed the pads of his fingers against the bare flesh inside her long ears. She jumped at the touch, then gasped as she realized that his paws were warm enough that they very nearly hurt her. As the cold skin of her ears warmed, however, it felt increasingly pleasant. Her drink landed before her and she picked it up, letting the warmth seep into her paws and breathing in the scent of chocolate and cinnamon. She thanked the barista, a ginger felid university student with a ring through his septum. Cat looked back over her shoulder at her companion.

"How in hell d'ye have such hot paws?"

He chuckled, reaching around her for the espresso that the effeminate barista set down with a wink. Tabbies, he thought with a grimace, noting by scent and weight that it was a double instead of the single that he had ordered and paid for. I mean, sure, Alder told himself, he's cute, but c'mon, man.... Raising his cup, he mouthed a 'thank you' to the young cat and pointed to his companion from behind, so the rabbit would not notice the gesture, and to himself. Careful not to spill his coffee, he crossed his index fingers and hooked them together, hoping that the barista would catch his drift. He did and pouted briefly, then looked Cat over with a cocked eyebrow, shrugged and mouthed back with a smile, "Both is good, too."

Shaking his head and grinning, Alder guided Cat to an empty table. Cataría mistook his expression for amusement at her question. An employee skittered out of the back with the food they had ordered a dubious looking scone for the rabbit and a greasy, equally dubious pastry for the puma, shortly after they reached their seats.

"What is this thing that dog friends of yours like so much?" Alder wondered, looking over the food with apprehension.

"Pie. I'm pretty sure ye'll enjoy it." she assured him. "Never mind that. What's with the toasty pads, tree?"

"Biology, bun," Alder answered finally, prodding at the steaming pillow of glistening crust. "New World cats aren't as far removed from our four-legged forebears as, say, lions. Physiologically, we are still built for a range of climates from snowy mountains to deserts. I'm just as cozy at twenty below zero as I am at a hundred and twenty above. Just keep me the hell away from humidity. Muggy, sticky...bleh!" He stuck his tongue out in disgust.

Cataría frowned over her cup. "Eh? Wait a minute. A hundred and what?"

"Twenty," he replied, biting the pastry and finding it filled with seasoned mutton, gravy, and potatoes. The dots over his eyes raised and his ears perked forward. Not bad, though it needed to cool a bit if he didn't want to hurt himself.

"Degrees? That's cannae...no, wait...ye cunts use Fahrenheit..." She popped out her phone and fiddled with it for a moment. "That's still forty-nine! Fuck me, we'd fucking melt!"

The puma laughed and sipped his coffee. "It's not so bad. Back home, the humidity's real low. Unless you're close to a river or a lake or something. You get a breeze or some shade and you're fine. I remember back in '97, I think it was, the summer highs got into the hundred-and-twenties for a week and this jackass human in my hometown decided to show everyone how sweltering it was by laying a griddle on the sidewalk and cooking eggs, bacon, and pancakes for passers by."

She scoffed, "Bullshit."

"No, really," he grinned. "The news stations and papers sent folks out to do stories on him. Not that anyone really needed the demonstration. You could feel the heat of the pavement through your boots."

Nibbling at her scone, the rabbit muttered, "Maybe I need to think twice about chasing your prickly cock back to America..."

Alder set his cup down and leaned back in his chair with a yawn.

"Tell me that isn't really your reason, Cataría?" he said. The questioning tone failed to conceal a trace of concern. "I may be interesting enough to justify it for now, but the novelty is gonna wear off when you find out that I leave my boots in the middle of the floor, read naked on the couch and pee off my back deck in the winter, just to see if it'll freeze on the way down."

She blinked at him for a moment. "Does it?"

Alder stopped midway through taking a bite of his pastry, narrowly preventing himself from choking. He set down the food and cackled.

"Bun, I've said it and I'll keep saying it: I love you," he wheezed, wiping his eyes.

The corners of her mouth pulled up into a smile that left her eyes as two glittering half-moons. Her ears flicked and she assured him, "Yer no what I'm chasing, Alder. I'm well aware that either of us could get fed up with th' ither at any time. Mibbe ye'll get sick of me, insteid of the ither way roond.. But, my life has been in a holding pattern for longer than it should have been. It's time I start doing something."

"That's a load off of my mind," he sighed. "I'd rather not be something that you regret down the line."

Cat smiled and laughed. "I don't see that happening, tree."

The puma's whiskers angled upward in a grin at having his words turned back on him. He nodded and tucked into the pastry, now that it was cooler. They chatted comfortably as they finished their breakfast. Afterward, they walked to the train station to make their way north.

***

It was a ninety minute bus ride to Kinross, where one of the Caird family would meet them to drive them out to the estate--almost another two hours by road. They could have caught a bus to a closer town, but one of Cat's brothers would be passing through Kinross after making a delivery and offered to pick them up there. Standing at the park and ride on the western edge of town, Cat pulled her phone out of her coat and quickly tapped out a message.

While they waited, Alder observed the surrounding town and struggled to keep a frown from surfacing. The town was exactly what springs to mind when an American thinks of Scotland--Ireland too, really. Wide fields and pastures rolled away to all directions but east, where there was a broad, cold loch according to maps; the town, a picturesque assemblage of stone, brick, and light-toned paints, blocked the view eastward, so it was anyone's guess. Something to the northeast released a slow, steady column of steam that hoisted over the dark roofs and joined the clouds. The fields would have been a patchwork quilt in shades of green, were it any season other than winter. Now, it was a uniform sprawl of white that complimented the dull sky. Past the farms and fields to the west and north, low hills lifted their white-blanketed backs lazily into the drab, grey sky. If it were a photograph, it would be beautiful. Of course, it wasn't a photograph.

"Bun, I don't want to say something mean, but I think I'm gonna," he coughed, breath hovering in front of his face.

"Oh? What's up?"

He shuffled self-consciously. "I'm starting to think this country might be some sort of scratch-and-sniff Russian Roulette. I've been outdoors in two towns so far and I'm pretty sure I'm losing the game."

She wrinkled her nose and grunted, "Nah, tree. This is worse than what I remember, last I was here."

"Och, come noo," came a gruff chuckle from behind them. "It's a lovely wee town. Ye cannae fault 'em for a bustit sewer line leaking intae the fields."

They turned at the sound of the new voice, Alder with curiosity and Cat with joy. There stood a rabbit with mottled black and white fur, easily a head taller than Alder. He wore grey wool trousers, a heavy brown coat, and low rubber boots. One paw held a tweed cap and the other was dropping keys into his jacket pocket. His dark brown eyes focused on Cat, but his ears were trained suspiciously upon the puma.

"Davie!" Cat squealed, dashing over to the newcomer. "Gie yer big sister a hug!"

The tall rabbit laughed and scooped her up in his arms, grunting "Been too long, Kitty. It's good tae see ye."

When she landed back on her feet, she pulled David over to the puma and introduced them.

"Tree, meet one of my younger brothers, David Caird. Davie, this is Alder Matsubayashi."

The puma reached out to David and said, "Nice t'meet you, David."

David responded with a stony, "Aye."

He looked down at the cat's paw and took it in a polite, though over-firm, shake. The big fucker had one hell of a grip, but Alder held his gaze with an unflinching smile. He'd dealt with plenty of guys with that sword-fight, pissing-contest sort of mentality before. When they ended the shake, the puma unconsciously avoided flexing or twitching his throbbing paw to prevent David from sensing any weakness. Old habits die hard, even when you're old enough not to care what others think of you.

"Ye got a wee, soft grip, pussy cat," David scoffed, receiving a smack from the back of his sister's paw.

Alder snickered and retorted, "Well, to start: I'm very picky about who I compare dick-size with, as, at least in my experience, it doesn't always stop at comparing size. Secondly, though,"--He held up his paw and pantomimed a shake, gripping harder than he had and extending his claws in the process. They curled inward, clearly invading the space that another paw would have occupied. --"it's kinda drilled into us as cubs to always grip soft. If the paw tenses too much, these pop out and that can be bad...no matter what you're gripping. If us boys don't get the message before puberty, we certainly figure it out then."

David raised an eyebrow and turned to Cat.

"Kitty, did yer jessie of a boyfriend just cover for bein' a jessie by callin' himself a bender and a wanker?"

"Oh, wait a minute!" she gruffed. "Gie's a break! Ye dinnae need tae act a cunt tae 'im. If memory serves, I'd run oot o' paws trying tae coont the mony of times I walked in on--"

He interrupted her by coughing and clearing his throat and pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the battered Land Rover he had brought.

"Bit a drive aheid, Kitty. Shall we?"

"Apologize." She folded her arms and cocked her head at him, ears pricked forward and eyes narrowed.

"Aww, Kitty, cummoan!" he moaned, slouching. "Dinnae be like that. Can we no just--"

Her right boot snapped hard against the pavement and the resulting report echoed off of the neighboring buildings. Her brother, though taller and stronger than she, flinched.

"Damn it, yer as bad as Mum," he grumbled, turning to Alder. "Sorry aboot that 'bender' and 'wanker' carry on, cat."

"Don't sweat it, bud," Alder said with a wave of his paw. "I got the wanker part; can't really fault ya there. I mean, guy...puberty...pretty much ridiculous to deny it. But you lost me at 'bender'."

"Gay," Cataría mumbled beside him.

Alder let out a quick, barking laugh. "Well, I guess I can sorta deny that? A couple of the girls I dated in the past carried a little extra plumbing, but they were lady enough, you know?"

David shook his head and chuckled. waving for them to follow him to the vehicle. They loaded their luggage into the back and he held the front left door for Cat, who regarded him with a glare when she climbed in. He closed the door and shrugged at Alder.

The puma tilted his head toward the window of the Land Rover and muttered "Sisters, eh?"

"Ye've nae fuckin' idea," David sighed. "How many d'ye have?"

"One."

The tall rabbit roared with laughter. "Ye really dinnae have any idea! Ye lucky, lucky cunt, ye."

***

The ride to the estate was long and mostly uninteresting. Like rolling through the foothills of southern Missouri, it was mostly fields with patches of trees. Boring. Cataría and her brother occupied themselves with merry chatter in the front seats, catching up on whatever they didn't cover in text messages and phone calls, now that Cat's mood had softened. For a little while, from Muckhart to Gleneagles, the land rise a bit and become rougher; it called to mind the eastern foothills of the Sierra Blanca range back home and drew a smile from the puma. You could take a mountain lion out of the mountains, but he was still a mountain lion.

North of Gleneagles, the land went low and agricultural again for a dull half hour. From Crieff the drive took them into increasingly hilly terrain, the woodland slowly transformed from primarily angular, monochromatic webs of barren hardwoods to the dark, fluffy green of conifers. Through the trees, Alder glimpsed stone, snow, and ice heaved up in uneven peaks.

"Now that's better!" he said aloud, not realizing it.

"Hmm?" wondered David. "Oh, aye. Back that way is Ben Lawers above Loch Tay."

Finally, something interesting! the puma thought, cracking his window to enjoy the scents. He grinned at the increased smell of pine in the cold air.

"Yer lap-cat's gonnae catch cold," David quipped to Cat, who shared the front of the jeep with him.

She sighed. "That's what I keep telling him. He just keeps saying he's fine and that pumas are made to handle cold." Despite the earlier demonstration of his resistance to cold she remained unconvinced.

The puma laughed in the back seat, still looking out the window. "Well, bun, if you're right and the weather kills me, your family'll at least get a nice rug outta the deal."

"Herbivores tend not tae enjoy the pelts of other animals," chided David.

Alder laughed and retorted, "Well, shit! I guess y'all won't be able to appreciate what a fine rug it is, then. Pity."

