Rising Thoughts

"A tiger dancing./Russet fur reflects moonlight,/Darkness becomes amber." The mystic tapped her pen against the surface of the table. She stared at the small square of paper before her as if she expected the words that she had written to change themselves into those which would perfectly convey her love. "I need something more stirring to open," she muttered. An idea began to develop, but the clang of the oven alarm skillfully aborted it. "Seven Hells!" The white tigress rose swiftly from her wooden chair. "Must you ring now! I almost tasted the word that has eluded me!"

Talitha hastened through the swinging doors that opened onto the kitchen. She peered into the oven. Several dark loaves of tiger bread had sufficiently plumped and browned. The mystic terminated the heat by adjusting the oven control unit with her right hand, while using her left hand to reach for the red glove lying on the adjacent counter. The aroma of warmed cinnamon billowed into the kitchen as she removed the tray of bread, and placed it upon a cooling rack. Appraising her effort, she said with satisfaction, "Fit for a Thunderan lord." She added dryly, "I wish I could say the same about my poetry."

Talitha returned to the dining hall. Once seated, she reached across the table, and touched the ceramic teapot that a Tabbot artisan had decorated with images of marine life. "Ah, still hot. Nothing better to rouse creativity than Berbil tea." As she refilled her cup, she glanced up at the windows set high in the wall, and viewed the black sky. Plenty of time before dawn remains. I should have no problem finishing my poem for Tygra, she decided.

The coil of steam that rose from the cup dampened her nose as she sipped the fragrant tea. "A few quiet moments to myself, and maybe the inspiration will come." The mystic smiled at the irony hidden in her statement. Since her first joining with Tygra 30 suns past, she had accepted the fact that privacy no longer existed either for her or her lover. Who would have believed that a simple act of lovemaking could have resulted in our unique circumstance, she thought pensively. Although we both accepted the enhancement of our mystic abilities by the strange powers that visited us during our joining, little were we prepared for the sacrifice required. If only I could remember more than a few fleeting images of what transpired during the formation of our special bond...."

Talitha traced the image of an octopus that adorned her tea cup. The grasping tentacles of the sea creature alluded to the strength of the mind-link that had permanently bound her and Tygra after their first night of love. With the new day, the harsh reality of their condition had to be addressed. The sudden and complete opening of Tygra's mystic power had shocked his system even more than the creation of the mind-link. A number of annoying, but manageable, side-effects, that unpredictably ebbed and flowed in strength and duration, had plagued him, but not her. Although they had both wanted to spend the day in bed, alternately resting and lovemaking, she had finally convinced him that they needed to visit Meryt, and gain the counsel of one used to dealing with the supernatural. By the time she had succeeded in prying Tygra from her bed, and pointed him toward the control room, all of the other members of the household had deserted the Lair for the day. They had summoned Panthro and Lion-o by radio back from their field trip to the new thundrillium site. Lion-o had listened to their explanation of events with curiosity and embarrassment, but Panthro had been unhappy with the surprising results. Realizing, however, the necessity of Meryt's advice, the panther had agreed without argument to take them to her pyramid. Lion-o, not surprisingly, had decided to stay at the Lair.

Meryt had mysteriously anticipated their arrival, and had awaited them outside her stone fortress. Before they could speak, the priestess had declared solemnly, "Your bond cannot be safely undone, for your souls as well as your minds are now linked. Mystic ways will help you to adjust." Her advice given, the servant of Good had disappeared in a swirl of blue light.

The tigress complained in a tone that mimicked Tygra's resonant baritone, "We had essentially come to the same conclusions on our own, Talitha. We have wasted our day." She giggled at her poor imitation of the architect's protest. "You must admit, Tygra, that Meryt was correct," she said quietly before taking another sip of tea.

Setting her cup aside, the mystic stood then stretched. Baking and writing had tired her more than she had realized. She circled the long table as she swung her arms to relieve the stiffness in her muscles. Mystic practices had indeed solved their problem, she thought as she walked, but the work had been grueling. In the mornings, she had trained Tygra to handle his new level of sensitivity by helping him to develop a natural barrier to protect himself during healing. This he had achieved by means of repeated exercises of resistance against the painful vibrations that she had sent into him using mystic power.

They had worked together in the afternoons using a similar technique to create an individual barrier to filter out the presence of the constant mind-link each had to endure. They had achieved their goals rapidly, for survival instincts had helped to foster the acquisition of the conditioned reflex. The new personal shield, like its mystic equivalent, could be lowered by will or forced down by strong involuntary emotions or stimuli. They had initially confirmed their observation when they had discovered that she had become attuned to the Sword of Omens through Tygra, a fact she had found displeasing, but unavoidable.

The development of Tygra's barrier to their mind-link had facilitated the development of his mystic barrier. The unpleasant side-effects that had bothered him had vanished once his healer's protection had established itself. The architect had also learned by additional experiment that no tiring resistance remained to block the full expression of his mind gifts.

The day that Tygra effortlessly manifested that giant spider through illusion, why I thought that Panthro's fur would turn white with his fright, Talitha mused as she returned to her chair. The mystic looked again to the sky. Its color had changed from black to dark grey. "Name of the Goddess, I have wasted too much time!" She reached for her pen and the scrap of paper. "Now, Talitha, if you're going to write a love poem, think of love--not bread, not mind-links, not illusions!" she declared. "Let the love of first joining caress your poem."

