I wondered if I should lock the outer door for them, then decided that would be an oafish act. If Lord Golden wanted it locked, he would do it. “Good night,” I repeated, trying to sound sleepy and riot awkward. I took a candle and went to my own chamber, shutting the connecting door gently behind me. I undressed and got into bed, refusing to let my mind wander beyond that closed door. I felt no envy, I told myself, only the sharper bite of my loneliness in contrast to what they might be sharing. I told myself I was selfish. The Fool had endured years of loneliness and isolation. Would I begrudge him the gentle touch of a woman's hand now that he was Lord Golden?
Nighteyes? I floated the thought, light as a dry leaf on the wind.
The brush of his mind against mine was a comfort. I sensed oak trees and fresh wind blowing past his fur. I was not alone. Sleep, little brother. I hunt our prey, but think nothing new will we leam until dawn.
He was wrong.
The Tawny Man 2 - Golden Fool
The Tawny Man 2 - Golden Fool
The Tawny Man 1 - Fools Errand
Chapter XVII
THE HUNT
Among the Old Blood, there are teaching tales that are intended as, guides for the very young. They are simple stories that instruct a child in virtues by tetting of the animals that exemplify an admirable quality- Those not of Old Blood might be surprised to hear the Wolf praised for his dedication to his family, or the Mouse for her wisdom in providing for the cold winter months ahead. The Gander who keeps watch while the rest of the flock feeds is praised for his unselfishness and the Porcupine for his forbearance in only injuring those who attack him first. The Cat's attribute is independence. A tale is told of a woman who seeks to bond with a cat. The cat offers to try her companionship for a day or two, if the woman will seek to perform well the tasks given her. The tale relates the duties the cat tries the woman at, stroking her fur, amusing her with string, fetching her cream, and so on. The woman complies cheerfully with each request and does each one well. At the end of that time, the Wilted woman again proposes that they bond, for she felt they were obviously well suited to one another. The cat refuses, saying, “Ifl bonded with you, you would be the poorer, for you would lose that which you love best about me, for it is that I do not need you, yet I tolerate your company.” It is, the Old Blood say, a cautionary fable, meant to warn a child not to seek a bondbeast who cannot take as much from the relationship as it gives.
. badgerlock's “old blood tales”
Let me just see you.
You have. I have shown myself to you. Stop nagging me for that, and pay attention. You said you would learn this for me. You promised it to me. It is why I have brought you here, where there are no distractions. Be the cat.
It's too hard. Let me see you with my eyes. Please.
When you are ready. When you can be the cat as easily as you are yourself. Then you will be ready to know me.
She was ahead of me. I toiled up the hill behind her, every bush scratching me, every dip and every stone catching at my feet. My mouth was dry. The night was cool, but as I pushed my way through the brush, dust and pollen rose to choke me. Wait!
Prey does not wait. A cat does not cry out “wait” to the one she hunts. Be the cat.
For an instant, I almost caught a glimpse of her. Then the tall grass closed around her and she was gone. Nothing stirred, I heard no sound. I was no longer sure which way to go. The night was deep beneath the golden moon, the lights of Galeton lost behind me in the rolling hills. I took a breath, and then closed my mouth, resolving to breathe silently if it choked me. I moved forward, a single gliding step at a time. I did not push branches out of my way, but swayed around them. I eased through the grass, striving to part it with my stride rather than push through it. I eased my weight from one carefully set footstep to the next. What had she bade me? “Be the night. Not the wind that stirs the trees, not even the soundless owl a'Wing or the tiny mouse crouched motionless. Be the night that flows over all, touching without being felt. For night is a cat.” Very well, then. I was night, sleek and black and soundless. I halted under the sheltering branches of an oak. Its leaves were still. I opened my eyes as wide as they would go, striving to capture every bit of light I could. Slowly I turned my head. I flared my nostrils and then took in a deep silent breath through my mouth, trying to taste her on the air. Where was she, which way had she gone?
I felt a sudden weight, as if a brawny man had clapped both his hands to my shoulders and then sprung back from me. I spun around, but it was only Cat. She had dropped on me like a falling leaf, and then let herself drop to the ground. Now she crouched in the dry grass and ancient leaves under the tree. Belly to the ground, she looked up at me and then away. I crouched down beside her. “Which way, Cat? Which way did she go?”