There were a few awkward seconds of silence as Cat shook her head and watched the woods whisk by the window. Alder reached up and patted her shoulder, reassuring her once more that he would be just fine. An odd sound from the driver's side drew both of their attention to David, who was trying and failing to stifle a snickering fit.

He glanced at the puma and said,"Ye've a sense of humor, pussy cat. Ye oughtae fit in pretty well."

Junctions appeared to either side with decreasing frequency, and David slowed the jeep at a turning in the thickest area of the forest. At the mouth of the narrow road, two stone-clad pillars rose to a height of two meters on either side of an iron gate. On their caps were two tall wooden posts, against which leaned two enormous granite rabbits, styled after the four-legged variety. They sat erect on their haunches and each awkwardly held a hammer in both paws, frozen in the act of hanging a broad, ornate, wrought iron arch. From each mouth dangled a pawful of rough, square, iron nails. Bronze pine boughs were wound through the arch and had been turned an appropriate blue-green by oxidation; clusters of iron cones graced them at intervals. In the center, directly above the white gravel of the road, the iron letters C-A-I-R-D were set between the borders of the arch and accented with gold. Hanging below the family name, an engraved and painted sign bore the words "Rugahd sinn fon talamh. Dhìrich sinn chun an tsolas."

David pressed a button on a small box clipped to the visor over his head and the gate beneath the arch slid quietly to the side. He drove the jeep through, pressing the button again to close the way behind them. They drove slowly beneath the rows of tall pines, tires crunching over the tiny rocks. From time to time, Alder thought he glimpsed deer amid the boles. A half-hour after they had left the main road, the jeep eased to a stop in front of a massive stone edifice. The Caird house was a sixteenth century Scots Baronial beast, with all the stepped gables, parapets, towers and tourelles that went along with the revival of medieval aesthetics. However, the tremendous family sizes of it's long-time denizens had required expansion during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The architects of the new wings had tried to meld the style of the original structure with Palladian and Georgian styles popular at the times of the renovations. The end result was a vehement "fuck off!" to the concepts of consistency and unity, but it somehow wasn't at all unpleasant to look at. It had a unique majesty. The only real impression that Alder got was that it was one big mother-fucking house. Looking back down the white gravel path that disappeared into the woods, he thought, and a hell of a driveway! The recluse in him loved it.

David ran around to open the door for Cat while Alder eased his sore body out of the jeep. The cat arched his back with his paws balled on either side of his spine, just above his hips. There had been entirely too much sitting in the past seventy-two hours. As he went around to the back of the jeep to retrieve their luggage, the larger rabbit waved him off.

"I'll take care of it. Just run alang up tae the hoose. They'll be waitin'," he said with a disconcertingly mischievous grin.

The puma thanked him and ascended a few steps to a broad, stone-paved veranda with Cat. At the top, she rang the bell beside the enormous door and waited. Both of their ears pricked at the rise of a shrill noise from within the house. It started up on the second floor of the left wing and wavered as its source descended through the building.

"...iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiittyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy..."

Alder looked down at Cat in time to see her tiptoeing away from her position in front of the door. She cringed as the sound got louder and someone behind the door began to open it. She mouthed an apology a fraction of a second before the door opened fully and the sound hit him with a force that he only realized was physical when he landed on his back.

"...yyy?" the shriek fell into a questioning tone. "Ye're no Kitty."

The voice came from a young rabbit with black fur, a dead ringer for Cataría, though two-thirds her size. She blinked down at him from his chest, where she sat having knocked him off of his feet. Over the initial surprise--and hoping that no one noticed the added diameter to his tail--the puma blinked back up at her.

"Nope," he grunted. "I am a kitty, but I'm not Kitty."

"Ye must be Albert, then?

"Alder, yes. Now," he chuckled, reaching up and taking the bunny's face gently in his paws, then squeezing her soft cheeks, "who is this squishy miniature of my beautiful rabbit?"

She giggled and flinched at the ticklish touch of the big cat's paws on her cheeks. "Ah'm Mal. D'ye go by Al?"

He gave an exaggerated frown. "'Fraid not, tiny. Always liked 'Alder' better."

"Well, then ye cannae call me Mal," she huffed with a turn of her head. "Y'll jus' huvtae call me Malmuira."

"Are you kidding? Damn right, I will. In Spanish, 'mal' means bad. Aside from your wicked tackle, you don't seem like a bad kid. Besides," he added in a whisper, breaking her pout and setting her tittering again, "Malmuira sounds way cooler, anyway."

The giggling girl's weight shifted off of him as Cat lifted her in a huge hug. Mal squeaked and hugged her back. A few others from the family were filing out of the door and shouting greetings to the rabbit or clapping her on the back or pulling her into more hugs, Mal and all. Alder grinned and stood up slowly, dusting himself off.

"Lass got ye guid, there," laughed a familiar voice.

The white-flecked paw of Cat's father hovered before him. The old rabbit was of a height with Alder, though his erect ears gave him the advantage of several additional inches. His pawshake was gentler than David's, but he still put more behind it than did the puma. There was a glint in his eyes and a sideways twitch to his mouth that suggested a checkbox being ticked. He caught Alder's sigh and chuckled.

"The boy dae th same?" the rabbit asked with a grin.

Alder smirked and looked him in the eye. "Yeah. Bit more oomf behind it. Always wondered what folks do that for. It feels like it's supposed to be a test; just not one I've ever been interested in passing."

The old rabbit's smile broadened. "Well, ye did."

"Pardon?"

"First off, Alder: We've yet t'be properly introduced. I'm Bothain Caird and I appreciate you lookin' oot for Kitty. She's had bad runs and she's well due for a good one. I've hope that ye can be that for her."

No pressure! Alder's ears reddened and drooped slightly to the sides. "I hope so, too, sir."

Caird nodded and went on, "Tell me, what d'ye think Davie was tryin' tae prove and tae who?"

The puma shrugged and guessed, "Comparing strength? That's the way I always read it, anyway. As for who...I never really put a lot of thought into it. I guess I always figured it was a two way thing, y'know: 'I'm stronger; you're not' sort of thing."

"Well, ye're no far aff. The boy's dense as fuck and probably wasnae thinkin' past 'how strong are ye?' in the end. As a girl, Kitty spent a lot of her time helping Fenny with the young ones. They were a pawful, tae say th' least. As much as she's a sister tae them, she's almost a mother."--The old rabbit nodded toward where the others were pressed around Cat.--"They've a great deal of affection for 'er, even the older ones. Davie, I suspect, wanted tae be sure that whoever was gonnae take his Kitty away was strong enough tae look after 'er."

Watching the boisterous crowd, Alder grinned and flexed his paw. It was a sentiment he could empathize with, though he could not relate from experience.

"That I can understand. What about you, sir?" he asked, turning back to Caird. "You said I passed the test, but I certainly didn't outmatch you in strength."

The old rabbit smirked and patted him on the shoulder.

"Restraint, son," Caird explained. "It isnae always aboot strength. I've had enough business dealings in my time and shaken paws with enough of 'em tae know what a cat can do when he acts without thinking. Badgers, dugs, rabbits...we all have claws but it takes us extra effort to make them dae something destructive during a greeting. Ye poor fuckers, with yer wicked, wee talons, only have tae stop paying attention tae how ye squeeze. I just wanted tae make sure ye could keep the heid.

"Ye mentioned that ye'd been around and I could see it on yer face, even in that damnable tiny phone. That's a guid thing. Kitty doesnae need anither young cunt who has nae fuckin' clue what he's doin' or how tae control himsel."

"No, she doesn't," Alder said looking down at his paw.

A sudden pressure against his arm and an overwhelming rush of disordered scents pulled the puma away from one Caird and toward a small swarm of them. The pressure turned out to be Cat, tugging on his arm to introduce him to the others, to whom the scents clinging to her fur and clothes belonged.

"Alder, these are my younger sisters Ceit, Molly, and Wendy; my older sister Donna; older brother Frank and his wife Abigail; and this is Sìlas. Everyone, Alder."

Nine out of twenty-nine. Not bad, so far. At least we're doing this a little at a time, the puma thought to himself as he nodded and greeted each of them with a smile and a pawshake or a wave. This group was close to his threshold for comfort and he felt just a little guilty for hoping that the number wouldn't grow too much. Their details made his head swim. He quipped to the group that he would have to ask for a pamphlet with their names, nicknames, ages, and occupations.

Molly was two years younger than Cataría, and Ceit was a further four years under Molly. Twenty-three and nineteen, got it. Damn, Molly looks exactly like Cat, except for the earrings. Ceit, in contrast, was slimmer and almost entirely white, barring a dark grey spot around her left eye. Wendy, a speckled, spectacled, chubby twelve-year old, had the demeanor of a cheerleader; bouncy, outgoing, and...far too loud. Donna, two years Cat's senior, took the family's characteristic black fur into the bluish-grey of gunmetal. Her overall demeanor was relaxed, but the set of her jaw and the lingering smell of tobacco smoke on her fur and clothes spoke to a pent up tension. Frank bore the black fur of his father and sisters and an airy, pleasant attitude. His voice and pawshake were soft, but energetic. Abigail, his wife, was a brusque, sturdy human with bright red hair and pale skin. Freckles were scattered liberally across her face, fading into ruddy cheeks below pretty green eyes.

Sìlas was a thirteen-ear-old enigma at first; half black, half white, with a blue eye sparkling on the black side and a brown eye glinting amid the white. Cat had omitted a pronoun and hadn't said "brother" or "sister", and the puma quickly realized why. By looks, the young rabbit was almost genderless. Scent told the tale better. Rather than being without gender, Sìlas carried a unique scent that seemed a near-equal blending of male and female. It reminded Alder of something he had seen in the past.

"All right, kid, it's clear you're intersex. So, before I make an ass of myself, how do you want to be addressed?" he asked.

Sìlas cocked an eyebrow, tilted their head, and replied in a smooth, musical voice, "Ye sussed that oot awfu' quick."

The puma shook his head. "Nose did most of the work. Your sister's introduction did the rest. That's awesome!"

"Oh, gie's a break," the kid sighed, rolling their mismatched eyes. "If ye huvta kiss an arse, try Kitty's. Even Abby here took some getting used tae me."

"Look, kid, I ain't blowin' smoke up your ass. I meant it. Folks like you are rare and beautiful. See, long ago, in a desert far, far away, I did a stint at a park in northwestern New Mexico. I was a starving, ignorant college kid. My supervisor there was an old Navajo woman, I was told. When I met her, she noticed the look on my face and practically had to beat an explanation out of me; I was an anxious newbie and scared of offending her, but she just smelled...wrong. I couldn't explain it; I'd never met someone whose scent was both male and female.

"When she finally got me to talk, Tina laughed her ass off. She explained that it wasn't that she smelled 'wrong', her physical body just straddled the boundary between male and female. The hormonal balance tipped slightly toward female, so she looked like a woman. She isn't though; the Navajo have three genders. Tina is nádleehé, two-spirit, kinda like you but without the awesome paint job."

Sìlas grinned at Cataría and said, "Fuck, Kitty, ye stumbled on a guid one." To Alder, they said, "Ye're stuck with 'they' and 'them' for me; my body seems tae be quite happy refusin' tae pick a side of the fence and my spirit isnae in a hurry to decide either. Sìlas and Sìl work just as well, if not better."

"You got it!" the big cat grinned.

The front door rattled and swung open. Five more children, warmly bundled, dashed out to join the group. They gathered, laughing, around Cat and her guest and showered the big felid with questions at a rate that defied answer. Close on their heels came the matriarch of the family. Fenella Caird, a pale flare on the dull grey veranda, bustled out into the cold air. Her thin cotton trousers and shirt fluttered in the cold breeze as she pattered, barefooted, over to Cat and wrapped her in a tremendous hug.

"Mum!" the bunny cried in joy. "It's sae good tae be hame!"

"Two years is a long time tae be aff on a dauner, dear," her mother chided, stepping back to look at her daughter. "Ye've eaten well and no sae much tae make ye fat. Good lass. Being abroad looks to have done ye some good." She glanced with a smile at Alder as she finished.

She was white as cloud from ear to toe, with eyes of a blue so bright that they brought to mind the icebergs he'd seen calving off of the Chenega Glacier in Alaska. Alder reached over his head, grasping at air in an unconscious gesture that would have found the felt crown of his hat, were he home. When his fingers met with nothing but air, his ears reddened and swiveled self-consciously backward. He scratched his head to mask the failed movement of his paw.

When her eyes met his, the burning in his ears intensified and he had to look away. Her gaze felt like it touched some deep part of him that he himself was unused to handling. He'd often had folks tell him that his eyes bothered them; that they sometimes looked too deeply and saw too much. This was the first time he'd been on the receiving end of anything like it. He swallowed hard and dipped his head in a weak bow. He may have mumbled a greeting; must have, surely. He hoped desperately that no one noticed his raised hackles. He knew it was obvious; knew she must have noticed. Alder steeled himself for her to call him out on his unintentional evasiveness.

"Well? Why the hell are we all staunin' oot here for?" the white rabbit chastised them all. "Ye'll all freeze yer damned legs off. In with the lot of ye!"

The crowd scuttled into the house and those who came up from the driveway scuffed the dirt and snow from their boots and shoes before leaving them on the racks that lined the foyer. The anteroom was the size of Alder's bedroom back home. On both sides, above the racks for shoes, hung two rows of hooks for jackets and coats. The tiled floor was inset with a stiff, bristly rug for removing mud and snow.

Children's outerwear, in all the migrainous, vibrant colors of youth, hung upon the lower hooks while the upper row was reserved for the drab coats of the older folks, with a couple of rebellious exceptions. The vivid white one had traces of long red hair and shorter black fur, and it was clearly not cut for a voxiped. Abigail's, Alder figured. The garish, red, camel hair waistcoat that hung four pegs beyond had an almost tangible aura of cigarette smoke. It might have belonged to Donna, if it weren't obviously too small for her. The puma quirked the whiskers on the left side of his muzzle. That acrid odor covered up whatever scent the owner would have left, but telltale black hairs meant that it was probably Molly's, though there were smaller traces of several other colors and types of fur as well.

A step up lead to the main hall, three floors high and bordered with oak-railed mezzanines at the second and third floors. When the wings were added, the rabbits had virtually gutted the Baronial structure. Some space remained within the old stone walls for studies and other communal spaces. A high arch at the back left corner of the topmost mezzanine showed a glimpse of book-lined shelves. On the back wall, a pair of crisscrossing staircases descended from each floor, meeting at landings set beneath high windows. From the lowest landing cascaded a single, broad staircase that flared at the bottom. Wide corridors opened to either side on all three levels, dark portals in the bright winter light that flooded in from the back of the house. A rich, forest green carpet ran from the anteroom up the stairs, over dark flagstone floors. Above the waist-high oak paneling one could just make out chestnut paint upon the walls. Almost every square inch of wall space in the hall was occupied by photographs and paintings of Cairds over the years. Ears perked, Alder's eyes wandered the walls in amazement.

"Overwhelming?" a soft voice asked.

The puma didn't notice who said it but whispered, still surveying the staggering monument to rabbit reproduction, "You can say that again. Never mind the fact that my house could fit in this room twice. My family's small enough that I've hardly seen enough pictures of my kin to cover a card table."

"Sounds delightfully quiet but terribly lonely."

He grunted. "I guess you could look at it that way. Puma's are cut from a lonely cloth, though. We tend to favor small, quiet groups."

She laughed just like Cat. "Well, the next few days are gonnae be absolute torture for ye, then. I should apologize in advance. Still, I'm glad ye foond yer voice again."

"Pardon?" he drawled, turning

Mrs. Caird stood by his side, her eyes level with his chin, having shooed the others off to the lounge. Alder's breath caught in his throat, but he managed to gulp down the nervousness and compose himself. Holding a paw to his pounding chest, he bowed self-consciously, ears pulled back as far as they could go.

"Sorry about that, ma'am. My manners usually don't scamper off on me like that."

She waved that off, "Pish. My kids grow up aroond me, so they're used tae it; but I get that same reaction from every girl and boy they bring home; not many people are comfortable with someone lookin' through their mask. Yer eye's look past it, too; so, I'm sure you know."

He smiled and allowed his ears to relax and rise. "You're echoing my thoughts from outside. I didn't really think I had a mask, though."

Her lips slid into a gentle smile. "Oh, ev'ryone does, dear. Us, them"--she gestured to encompass the whole house--"every person on the earth. We dinnae think about it, but we build it up aroond us. That mask is the 'me' that stands between everyone's 'I' and that horrible, murky 'they' that we're all so damned afraid of. When someone comes along that can glimpse past that armor, it's natural tae feel vulnerable."

"In a way," the puma admitted, "it's kinda nice to know what it feels like from the other side."

"Agreed," she chirped. "But, let's have an agreement between the two of us: no intuitive ootbursts with each other, arite? As much as we can, lets try and just act like normal people talking. Neither of us want the other rummagin' aboot, so let's just leave it."

He nodded and she lead him into the lounge, where Cat was catching up with some of her siblings. They chatted together for an hour or more, covering the introductory small talk that plagues anyone meeting new people. Mrs. Caird and Abigail brought refreshments out for everyone; and the puma, to his discomfort, became a sensation in the small group.

"Mexico, eh?" asked Frank. "I thought Kitty said ye came frae America."

Alder's weary sigh escaped him before he could think to stop it. With an embarrassed smirk, he apologized and explained, "Beg your pardon. It makes sense for you to be confused. U.S. geography probably ain't much of a required subject outside of our border. But too many people who were born in the States ask me questions along the same lines. I'm from New Mexico, it's the boxy, almost square state that sits on the Mexican border between Texas and Arizona."

Frank, head of the distillery's foreign marketing, replied. "Oh, aye! Noo, I've been tae Texas...eh...Houston and Dallas, for advertising meetings. I had a business conference in Arizona a few years back in...Phoenix, I think."

"Yeah? If you drew a straight line between Phoenix and Dallas, on most maps, it'd pretty much cross right over my birthplace."

"Where's that?" Sìlas asked, leaning on their elbows over the back of a couch.

Cat's ears perked up. "Aye, ye told me where ye live and where ye work, but ye never mentioned where ye were born."

Alder rubbed the palm pad of his left paw with the thumb pad of his right in an unconscious gesture of apprehension and the tip of his tail quivered. "Promise me y'all won't make a fuss?" he drawled with ears drooped down to the sides.

Molly squealed and leaned forward, clapping her paws before planting her elbows on her knees and resting her chin on her palms, "D'ye hear that, eh? 'Y'all!' How adorable is that?"

The big cat, catching the flirtatious tone in Molly's voice, blinked at her and glanced at Cat, who rolled her eyes and folded her ears back. The others ignored Molly and muttered agreement that they would be respectful.

He sighed and answered, "Roswell."

For the first time in ages, he was met by mostly blank stares. The adult Cairds sort of nodded politely, though with clear confusion. Their expressions lingered between "Oh, that's nice!" and "So what?" The handful of young bunnies, who had lingered on the fringes of the conversation up to this point, lost interest and drifted off to focus on other things. Alder relaxed and allowed his ears to rise. This time, it looked like he was going to get a break from the usual reac--

"Fuck off," gasped a wide-eyed Sìlas, causing the puma's hackles to rise and his ears to drop back. "Really?"

"Oi!" growled Frank, pointing at the children who hadn't even shown any signs of paying attention.

"Oh, what? Because they never hear it?" Sìlas scoffed. "Eight of us had "fuck" as our first bloody word, Frank. If Mum's stories are true, yours was c--"

Mrs. Caird, sitting on the couch below Sìlas, reached up and cuffed the thirteen-year-old gently on the head.

"Be civil; both of you. We have a guest. No doubt, he isnae a stranger tae the liberal use of the vernacular. Besides, Sìlas, that wasn't Frankie; ye're thinkin' of Ainsley."

"Thank you, mother," Frank said, settling back next to Abigail.

The white rabbit smiled and then caught Alder with a wink of her peerless blue eye. "Frankie's was 'fuck' as well," she whispered just loud enough for everyone to hear.

The others erupted into laughter, startling the young ones, who were still mostly ignoring the rest. Frank crossed his arms and harrumphed, leading a snickering Abigail to pat her husband's thigh. He turned his head away from her in a melodramatic snub that brought one of his folded-back ears to a halt on her freckled cheek. She let out an "ooh!" and twisted enough to softly clamp on the fur-fringed rim of his ear with her teeth. Frank's sullen demeanor cracked and he turned back to her, chuckling.

"I don't get it, though," Cat piped up, when the ruckus had died down. "Why would people make a fuss about your hometown, tree? Also, why does Sìl know about it, when none of the rest of us do?"

Sìlas smiled, "Probably because Iz and I are the only ones in the family who have been obsessed with UFOs."

Alder nodded faintly, still self-conscious. He didn't particularly like being associated with that aspect of his home. In his youth, it had been cool to be from a place known for having "UFO Incident" appended to its name. As he aged, however, he looked upon the town's desperate clinging to the decades-old conspiracy theory as less whimsical and more self-destructively commercial. Not that they didn't need the tourism dollars. The various recessions and economic downturns had purged the town of most of its primary industry employers and relegated a large percentage of the population to living off of the pitiable wages of support industry jobs. As with any large town that falls on hard times, the general depression drove people to drink and drugs, which in turn lead to an increase in violence and gang activity among the younger folks. He didn't go back often; it was hard to watch the town in which one was raised falling into that sort of decay.

"Oh, yes!" Bothain Caird cried out suddenly. " I remember noo. That was the town where aliens crashed, right?"

"That's the very one, Dad," confirmed Sìlas.

"Yeah, I try to keep it under the radar," the puma said, looking at Sìlas. "Frees me up from people who think they're clever asking if I'm an alien or if I've seen one, or if I've been abducted and probed. The crash and all that was so far back that most folks only think of it in terms of those TV shows that specialize in unsolvable mysteries or references in the X-Files and movies. In the end, you're about as likely to find evidence of a deity as evidence that the crash was related to aliens. Odds are good that it was an experimental aircraft or an errant test missile from White Sands."

"Ah, shite!" moaned the teenager. "I still believe there's something oot there."

"Oh, count on it, kid. We ain't alone in the universe, we're just alone in our neck of the woods."

Sìlas asked. "Why d'ye say that?"

Alder leaned back and crossed his legs, ticking off points on his paw. "I look at it like this: there's definitely other life out there. The thought of Earth being the only living rock in more than two trillion galaxies--and those are just the ones we've been able to loosely observe--is just insane. There's probably other intelligent life out there, for the same reason. And, with however long the oldest star system could have been whizzing through the void--there's likely to be some spacefaring ones who have far, far surpassed us in intelligence and technology. But the ants on a tree in Japan can't know if there are ants on a tree in Brazil.

"Us, we're the ants on this planet's bark. We bite her and drink her sap, and tear chunks out of her to build our nests, and one day she'll die beneath the feet of our descendants. Some of us along the way will migrate to other trees in our forest--Mars, Europa, or one of the other promising moons, if we're adventurous enough--but, we'll never know if there are ants in the groves of Gliese 581 or Kepler 444, much less in the forests of some other galaxy. Are they out there? It'd be ridiculous to think not. Are they visiting us? It really doesn't seem likely. Even if we found a signal from, say, the Andromeda Galaxy, it's two and a half million light years away. By the time we got the signal, they'd probably be dead or long since moved away."

"Hear, hear!"

The group turned to the new voice. A black rabbit with white speckles and a white streak on her forehead--the latter an obvious dye job, made to look like a comet--stood at the doorway to the sitting room, adjusting the pullover that had twisted when she removed her coat. Cat leapt to her feet and bounded over, shouting "Iz!" and embracing the new arrival with such vigor that they both nearly went over.

Iseabail Caird matched her younger sister in height and weight, but had the softer lines that went along with carrying more fat and less muscle. She wore drab clothes; the only concession to color being the bright green anodized frames of her glasses. Smiling, she disengaged from Cat and glanced back at Alder.

"That 'im?" she asked, squinting over her lenses. One ear stood at attention, facing the puma, and the other pointed straight backward behind her.

"Aye. Alder, this is my sister Iseabail. Watch she doesn't talk ye tae death, now that she knows you're intae space shite."

Alder had gotten to his feet out of habit when the new rabbit walked in. He nodded from across the room and said, "Ma'am."

"Nope. Two things, pal" Iz said stonily, holding up a paw with one finger lifted. "One: ye've got eight years on me, according to Kitty, so knock that 'ma'am' shite off. Call me Iz or Iseabail, never Izzie or Isabel, and I'll promise never tae call ye Al. Deal?"

Sensing something of a kindred spirit, the puma flashed a grin and replied, "Deal. What's numero dos?"

"Are you the Matsubayashi who published an abstract in the Journal of the International Botanic Society?"

The puma eased down onto the arm of the chair from which he had risen moments prior. A low whistle escaped him and he crossed his arms. One of his ears swiveled to the side, not really directed at anyone in particular, and his eyes took on a far away look.

"Whoa..." he said softly. "There's a blast from the past. Yeah, Urban Silvicuture: Returning the Balance. It was part of my post-graduate work. I can't believe I'd run into someone over here that had read it."

"What, me? Fuck no!" Iz chuckled. "You haven't run intae one yet. Our brother Alastair is gonnae pellet his pants, though, if he comes by. He studies tree-humping at uni and wondered if you were the same chap. Me, I focus on things a bit more distant."

"Oh?"

"Aye, I work at the Keen Eyes Observatory above Glen Nevis. At present, I'm analyzing EM data from NGC 2242."

"NGC..." the puma drawled, "let's see...Nifty Gas Cloud?"

Iz blinked at him but caught the hint of a sarcastic grin. She shook her head and laughed.

"It's all right," Alder said. "Our park has hosted enough star parties that I know better. 'New General Catalogue', yes?"

"Y've got yerself a right cunt, Kitty," she mumbled to her sister while rubbing the bride of her nose. Turning back to the puma, she said, "Aye, but we can chat aboot space some other time. The others are going a bit glassy-eyed."

As Iz and Cat settled down with the rest, Alder's phone made an aggressive buzzing sound in his pocket. He withdrew it and glanced at the screen, replacing it casually. Moments later, in the midst of a conversation about Scottish winters and the benefits of proper clothing--during which the puma was forced to once again explain that heavier clothes simply weren't necessary for him--there was another loud vibration from his phone. Again, Alder glanced at the screen before rolling his eyes and stuffing it back in his pocket. When he looked back up, he found six eyes watching him: Mrs. Caird's, Catarìa's, and Molly's. Cat's and Molly's ears leaned forward inquisitively; though, something in the set of Molly's mouth and eyes made her curiosity feel more unsettling.

"Is everything all right, dear?" Mrs. Caird asked quietly. Her eyes held his, showing clearly that she knew something was bothering him.

Alder cleared his throat and chuckled. "Yes'm. Just, y'know, lousy battery life on these things. It's begging to be fed like a neglected Tamagotchi."

That split the room. He could see the ones who had been old enough to recognize the name, as the look of slightly embarrassed nostalgia crossed their faces. The younger ones looked either bewildered or utterly unfazed. Mrs. Caird's eyebrows tightened just enough for him to notice and the tone of her voice told him that she hadn't missed the fib.

"Oh, aye? Have ye a cord for it?" Smiling at his nod, she motioned to the wall across the room. "There's a wall plate there, by the sideboard. It looks as though one of the USB slots is open. You're welcome to let it charge over there."

The big cat thanked her and walked over to the sideboard, where a pawful of other devices were tethered. Plugging his phone in, he pressed on the screen to wake it and entered his passcode. Going to the settings, he turned the vibration down and locked the device. On his way back to the seating area, he passed the younger Cairds, who were occupying themselves with small electronics, games, and books in various uncomfortable-looking positions on the floor. Malmuira looked up from the game she was playing with her eight-year-old sister Struana and apologized to him for tackling him earlier.

"You're fine, kiddo," he said, patting his torso and wincing theatrically. "Couple busted ribs never slowed me down."

He winked and strolled back to the others. As he sat back down next to Cat, he caught an odd grin on her face.

"What?" he asked self-consciously. "What'd I miss?"

Abigail, the freckles of her cheeks concealed by a blush that extended all the way back to her ears, answered, "We girls were talkin' aboot how easy ye move. I...eh...may have stupidly used the phrase 'cat-like' and made an arse of myself. Then Fenny said that it looked like you'd make a great dad 'causae how ye are wi' the kids and Kitty sortae snorted and said, 'Nae chance!' We were trying to get her to explain herself when you showed back up."

"Ah..." he groaned, scratching his left ear, "Yeah, not happening. Adoption, maybe...you know...one day. But, no. I get my authority figure fix from being an activity coordinator for summer camps."

Seeing the curious looks on some of their faces, the insides of his ears went a bit red and he glanced around at the younger ones, who still weren't paying attention. Turning back, he wrinkled his muzzle and made a scissoring motion with two fingers of his right paw. There was a brief chorus of "ahs" and one uncomfortable grunt from Frank. Sìlas looked from Alder to the others, trying to sort it out. A faint gasp escaped their mouth when it struck them.

"Oh," Sìlas whispered, "fucking hell..."

The uncomfortable silence that followed was broken by a soft chuckle from Mrs. Caird, who joked, "Well, I wouldn't have expected grandkits from ye anyway, so that's fine."

Cat shrieked, "MUM!" loud enough that even the younger Cairds took notice. They didn't quite understand why everyone was laughing, or why Kitty was so embarrassed, but they snickered along nonetheless. Alder patted Cat on the leg and watched everyone with a wistful expression, which Donna noticed.

"Ye okay, there?" she asked him.

"Hmm?" he answered, raising his eyebrows and focusing his ears and eyes on her.

She nodded toward him and elaborated, "Ye went for a bit of a trip there; lost in thought, like."

"Oh! Sorry," the puma said. "My family experience has mostly been real small-scale--just Mom and--"

He was interrupted by seven-year-old Stuart Caird, who called across the room, "Someone's getting a video call from...Mim...wit. Mimwit?"

The group turned to find him by the sideboard, to which he had been drawn by the buzzing and light of one of the phones.

"Speak of the devil," Alder sighed. "It's okay, bud. You can just ignore it. That's my sister trying to butt in. I sent her a message that we'd arrived, so she's probably just trying to sneak a look at all of you. Curiosity hasn't killed that one yet. She can wait."

"Are you sure?" Mrs. Caird asked. "Three calls seems a bit urgent. Especially at,"--she glanced at the clock and closed one eye in thought--"ten to five in the morning?"

He smiled and shrugged. "The time isn't all that surprising. She wakes early to get ready for work; we both do. Nah, if it was something important, she'd--"

A new tone sounded from the phone and it's vibration became more insistent. Alder face dropped, whiskers dangling from his muzzle. His ears folded down toward the side of his head and his tail, puffed and bristling, quivered nervously. Getting up with rather more haste than he meant to, he walk back to the sideboard and reached for the device. On the screen was displayed an incoming voice call. The dark tip of his tail beat the air.

The words came slow and thick. "I'm sorry. Would y'all mind if I take this outside?"

"Aye, there's benches on the left when ye walk oot ontae the veranda," Mrs. Caird said kindly. "Take your time, lad."

When he had gone, Donna was the first to speak.

"What was that all aboot?"

Cat, watching the door the puma had walked through, shook her head. Her ears laid back, not quite touching her shoulders.

She tried, unsuccessfully, to mitigate the anxiety by joking, "She probably just killed one of his plants."

"Mibbe not his sister, but a different girl," suggested Molly after a couple of minutes went by and the puma didn't return. This earned her sour looks from half of the group.

Stuart piped up, "Would he call a girl 'Ho Spice'?"

Cat cocked her head to the side with a bewildered, "What?"

He replied, "That's what the screen said: Cottonwood Canyon Ho Spice."

"Shit..." whispered Cat.

"Oh, love..." Mrs. Caird muttered. "That'll no be good. Have a look oot the door to be sure the poor cat is all right."

Cat remained seated, hesitant. "I shouldn't intrude. If it's..." her paw found the end of her dangling ear and fiddled with the earrings there.

"If it is, dear, he'll need someone. For the noo, ye're the only someone he has here."

Cataría got up and walked out into the main hall. They could hear her footsteps as she padded across the stiff rug in the anteroom, followed by the sound of the front door opening. After a few moments, a chill breeze whisked into the room; the front door stayed open for longer than expected. When it did close, the sound was followed by a string of mostly unintelligible cursing. Mrs. Caird, followed by Donna, Molly, Frank, and Sìlas, went to the anteroom to find Cat pulling on her boots.

"What's up, love?" her mother asked, noticing the concern on her daughter's face.

The black doe's foot slammed home against the insole of her boot and she wrenched the laces. "He fucked off," she said stiffly, angry with herself for not checking more quickly and at the cat for not bothering to say anything before wandering off.

"Are you takin' the piss?" Frank asked, observing that Alder's hiking boots remained where he left them on the rack. "He's barefoot and he didnae have a coat."

"Yeah, Frankie," she snapped back, relieved to have a target for her irritation, throwing on her coat. "Just a big fuckin' piss-take. I'm getting my jacket and boots because I wannae make fuckin' snow angels."

"Fuckin' hell, Kitty! Simmer doon. Just call him and see where he went. Mibbe he just went for a walk."

A black paw reached into her trouser pocket and withdrew a shiny, black rectangle. "Won't dae any guid if the daft fucker left his phone behind. He probably just got some bad news and needed tae walk it off. I just--" she huffed, pausing and slipping the puma's phone back in her pocket.

She shook her head and thumped out the door. Suggesting that the others return to the lounge to wait, Mrs. Caird slipped on her wellies and whisked out the door in pursuit. To their surprise, Malmuira followed suit, throwing on a jacket as she hurried out.

The three rabbits walked quickly across the veranda and down the steps to the driveway. On the opposite side of the gravel, sparse trees slowly gathered to join the thicker woodland. Between the driveway and the tree line, a narrow strip of snowy earth revealed large paw prints. The trio followed these until they disappeared in the carpet of pine needles that lay beneath the trees.

"Alder, where'd ye go?" Cat called out, swiveling her ears to and fro to catch a reply that didn't come.

Her mother joined in, "Gonnae freeze yer baws aff oot here, lad. C'mon back in."

Mal trotted ahead along the line that the prints had followed, before they had vanished. She kept her ears up, turning constantly for any sound. After fifty meters or so, she tripped on the root of a tall Douglas Fir and grabbed for the trunk to catch her fall. When she regained her balance, she noticed deep grooves in the soft bark. The grooves were new; sap had yet to collect in them. The size looked right, when she compared it to her own paw.

"Mum! Kitty! This way!" She called and waited for them to catch up.

"Aye, that looks aboot right," Cat mumbled, looking at the scratches when they arrived. "He must have tripped there, t--eh?!"

On the ground, by the root that had tripped both puma and rabbit, lay an amorphous grey lump. Cat reached down and picked it up. It was the battered Mister Budgie plush.

"Yeah, he came this way," she said, peering anxiously through the shade.

The sound of twigs snapping echoed through the woods. It was followed by a soft thump and a groan. Though the echoes made it challenging to locate, they walked forward until Mrs. Caird noticed the puma, who was slumped on the ground with his back against the trunk of an ancient yew. He looked up as they approached, wet eyes glistening in the dim light.

"Sorry," he whispered. It sounded like it was directed at them and yet, not.

Cataría knelt beside him and stroked his cheek. "It's arite, love. What happened."

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Nothing. Not, yet. Mom's condition worsened. They don't think she's got long left. Couple days, maybe. Mim was trying to catch me before the chaplain called from the hospice."

Cat took his paw and squeezed, drawing him into an embrace. Malmuira shifted closer to her mother, who wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

"I'm sorry I worried you," he muttered into the shoulder of her coat. "I just...I had to get fresh air; had to...touch trees aga--" His voice broke and he swore softly into the fabric, his arms pulled her tighter to him. "She always used to take me outside whenever I was struggling with something. We'd go to a park, or just the backyard, and find a tree. She'd put her paw against it and make me do the same. 'This is just wind,' she'd say. 'Let it pass to the trees, who know how to handle it. Then, when you are big and know how to handle the wind, you can be the tree someone else leans on.'

"I grew up and figured out how to handle the winds, but this time I needed the trees again. There's nothing Mimosa and I can do. Mom's been gone for two years now and all that's left just lies there wasting away in a goddamned bed. We try to make things as comfortable for her body as we can. She would have done that much for us. But, there's not even a point to sitting by the bedside anymore. Everything of her that really mattered isn't in there anymore.

"We've made arrangements for everything once the body gives out. Someone will take her and she'll be cremated. There won't be a service because there's only really me and Mim. Some time after it's done, we'll pick up two useless, little pots that they'll say have her ashes in them. I don't even know what the fuck we're supposed to do with them."

Leaning back against the tree, he breathed deep and let out a long sigh. "I just wish I was there with Mim. She's strong--she learned to deal with the wind, too--but she shouldn't have to be dealing with this one alone. We should be in my cabin, emptying a bottle of whiskey or two and telling old stories, tryin' to convince each other that this does't feel like losing her all over again."

A hush fell; no one was quite certain what to say. Malmuira shivered and gathered even closer to Mrs. Caird. Cat reached up and laid her palm on Alder's cheek, wiping under his eye with her thumb. She ached for him but had no idea how to help him. A jarring sound hit them from out of the silence. Cat jumped and squeaked, startled not only by the sound but by the vibration of Alder's phone in her pocket.

"It's Mim," Alder muttered. "That's her ringtone. I must have switched it off of silent."

Cat handed him the phone and he pressed the 'answer' button on the screen. Alder placed the phone against his ear, cleared his throat, and greeted his sister with a voice low and quiet, to conceal the thickness to his words.

"Hey, Mimsy. How are you holding up?...Yeah, I bet...Nah, you know me. Solid as a rock...Yeah, I know you can...No, not great. You gonna be ok for work today?...They did? Already?...Damn, a week is pretty generous of them...No, go ahead up there. I'm sorry I can't be there with you...Fuck it, trash the place if you want. Just don't touch the bottle that's at the back of the bottom shelf...Because the time isn't right...I know I do but still, the time isn't right." He rubbed his face with his free paw. "I don't know yet; we just got here...I know...I'm sure you do, but...Huh? Hang on." He stopped, having noticed Mrs. Caird trying to get his attention.

"Sorry to interrupt, lad. May I? she asked pointing at the phone.

"Huh?" Confused, he started to hand her the phone before realizing what an odd request it was.

"I'd like tae have a word with your sister, dear. I know this seems strange, but may I?"

He placed the phone against his ear again and said, "Mim?...Cat's mother wants to speak with you...Dunno, I imagine you could ask her...All right." He handed the device to Mrs. Caird, who thanked him and stepped out of earshot, leaving Alder with Cat and Malmuira.

He looked from one rabbit to the next and said, "What was that all about?"

Cat shook her head, but Mal smirked.

"I think I know," she said.

"Oh?" replied the puma, raising his eyebrows. "What's your guess, mini-bun?"

"Hmph! Mum'll tell when she gets back." She crossed her arms and looked away.

Alder's muzzle twisted into a lopsided smirk and his ears perked up. "Aw, c'mon, pipsqueak."

"Uh uh."

"Malmuira," he cooed, "pweeeease."

Mal's arms dropped and so did her stern countenance. She glanced sidelong at the big cat and asked, "Gonnae let us call ye 'Al'?"

He laughed, longer than the situation probably warranted, but the release was necessary. "Ah, jeez, tiny," he wheezed, catching his breath. "Look, I'd love to give you special permission, but if you start, everyone is gonna follow along. Can I trade you a secret instead?"

"Ooh..." she whispered, dropping to her knees next to him with ears high and eyes bright, "what's that?"

"It's a thing that someone tells someone else that isn't supposed to be shared outside of the two of them; but that's not important right now."

Cat giggled in the background. The bunny's ears flagged and she scowled

"I know what a secret is, arse!" Mal pouted.

Patting her head, he smiled and said, "Just kidding. It's this: I have always hated the name 'Al' because, supposedly, that's my father's name. Now, he wasn't a good guy to my mom, and she decided that she didn't want to be around him or have her kittens grow up with the sort of treatment she got from him; so, she left him. I grew up with this sorta superstition that if I start going by 'Al', whatever part of him is in me is gonna start risin' up to the surface. I know I'm not that kind of person and I know it's silly to think that a name can wake something up like that, like a ghost or something, but I still hate it."

"I guess that makes sense," the bunny moped.

"There's a 'but', kiddo."

"What's that?"

As he opened his mouth to answer, she caught the look in his eyes and clapped a paw around his muzzle.

"No. Dinnae tell me what a butt is."

"You're a good kid," the puma grinned. "If you're really needing to use a nickname for me, you can use the one your sister does. I've grown rather fond of it."

"Heuch...please tell me it's not something..." she cringed and stuck her tongue out.

"Nah, it's just 'tree'."

"What? Tree? Why?"

Cat ruffled the fur between her sister's ears and chimed in, "An alder is a type of tree, Mal."

"Oh...a bit borin', innit?"

Alder stood and brushed dirt and leaf litter off of his backside. "I dunno, I like it."

Mrs. Caird returned and handed Alder his phone with an apologetic smile, cutting the banter short. "Here's your sister back, dear. Thank you."

"O...kay?" he hesitated. Lifting it to his ear, he said, "Mim?...You're sounding better...Yeah, I suppose you should...Hmm?...Not the cabin?...Well, yeah, they'd be fine for a few days. Why?...No, I get that...All right, talk to you again soon...Love you, too, Mimsy. Take care."

He disconnected the call and slipped the phone into his pocket with an odd expression. His eyes met Cat's for a moment and she could see the gears turning over the question in his head. He looked off into the trees until the dots over his eyes sank and his left ear cocked backward. No sooner was it pointing back, then it described a slow, upward arc and perched erect atop his head beside his other ear. His eyebrows raised and his eyes widened. Scratching his muzzle with the index finger of his right paw, he turned to look at Mrs. Caird.

She glanced back at him with an expression of the purest innocence. "Dinnae ken what ye're talkin' aboot, dearie," she said, despite the fact that he hadn't spoken. "Shall we get back to the house before these two freeze?"

He shook his head and smirked. "Yeah, let's do. I don't know what you two talked about, but I suspect I need to thank you."

"Oh, it wasnae much," she chirped, leading the way back. "I just gave her some advice, one woman who's lost her mother to another who may soon."

"And that is?"

She turned to him and smiled. "Fresh air and friends, my dear. And more, but that's a secret between us girls."

They reached the house about the time that Mal started to shiver in earnest. Mrs. Caird bustled them all off to the kitchen for warm beverages. Malmuira sipped at her hot chocolate while the three adults drank tea. Afterward, they all rejoined the group in the seating room until dinner. Alder thanked whatever there was to thank that no one mentioned the call or his abrupt disappearance. A soft explanation from the matriarch of the family--that their guest had received some disturbing private news and gotten turned around in the woods while walking to clear his mind--had sufficed to quell their curiosity.

***

Dinner was largely vegetarian fare, as to be expected, but the presence of Abigail meant that there was someone familiar enough with preparing meats to ensure their guest wouldn't go hungry. It was a welcome change of culinary pace for her as well. Observing the foods at the table, Alder filed away a few thoughts for how to repay the welcome he had received. After dinner, they retired to another room to watch television. The younger kids were bundled one-by-one off to their respective beds and the adults eventually followed suit. When it came time for Alder to be shown his accommodations, Bothain Caird waved Cat away and took on the task himself.

"Naw, Kitty," he shrugging on his coat. "Ye've had time enough wi' 'im. Ye just settle in and let me play host."

The bundled old rabbit and lightly-dressed puma walked out the back door and across a large terrace. At the far side of the terrace, a door lead into the largest private greenhouse Alder had ever seen. The narrow end, which faced the back of the house, was easily a hundred feet across and the peaked roof reached forty feet or more over the ground. The door accessed a small vestibule on the top floor, which was a broad entresol. This, Alder discovered when they entered, bore a wide variety of tropical plants, edible and decorative. Being near the ceiling, the air within was almost oppressively hot and humid.

"Making me sleep in the barn, sir?" he asked, fanning his face with a paw and leaning over the rail to look at the garden below. "Because I don't mind tellin' ya, this is a barn I wouldn't mind bunking in. As long as I can stick to the ground floor."

Caird laughed, pulling off his coat. "I figured ye'd enjoy this, being a plant guy an' all. But, naw, it's just the quickest, warmest way tae the guest cottage. Ye and Fenny may be fine with the cold, but I'm fucked if I'm gonnae freeze my arse off."

"Guest cottage?" Alder said with raised eyebrows.

"Aye," the old rabbit replied, indicating that Alder should follow. "We use it for business guests and friends of the family who come tae visit." He glanced at the puma from the corner of his eye. "And suitors, when they come aroond."

Alder smiled. "Ah...I'm not certain that I qualify for any of that...yet."

Caird grunted, "Modest cunt. There's no a soul in that hoose that didnae like ye. Ye talk easy with us, and the other way roond. Even if Kitty hadn't brought ye here with the smell o' each other ground intae yer furs, ye'd have fit well."

They took a spiral stair down to the ground floor, midway along the greenhouse's length. A hundred and fifty feet of verdure stretched to either side in orderly rows of beds and benches. The walkways between sections were comprised of smooth flagstones and small river pebbles. The thuds of their boots were muffled by leaves and thick air as they went toward the far end of the structure.

"Y'all have an impressive variety in here," the puma mentioned, passing a long, raised bed of assorted tomatoes and peppers.

"Well, we're far enough away frae shops that it's a bit of a pain in the arse tae get tae 'em. So, we grow mostae what we need," he chuckled and concluded, "until some blood drinker drops by tae sup."

"You make it sound so much more exotic than, 'guy who pukes if he eats too many greens'."

Caird snickered, "I tried tae tell all the wee ones that ye were a vampire, but Fenny put a stop tae it."

Alder snorted. "Party pooper."

They reached the vestibule at the end and Caird slipped his coat back on. With a rush of frigid air, they were out on a flagstone patio that narrowed to a stone path and wended across the lawn to a one-bedroom house that could have just fit inside Alder's cabin. Snow had been cleared from the stones and formed two curbs along the sides of the path. Warm light from the windows painted the snow close to the cottage gold, a stark contrast to the silver-blue of the moonlight..

"Nice," the puma whispered.

"Beats lying in a barn, eh?"

"Yeah, but... Sir, I'm not sure I warrant the trouble y'all are going through on my account."

Bothain Caird grunted as he opened the door and flicked on the lights. He waved Alder into the cottage's kitchen. With a curt "Sit" the old rabbit pointed at the small table against the wall. As the guest took one of the two chairs, his host rummaged about in the cupboards, grumbling.

"Why the fuck are things ne'er in the same place from one time to the next?" Caird bitched, moving to another set of doors. "Ah, there's them and...oho...foond ye!"

He turned, holding two small glasses and an unlabeled bottle, half full of a liquid whose weak yellow-amber caught the light and seemed to faintly fluoresce. The glasses landed on their thick bases with a pair of satisfying thwocks. Caird squeaked the cork out of the bottle and poured each glass one-third full. The strength of the alcohol was evident to Alder's nose, even from an arm's length away. The rabbit re-corked the bottle and returned it to it's home. With a soft sigh, he eased into the chair across from Alder.

"We'll let them breathe a bit, lad. Listen," he said as he rested his elbows on the table and folded his ears back. "First, ye warrant it. Ye're takin' good care o' mah girl, and there's few outside the family who've fuckin' done that. She's happier than I've seen her in a lang while. If ye can keep that up, it'd be a weight off mah heid and a pawful o' grey hairs I can delay for another year or two. Second, the very fact that ye warrant it means that it's nae trouble. Third, and last, it's no just for yersel but Kitty as well. After all she's been put through and all she's put herself through, she deserves this."

Alder nodded. "Thank you." There was more he wanted to say, but his head wouldn't fit the words together.

Caird frowned. "Always with the fuckin' machinery...grindin' away in yer heid." Then he gave a mischievous snicker and said, "Well, we have ways of slowin' it doon. It's had time enough." He waved his paw toward Alder's drink

Alder reached for the glass to which the rabbit had gestured. Lifting it to his muzzle, he took in the scent and let the warmth rise through his nose. He hummed softly in appreciation. It bit at his nostrils like smoke off of piñon logs, warm but soft. There were nostalgic undertones to the smell that he couldn't place. He smiled and gestured toward his host with the raised glass.

"Salud."

With a nod and a smirk, the old rabbit reciprocated the gesture and they drank. The liquid felt like summer sun breaking through an afternoon thunderhead. The bright heat of it pooled in his stomach and quickly spread as a dull heaviness in his limbs.

Alder whistled and quipped, "Shit! That stuff doesn't mess around." He stretched and wiggled his fingers.

Caird collected the glassed and washed them at the little sink. Drying and returning them to the shelf, he said, "Aye. Legally, it isnae one that we can sell. Bit heavy. It's something we make in small batches and keep aroond for folks who have difficulty sleeping. I expect ye'll be ooo--" a yawn broke out "--oot in no time. Though, if I want tae sleep in mah bed instead o' the snaw, I should bugger off back tae the hoose." He pointed at the doorway from the kitchen to the rest of the cottage. "Through there's the lounge. Tae the left is the bedroom and the rest. If ye get lost, I cannae help ye. Sleep well, son. I'll send Kitty tae wake ye in the morn's morn."

"Good night, Bothain. Thanks again for your hospitality."

He watched the old rabbit walk back to the house and wobble up the steps that curved down from the terrace outside the greenhouse. Seeing that his host made it inside without taking an unexpected nap in the snow, the puma switched off the kitchen lights and made his way through the cottage. Through the door from the kitchen, there was a cozy lounge with a coffee table, a small couch, and a couple of chairs. At the side of the room, French doors accessed a small patio. Opposite the French doors was a hallway that lead to the toilet, washroom, and bedroom.

After relieving himself and washing up, Alder walked into the bedroom and saw why he was sleeping alone. The bed was about big enough for one and a half people or, perhaps, one overweight visiting businessman. He found the mattress to be comfortable, though, when he sat down on the edge to undress. A glance showed him that his luggage was neatly stacked against the wall. He pondered changing into pajamas, but the warmth in the cottage and thickness of the covers discouraged him. Fishing out his laundry bag, he stuffed his day clothes inside. He then strolled to the thermostat on the wall and turned it down several degrees. Across the room, he opened the window a crack to let in the cold, pine scented air.

Standing nude at the window in the dark room, he shook his head at himself. Whistling an old tune, he rifled through the laundry bag and retrieved his wallet and phone. These he placed on the nightstand. The phone had enough charge to last the night, so he didn't bother with plugging it in. It danced across the wood as he slipped under the covers. The screen announced an incoming call from Cat's mobile phone.

"Hey, bun," he grinned when he answered.

Her bright laugh was muted, trying to keep from bothering the family members whose bedrooms adjoined hers. "Woo! Ye soond a bit drifty there, tree."

"Yeah, your pa treated me to a...uh...sleep aid. A very effective one."

"Well, it'll be a challenge getting you up in the morning."

"I dunno...may find me up already," he chuckled.

"Mmm," she hummed, "ye promise? It's gonnae be odd sleepin' withoot ye rumbling the bed."

"Yep. It'll be weird not havin' your ears tickling my nose."

She giggled. "Ye git. At least I'll no huvtae worry aboot waking up tae find ye sucking on them in yer sleep."

"Aw, hey now! That was one time, and I seem to recall your reaction being pretty positive."

Cat yawned and said, "Mmm, well...mibbe it felt nice." She yawned again. "Arite, tree. I miss yer rumbly arse, but we need rest. Sleep well."

"You sleep well, too. Night, bun."

"G'nicht."

Replacing the phone on the nightstand, the puma rolled over with a smile and fell quickly asleep.

***

"Mommy!" called a small, coughing voice in the dark.

The echoes had it coming from every direction at once. Alder turned to his nearest teammate to see if he could tell the direction of the cries. No sign of him. What the fuck? The puma twisted, trying to locate the other members of his party. No sign of them either. He held still, straining and swiveling his ears for any sign of them, but the child's voice was the only living sound amid the clatter in the maze of collapsed concrete and steel.

"Damn it," he breathed, scrabbling through a narrow gap between a slanting floor and the tumbled ceiling supports. Grunting, he called out, "I'm comin', kid!"

It felt as if it took hours to get closer to the weak voice. When the light of his headlamp pierced an open space before him, he could see dark stains upon a dusty carpet. A fat human lay face down, separated from her lower half by a meter of bloody, debris-filled space. Throughout the cavity in the rubble, Alder could see paws, hands, and feet protruding from odd spaces at odder angles. Still, the voice persisted.

"Mommyyyyy--" The voice broke off in a choking wail.

Alder slid down the rubble and clambered to his feet, searching the ground. He followed the coughing to a small corner where a pair of green voxiped shoes poked out from beneath a large desk.

Weird.

He recognized the scene as one he had seen before, but nothing was right. The fat lady had been whole. Killed by a blow to the head by a block of concrete and eight inches of reinforcing bar. The room wasn't right, his team was missing, none of the kids had been alive.

Just the same old nightmare. That's all.

But, somehow the smells and sounds were too real to let him believe it enough to pull out of the dream. The scent of blood was thick on the air and the dust stuck in his nose and mouth.

He approached the desk on all fours, calling out to the kid. He could see the tail now, grey and black with a dusty white tip. The kitten, of course. Knowing what would come didn't make it easier. How many times had he repeated this? He could feel the tears building in the corners of his eyes and stinging his nose. The headlamp fell on her fully, showing her torn clothes, her tiny paws, and the blood on her head and face. The bright blue, smiling eyes that he had seen on her ID were dull and distant.

"Mommy?" she coughed.

"No, hon, but I'm here to help you out and get you to her. Okay?"

She nodded meekly. "It hurts. I need Mommy."

"I know, sweetheart. I'm gonna get you out and we're gonna find her. How does that sound?"

He gently took her in his arms and started to lift her. She screamed at the touch and sudden movement, and her claws sank into his arm. Growling he held her tight, unwilling to let her go.

"I've got ya, honey. It'll be all right," he lied, knowing it was a lie from the countless times he had told it to her ghost in other dreams, but hoping it might not be this time.

Just let it be true once, goddamn it! Just once, even if it's only in a dream, let me get her out alive. Let her mom be ok. Let them hold each other and laugh and--

The puma lurched from one shaky foothold to another and continued to struggle up the slope from the destroyed daycare. He moved as carefully as he could, trying not to jostle the kitten where he could avoid it. Like a scratched record, she repeated her plaintive calls for her mother.

"Why the hell is it taking so much longer to get out?" Alder snarled, nearly collapsing against the rubble.

The climb out must have already taken twice as long as the climb down. He looked around, panting, only to find that he was no less surrounded by debris than before. He cradled the kitten's head and begged her to stay awake. Setting his jaw, he continued to plod. His arms ached from holding the same position for so long and the pads of his feet hurt with every step.

The puma couldn't identify exactly when the surroundings changed. The angular landscape of steel and manufactured stone was suddenly smoother and more natural. Every surface was wet and the air stank of mildew and rot. His throbbing feet landed in occasional rivulets of cold water, adding the slap of wet paws to the constant sound of more water dripping into the cave through invisible cracks in the ceiling. When had he lost his boots?

It didn't matter. Daylight shone through an opening ahead. The kitten felt so heavy in his arms, it became almost impossible to continue. Through the fatigue and the pain he pushed on, finally bursting into the dappled light.

It wasn't Newcastle. The scent of pine and aspen filled the air. All around, tall trees stretched into the sky, hoisting limb after limb of green quills into the cloudless blue. He turned to the mouth of the cave that he had just come out of. It was one that he used to explore as a cub himself, until his mother forbade it.

Why was it that she did that again?

What was the dream doing this time? How did he come to be thousands of miles from the quake zone holding this strangely large, heavy child in his arms? He realized suddenly that it wasn't her that had increased in size, it was he who had shrunk. His paws were all out of proportion to his limbs, big and clumsy. The fur on his arms was rougher and spotted. The trees towered over them both, the way they had long ago, brooding and watchful.

What the hell?

The wonder dissipated with the realization that the kitten hadn't moved or spoken, even to squeak in pain, for some time. He looked down at the tiny face, blue eyes rolled upward to stare into her loose eyelids.

"Ah, shit... No..." he chirped in a high voice he hadn't heard in years.

His knees sank into the dried needles of the slope. She was a rag doll in his arms. Resting her on the ground, he took one of his paws and checked for a pulse. Nothing. Not a breath or beat stirred inside the little, furry thing.

She is dusty. That won't do. She can't go off to meet her mom all covered in plaster and whatever else.

He reached up and closed her eyes, sealing away the blue that had lost all of its luster. Delicate brushes of his pads on her muzzle cleared the grey dust away from the creamy fur beneath her nose and exposed dark lines at either corner.

He frowned and his ears slowly folded back. That wasn't right. He brushed at her forehead and the little rosettes faded, eventually exposing dots over her eyes and tawny fur that matched his own, with the exception of the arrangement of her little brown spots. Her ears gave up their dark grey for black with white circles.

"No," he whispered. "No, no, no, this isn't right." He clenched his eyes tight and shouted, his tiny voice echoing off of the rocks and trees, "It's not right! This didn't happen!"

He shifted her carefully and brushed at every visible bit of fur with shaking paws. Once the dust was knocked away, her scent came through and there could be no doubt. Before him rested a young puma. But, there was only one puma cub with that scent and that arrangement of spots.

"Mim," he mewled thickly through the tears, "...why?"

He looked around him for any form of help that could come. But there was nothing. The trees were gone; he sat on the rubble once more and watched the red sun fall toward the horizon. The puma looked at his paws--his adult paws--and found the body of his sister gone, as well. Instead, there was the shapeless stuffed thing. He ran his fingers over the battered fabric in a motion that had become largely unconscious with long repetition. The passes of his finger pads over the plush surface were rolling off small bits of fluff. Beneath the molting polyester was true fur. Black. His paws trembled as the last of the fluff tumbled to his feet, revealing a tiny, lifeless, black rabbit.

He sat up, shaking in bed and cried out, "Cat, no!"

His chest heaved with panting breaths and his heart thundered. A scent of blood still lingered and he felt nauseous. He pulled up his knees and hugged them with his arms, resting his wet face on the bald patches that were only starting to grow back after his time crawling through the wreckage of Newcastle. He wept as quietly as he could. The kitten was something that had haunted his dreams since the day he'd found her. This was the second time in two nights that his mind had shoehorned Cataría being hurt into some part of the dream and the first time it had managed to work in his sister as well.

Gathering himself, he looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings. It took a moment to get reoriented. The clean, austere room belonged to the Caird guest cottage. He shook his head to clear his mind. The weird surroundings didn't help settle his unease. After a week of sleeping next to his new companion, it was bizarre just to be alone in a bed; to be alone at all. He checked the time on his phone.

Two in the morning. fabulous.

Bare foot pads met soft carpet as he twisted off of the bed. He stumbled groggily to the washroom in his boxers, drank some water, and splashed his face from the cold tap a couple of times. Feeling more awake, he dried off and continued through the dark, quiet house to the lounge and padded through the French doors to the patio.

The air was cold, probably thirty-three degrees Fahrenheit or so, and the night sky was clear with the exception of wispy cirrus clouds that caught light from somewhere and seemed to twist and stretch at the mercy of some strong high level wind. There was an easy four to six inches of snow on the ground. Closer to the main house, the snow cover had been stamped down or rolled into snow creatures by the younger Caird children, but the guest cottage grounds had been largely untouched. Only the cleared path marred the glowing white sheet, but it was around the corner of the cottage. For fifty yards or so, the white lawn stretched away before it dissolved into the dark latticework of the pine forest.

Alder stood in the snow of the patio. The chill in the breeze was a tonic to the mountain lion. With the smell of pine, it reminded him of the mountain forests back home. His bare pads were thick and hardly felt the bite of the snow. The dense fur on his body kept the worst of the air at bay as well. He barely even felt the icy touch of the metal patio chair as he settled down to stare into the sky.

A satellite flared with reflected sunlight as it skated through the froth of celestial pinpricks, slicing across a starscape unpolluted by city lights. The sound of footsteps on the path drew his attention back to the ground. His ears swiveled toward the sound first, followed by the rest of his head. Halfway between the main house and the cottage walked a ghostly white figure.

Fenella Caird, barely taller than Cat, but heavier set and with much shorter ears, stepped from the path and into the snow, cutting toward the patio on the side of the cottage. The dewlap beneath her chin was voluminous, surpassing mere suggestion of a fur collar and drifting dangerously close to parody. In truth, she wore little; a sheer nightgown of a teal so subtle that it seemed white until she drew nearer. The style had been adopted from human garments, whose intention was subtle revelation. For a fur-covered creature, there wasn't much to reveal; it served instead as a symbolic barrier of modesty. Although faint, the starlight gave the eerie suggestion of an inner fire to the glacial blue of her eyes. In each paw she carried a cup that swirled and steamed in the frigid air.

When she was a bit closer, he sat up straight and nodded with a polite, "Good evening, ma'am."

"It is," she smiled, with a hint of a question mark that could have just been his imagination.

"What's got you out in the cold, Mrs. Caird?"

She laughed; it was the same beautiful laugh as Cat's. "I could ask ye the same, Mr. Matsubayashi." Seeing his mouth open to dispute the name, she flashed a wry grin and preemptively retorted, "If you'll no have me use yer surname, Alder, I'll kindly ask ye tae pay me the same respect. We've got two Mrs. Cairds here at the moment and more that may show up before ye've gone; we don't need all of 'em snappin' 'roond every time you want tae ask me something. If Fenella doesn't feel right, call me Fenny."

"All right. Fenella it is," he said. "I dunno; 'Fenny' just feels a bit too...familiar."

"Says the guy sitting bare-arsed under the stars in front of his girlfriend's mother." There was that laugh again, warm and oddly comforting. "Here, I brought ye some tea with a nip of something sweet."

The puma crossed his legs to somewhat cover his modesty. Taking the warm cup, he thanked her. Before he brought it to his muzzle, his nose picked up the "something sweet" to which she had referred. He sipped at the cup, savoring the aromatic tea and the muted flavor of a surprisingly good bourbon. It worked so much better with the bitterness than another whiskey would have.

"Tae answer yer question, I cannae sleep. I get restless like that in winter. My ancestors used tae say that the mirrie dancers called tae us, temptin' us tae run off and go back tae being creatures of the wild. Winter nights like this, the mood strikes and I need tae feel the cold on my fur. Bothain doesnae huv it; a few of the children dae. Malmuira used tae wander aff in her sleep in the winter. We'd find her curled up against the bottom of the front or back door. I guess it's somethin' in the blood. My kin harken back tae a wilder breed than his."

Alder watched her sip and stare up into the sky. He muttered, "Yeah, I know the feeling. Mim doesn't seem to get it; but there are times when old blood rises in me, too. Every now and then, Mom would wake to find me draped over the branches of the little tree in our backyard, asleep. She fetch me in and stuff me back in bed, tutting and singing some old lullaby from Japan.

"The draw is always there, just stronger at times. It'd be so easy to drop it all and slip into the woods. I guess it's just a matter of making sure you have something worth holding onto in the civilized world...or worth letting hold on to you."

"Oh, aye," she huffed, blowing curling wisps of vapor toward the stars.

The puma shifted in his seat, feeling the melting snow under him starting to absorb into he fur of his rump, and asked, "Mirrie dancers?"

Holding her cup to her lips, she pointed up at the sky. He followed the matching lines of her finger and her gaze into the stars. There wavered the northern lights, brighter now than when he had at first mistaken them for high clouds. He'd seen them a handful of times in Minnesota and Montana, and during his brief visit to the park in Alaska, he had seen the lights in the fullest of their glory. Sitting beside the white rabbit, he watched as the curtains of charged particles ebbed and swelled.

"Imagine," Fenella whispered, "mah surprise, staunin' at the rail of the back terrace to see them, when I hear some poor soul wailing in distress from the cottage here."

Alder shifted uncomfortably.

"What happened, lad?"

"Nothing, really," he whispered. "Just a bad dream."

"Come noo, ye stubborn cunt," she scolded. "We had an agreement; no invasion, and I'm keepin' it. But when I hear the name of mah child shouted frae yer nightmares, it's no exactly like I huvtae pry, is it? Somethin's eatin' ye. If you dinnae shift it from yer heid, it'll fester in there and the nightmares will only be worse. I widnae have mah child waking in your bed with these."

Her paw lifted his forearm and turned it in the dim light of the stars. Four small holes weeped blood into the fur of his arm. He stared at them in surprise. A glance at his opposite paw and a quick extension of the claws explained the holes; the tips on each were stained. The puma shuddered and whispered a curse.

"Ma'am, do you mind if we go inside? I should clean these. I hadn't noticed them until you pointed them out."

She nodded and they went inside. Alder washed the blood from his fur and retrieved some disinfectant solution from the little first aid kit that he kept in his luggage. He returned with a bath towel to protect the sofa from his damp hindquarters. Hunched over the coffee table in the brighter light of the lounge, across from Fenella, he applied the disinfectant to his wounds, parting the fur around each and making certain that they did not show signs of contamination; one could never be too careful with claw wounds. At least they weren't deep enough or bleeding enough to justify bandages. He could do without having to explain the wounds to anyone else. Finished, he returned the disinfectant to his first aid kit, threw on a shirt and pants, and returned to Fenella in the sitting room.

He eased down onto the seat with a self-conscious groan and said, "I usually keep them duller than that. I should file them down in the morning."

"That dream was bad enough that ye hurt yersel and were so preoccupied that ye didn't realize it. What was it?" she said, pulling him gently back to the topic she began outside.

Alder leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, and laid it out from beginning to end. He explained the significance of the spotted kitten and her stuffed toy. He related the history of the cave and how he and his sister would play in it before their mother demanded that they never go back. The puma shook his head at that. He still couldn't remember why.

Finally, he described unveiling the tiny rabbit, which he had somehow know to be Cat. Near the end, reliving the ending of the dream and the moments before he awoke, his eyes burned again and his voice grew thick.

Finished, he stared at the dried blood in the grooves of his claws and whispered, "I don't want that...this either. For her to be hurt, I mean. She's hurt so much already."

"Ye poor kitten," she cooed to him when he finished. "Yer heid is stuffed so full of guilt ye didnae earn and grief ye've no addressed. That post-traumatic distress ye have from yer experience in Australia is causin' yer subconscious tae weave in the love ye feel for yer sister and Kitty with the grief and compassion ye felt for that poor wean tae gie ye context for the feelings of loss ye huvnae sorted oot. Not just for the child, but for yer mum as well.

"Ye've go'tae talk with someone about what's eatin' ye. And find oot what happened with the cave. There's something deeper that yer mind is trying tae tell ye there." She smiled softly but her eyes were briefly distant.

The puma blinked at her in surprise and his ears twitched.

She just continued smiling and sipped her tea, adding with a cocked eyebrow, "I was a psychiatrist back before the hoose was flooded with kids. When ye find yerself home, promise me you'll see someone aboot the trauma. For yer sake and for Kitty's."

"I'll do that, Fenella. Thank you."

"Good," she said, though her face seemed preoccupied.

"Something else is bothering you," the puma noted.

The rabbit sighed. "Somethin', aye. Fuck knows what."

"Maybe it's just fatigue?"

"Aye, could be. I should be back tae bed and so should ye, or Kitty won't be able tae shift ye in the morning. G'night, Alder."

"You, too," he said, standing to walk her to the door.

When he had seen her out and watched her return to the house, the cat yawned and wandered back to the bedroom. Not bothering to get out of his clothes, Alder flopped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling until sleep once more took him.

***

Where in hell?

Cataría's eyes took in her surroundings with no small amount of confusion. It had been ages since she had slept in her old room, hadn't it? Oddly, it felt as if she had been in class just yesterday, talking with friends and fretting over tests.

No, she thought, shaking her head, I'm bigger than this wee bed and I've more under my chin than a child ocht.

No, of course she had grown and moved out. The posters and bric-a-brac from her childhood and adolescence had merely remained untouched from the time before she left. Each Caird child to move out was responsible for moving their own things out to their new abode. The flat! That's right. She was staying at home, waiting for her flat to be available. She'd move all of her shite when...no...

"I did, though," she muttered aloud. "I got the flat and moved all of this intae it. I remember havin' to roll up all of these fuckin' posters and drag that bastard of a dresser up the stairs by mysel, because the lads were all in school or at work and Paul was fuck knows where."

Blinking from the bed, she focused harder. No, things weren't quite where they had been. There, at the edge of a Sex Pistols poster, a slim triangle of clean paint peeked out. The posters had been removed and then hung again. More telltale marks showed by the glossy sheets depicting other bands and various wildlife: elephants and gazelle in the golden grasses of Africa, brown bears and deer in the forests of North America, and an old print of a American painting.

What? When did I get that?

The painting was one of those tired, ubiquitous Old West images with a dusty color palette of browns, greys, reds, and yellows. A cowboy was frozen in midair, flung from his saddle by the violent rearing of his horse. The horse, whose face looked eerily similar to Paul's, stood on one hind leg, leaning precariously to the side in a desperate attempt to escape death. Its wide, terrified eyes were fixed on its attacker, a slender mountain lion that descended upon the pair from a rocky overhang. Swollen teats depended from the creamy fur of her belly.

A horse's panicked scream filled the air and the room around her dissolved into a monochromatic landscape of weathered sandstone. Heavy scents of sweat and fear were sharp on the air. The action played out before her eyes, as the pouncing cat landed against the side of her tilting prey. Claws dug into horseflesh at the neck and withers. Long, cruel fangs sank into the tight muscles at the base of the horse's skull and the pair collapsed to the ground. The massive feline growled, holding fast to the twitching beast beneath her. Its spine pierced, the horse shrieked with its last remaining breath.

It was a harrowing thing to watch. It its last throes, the horse's hooves pawed uselessly at the dirt and its chest heaved. So absorbed was she in the grisly dance, that she missed the limping approach of the thrown rider. He stopped by the tangled creatures and took aim with is sidearm. Cataría gasped and tried to call out, but found herself voiceless. The muzzle of the revolver flashed and the side of the big cat's head opened with a dramatic splash of red. Seconds later, the report washed over her, chilling her to her bones. Her ears folded hard against her back, her eyes and nose clamped shut, and she shrank into herself. When she looked again, the rider was cursing as he removed his saddle bags and a rifle from the body of his mount, nudging aside the slumped puma with his boot. His grumbling faded as he shuffled away.

When he was out of sight and earshot, she bolted from the bush where she had sheltered. Four grey legs blurred beneath her as she ran to the hulking forms of the dead animals. They loomed over her where she perched upright on her haunches, sniffing. The bullet that had passed through the puma's skull had continued on through the horse's neck and throat. The dry ground drank swallowed every hot drop of his exsanguination. Both were unquestionably dead; or so she thought. To her surprise, one of the puma's eyes opened, glassy and distant. Her bloodied lips moved.

"Mi...mi...im...al.... Mima..." she rasped, her last rattling breath barely audible over the desert wind. A tear ran from the corner of the open eye. "...daa..."

With a shudder, the huge cat was silent. Cataría's ears twitched at new sounds: shuffling and mewling. They came from over the outcrop of stone. Wending her way around the rock and up a steep slope, the rabbit found the source of the noises. Two starving puma cubs, their spotted fur puffed in fear, huddled together in the meager shade of a twisted shrub. A male and a female, they made plaintive, futile calls and waited for the return of their mother.

Looking down on the bush, she was herself again. Her black-furred paws stretched out to the pair and she spoke softly, calling them to her. The cubs shrank away from her, deeper under the parched branches. She kneeled, tying to get closer, despite their hissing and spitting. There was a crunch behind her of stone grinding beneath a boot. Turning, she stared into the barrel of a revolver. Against the pale blue sky towered the silhouette of the rider, his hatless head haloed by the midday sun. His finger tensed against the trigger and the hammer descended on the chamber with agonizing slowness. A sharp clack sounded and bright light swelled around the cylinder.

Sitting up in bed, the rabbit clutched at her pounding chest. Tears soaked the corners of her eyes and rolled down the fur of her cheeks. Her breath came in ragged gasps as her vision focused on the bare walls of the room and the stunned face of a young black rabbit whose paw still gripped the switch of the bedside lamp.

"Mal?" she whispered hoarsely. "What is it?"

Malmuira took her paw from the lamp and clasped it around her other paw in front of her. "It's mornin', Kitty. Mum asked me tae come wake ye. I knocked and called tae ye a few times, but ye didnae respond. Are ye arite?"

The older rabbit rubbed her face with her paws and shook her head to clear the lingering traces of dream. She took a deep breath and let it out. Smiling at her sister, she assured Mal that she was fine.

"Just a bad dream."

"Ye sure?" Mal asked, concerned. "Ye're still shakin'."

Cat nodded. "Aye. I was aboot tae be shot in the heid."

Her sister grimaced. Spreading her arms, she offered, "Need a hug?"

Cat chuckled and patted the bed. "C'mon then!"

The little bunny leaped up onto the mattress and wrapped her big sister in a warm embrace that was immediately returned.

"Only been away couple years'n yer sae damn big! Once was a time I had tae sortae shuffle roond the place w'ye hingin aff me all day. If ye did it noo ye'd break mah back!"

Mal giggled, "Ah'm no that big. I didnae break yer pal yesterday."

Cat laughed and leaned back to look Mal in the eyes and chided, "Yer lucky he can take a lickin'."

"Heech!" the bunny grunted, screwing up her face. "I thought Donna said that ye said that he said he didnae like that sorta thing."

Cat sat with her mouth gaping for a moment, then cuffed her sister softly on the nose.

"Malmuira Caird, ye cheeky wee thing! I ochtae stuff yer lugs intae themsels and soap yer tongue. Aren't ye a bit young yet for that sort of carry on? And what the hell possessed Donna to talk about it with ye?"

Mal giggled and shook her head. "I'm no a wean anymore. I cannae help what thoughts come tae me or when, Kitty. Dinnae blame Donna, though. T'weren't her tellin' me; I caught it by-hands like when her an' Molly were talkin' last week."

"Well, there's nothin' I can dae aboot ye growin' up or hearin' shite in passing," Cat huffed. "If ye have questions, ye need only ask. I'm always here for ye. Better'n ye hearing it from that coo Molly."

Her little sister shifted to sit at the edge of the mattress and dangled her feet off for a moment. She looked sidelong at the older rabbit and opened her mouth as if to say something. Before the words could form, the insides of her ears went crimson and she folded them down against her back. With a hop, she was on the floor and her countenance was once more that of a carefree kit.

"Maybe some other time. Thanks, Kitty!" she said as she turned to go. At the door she turned and added, "Oh! Breakfast is ready. Mum made bannocks and porridge oats, and Abby fixed sausage and bacon fer her and yer pal...if he's not tired of eating after ye wake him up!"

She cackled and dashed out the door, narrowly missing a pillow thrown from the bed. Cataría smiled as she stood and stretched. She'd missed the kid. Hell, she'd missed the lot. Although they had all kept in contact during her absence--something which she insisted upon once she escaped from her hermitic existence, during and after the abusive relationship with that cunt, Paul--it wasn't the same as being in the room with them.

A yawn pulled her back out of her thoughts and she scratched her side on the way to her wardrobe, into which she had unpacked her luggage before going to bed. She stared for a moment, searching for her flannel housecoat.

Odd, she mused. Mustae gone intae one of his bags.

She shrugged and donned a thick hooded top over the t-shirt she slept in. Kicking her thin shorts off, she slipped on a pair of sweatpants and buttoned the waistband over the base of her tail. It was great growing up in such a large house, but heating the big fucker was a challenge. The bedrooms were managed by individual heaters, each with its own thermostat; however, the corridors tended to be a bit cold in the winter. The communal spaces were also heated, but their large size and high ceilings meant that the warm air usually pooled above most of their heads.

The black rabbit padded out of her room and into the chilly corridor. She ducked into the toilet to relieve herself and took a moment to splash water over her face while washing her paws. Sìlas nearly collided with her when she stepped out.

"Sorry, Mols," they grumbled, blinking their bleary, mismatched eyes.

Cat snickered. "Try again, Yin-Yang."

That snapped the two-tone bunny's eyes open. "Kitty! Fuck...sorry aboot that. Saw black and figured ye was Molly. But..." Sìlas trailed off, frowning in thought.

"But?"

"Nae bother. Probably just a dream. Thought I saw ye nippin' oot back to wake Alder while I was sittin' in bed, tryin' tae convince mysel tae get up. Had that ratty, green tartan hoosecoat ye used tae wear an' aw."

"Aye, had tae be a dream then. I've had two new ones since then. The one I packed isnae in the room, anyway. Mibbe mixed in wi' Alder's things." She didn't mention that it, too was a green tartan.

"Fair enough," Sìlas yawned. "Well, I'm aff fer a piss. See ye doonstairs."

"Aye," Cat said.

Walking down the stairs, her mind was occupied with her sibling's words. Her robe was probably in her partner's luggage. Sìlas definitely was half asleep. But uncertainty still tickled at the corner of her mind.

Nearly everyone was down in the dining room or standing in the kitchen. The nagging voice in Cat's head quieted under the familiar exchange of 'good mornings' with her family. She had missed that, too. There were two clusters of Cairds in the kitchen: a large one around the kettle and a smaller one around a coffee pot. Abigail wiggled her fingers at Cat when the latter entered the kitchen, her mouth busy sipping from a plain, blue mug.

"Mornin', Ab. Coffee insteid o' tea?"

"Aye," smiled the woman, a faint blush reddening her ears and coloring her cheeks. "Sleep came late tae us last night and waking is taking it time."

As Cataría reached into the cupboard for a pair of mugs, she caught the strong scent of Abigail's shampoo and noted that her sister-in-law's orange hair was still damp. That, too, was different. She usually didn't bother with the shower until after breakfast. Frank liked to joke that his wife was such a vigorous eater that she had to have the shower afterward just to get the food off.

"Did it...aye," Cat snorted. "Was sleep the only thing that came late?"

Abigail choked on her coffee and set the mug down on the counter, to avoid dropping it. "Kitty, for fuck's sake!" she sputtered between coughs that bore an edge of laughter.

Fenella Caird handed a napkin to her daughter-in-law with a wink and said, "Yer secret's safe with us, love."

Abigail's face went a proper red as she dabbed at the coffee on her chin and pajamas.

They watched as David passed from the kitchen to the dining room and called out to his brother, "Nice work last night, Frankie! I actually had tae take doon mah trophies tae stop'em falling aff the shelves."

Sighing, Fenella glanced back at the aghast woman and shrugged. Cat snickered and patted her sister-in-law on the shoulder. Then she placed the mugs on the counter and filled both with coffee, leaving a little room in hers for sugar and cream. After fixing hers the way that she liked it, she lifted both mugs and turned for the dining room to make her way to the door out onto the terrace.

"Headit oot tae wake yer wee cheetie-pussie-cattie?" Bothain Caird chuckled, walking in with an empty bowl.

"Mornin', Dad. Aye, I figured we cannae let him sleep all day. Hope he isn't much trouble after yer wee nightcap."

He laughed heartily, rinsing his bowl and placing it into the dishwasher. As he dried his paws, he replied, "Told ye about that, did he? It may be rough rousing' him, but I dinnae take all the blame. Yer mum says he was awake in the middle of the night, when the silly hen was oot fer one of her frost walks and she gave him something to settle back doon."

Fenella nodded and added, "Nasty dream, love. I urged the poor bugger tae talk aboot it. A few trips tae a professional wid dae ye both guid after some of the things that have happened, but ye'll huvtae suffice for each other for the noo."

Cat nodded her thanks to them and set off for the main hall. She set the mugs on a narrow table against the wall and nipped into the anteroom for her coat and boots. As she shrugged into her coat, she paused.

Something's aff, she thought.

What was it? Nothing seemed out of place. The coats and rain jackets lined the pegs like normal. Rows of boots and shoes sat just as they had the night before. Why couldn't she shake the feeling? She sucked air her teeth when she finally realized that Molly's boots were gone, even though her jacket was still hanging there. She remembered Sìlas' words in the upstairs corridor and unsettling rumors she had heard from her other sisters.

"Ye little bitch," she growled, jerking the coat closed around her. She stuffed her feet into her boots and tied the laces roughly. "Figured I didnae see the way ye looked at 'im. Takin' mah robe and sneakin' oot with mah scent all over ye," she hissed as the laces creaked under the pressure of the last knot. "A'ways wantin' tae play wi' ither people's bloody toys, e'er since ye was a wean..."

She continued grumbling under her breath as she stormed back through the main hall, breezing past the cups on the table and headed straight for the back door. Her two-toned sibling was coming down the stairs as she whisked through the hall. Cat's fury was clear from the set of her jaw and the angle of her ears.

"Kitty? What's up?"

"It wasnae me ye saw headit tae the cottage, Sìl," she called without halting. "But ye did see someone with black fur and my bloody--" The rest was lost with the slamming of the door