But before the loving came the decision that I had too long delayed, Talitha thought. She drew a tiny flower on one corner of the page. What finally moved me forward? she wondered. Perhaps the answer to that question will give me a clue to the heart of this stubborn poem.

She lightly colored the petals of the blossom. It had been the aftermath of Mutant ambush that had set her final course. Tygra had suffered injury during the encounter with Slythe. The tiger's desire for her, as validated by his rejection of her healing after the attack, had proceeded to effect his functioning on all levels. In the end, she had chosen joining with Tygra over her own doubts for the benefit of the architect and the Lair.

Talitha laughed softly. "At least, mystic, that is what you thought at the time of your choice; however, wasn't it also true that you had completed your joining gift for Tygra by the middle of the summer?" She asked herself more seriously, "Can you deny that every time that you looked at your completed handiwork, you imagined how Tygra, and not Tir'shan, would fill out those soft folds of Balkin silk?"

But one fact could not be refuted: without Cheetara's help, there would have been no robe. After the cheetah had inadvertently learned of her project, the historian had swiftly solved her most pressing yet embarrassing problem: how to acquire the tiger's measurements.

While I wrapped myself in indecision, she acted on my behalf. I suppose that her reward consisted of seeing the shock on my face as she described the manner in which she got those measures. Goddess be blessed, in just one conversation with her, I learned the finer points of love-play. Cheetara had fooled Tygra completely; to this day, he has not connected her actions to the gift that I had made for him.

Talitha poured the last drops of tea from the pot into her cup. I was too cowardly then to tell her why I wanted to make Tygra such a fine garment, but I will never forget her kindness. Clearly, she discerned the truth behind my actions, and helped me as any caring sister would. I must find a way to thank her properly, she decided. In this I have been remiss.

"But all my good intentions will not help me to complete this poem," she grumbled as she set her mind back to the task at hand. "Goddess, today I am as befuddled as Snarf!" No, that is an unfair assessment, and unworthy of a mystic, she thought suddenly. Without Snarf's help, I would have never presented as fine a feast as I did for Tygra.

In short forays to the surrounding villages, Snarf had unobtrusively gathered the items that she had listed on her menu, and had hidden them carefully in the freezer away from prying Thundercats or hungry, growing kittens. The elderly Snarf knew the habits of the members of the household well. By virtue of his masterful manipulation of the Thundercats' activities on the day that she had chosen for joining, the snarf had succeeded in secretly creating within her bedroom a functional kitchen. They had easily smuggled the ingredients of the feast past her unsuspecting comrades and into her room.

How happy I was when Snarf and I had accomplished our task without incident, and how terrified I felt when he finally left me to my own devices. Only the meditation that I had performed with silk and stones, and my prayers to Mrísena had the power to calm me. With the blessings of the Goddess, I had prepared the feast with a rhythm that made the hours flow smoothly and quickly away, she reflected.

Talitha wrote her lover's name across the page and bordered it with roses. Twilight had arrived impossibly early that day. The gentle taps that the architect had made on the door to her chamber had made her heart dance with myriad emotions. Her hands had shaken so as she opened the way to him.

She had seen in his dark amber eyes that Tygra had shared her apprehension. In an instant, the clawing fears that had plagued her had begun to lessen their grasp. The potted plant that Tygra had clutched in his strong hands, his gift of first joining, had tiny white blossoms that mirrored his delicate love.

The robe that she had made for him had made a potent statement beyond the love that she had intended. Against the smooth black silk, his orange fur had blazed. The brooding greatness of a lord of Thundera had brightened her chamber in a manner that had shamed the weak light that had streamed forth from the tall candles.

"Only the sword of rank was missing from the heroic image that you presented that night, Tygra," Talitha sighed. "How bold was I, a daughter of weavers, to have called a lord of the tiger clans to her bed. In that eternal moment, where did I find the courage to address you. And yet, I was foolish to have worried. You always interpreted my moods correctly, and respected my feelings. At dinner, you melted away my concerns with your pleasant manner."

Tygra certainly had enjoyed the meal that she had prepared although her appetite had vanished. Talitha shook her mane in deprecation. I should have realized that a full belly and a healing massage would send you straight to sleep, Tygra, she thought. At the time, I did not know whether to be pleased that my attentions had relaxed you, or to be annoyed that your desire for me had evaporated so suddenly.

Talitha savored the remnant of tea in her cup. She licked her lips to gather one last taste of the liquid, and remembered the sweetness of her first joining. It had been very late when the tiger had awakened from his impromptu nap. His touch of greeting upon her arm had burned like flame. The figure that had stood in the moonlight had become the lost hero who had returned home to the one that he had never forgotten during his quest.

The privilege of his rank had accorded him the right to initiate their love. And yet, she had made the first move in defiance of custom. What had made her behave so unexpectedly? Perhaps, in the secret places of her soul she had always known that they had journeyed together in many other lifetimes.

Her hands had not quivered when she stroked the firm muscles of his chest and abdomen. He had not resisted or demanded his right; he had waited for permission to open her gown. When she had given it, she had recognized that she had also returned to the place of her beginning; fear had fled.

The brush of his lips upon her own had stolen her voice, yet she had affirmed her love in the playful exploration of his flesh. Each sensuous bite that he had bestowed upon her neck had sent electric pleasure coursing along her spine. The tantalizing fragrance of his scent had garlanded her fur as the blossoms of midsummer. Immersed in his whispers and moans, she had become wet with desire and eager to accept his gift. His gentle passage into her had freed both sorrow and power.

No mystic text had ever recorded the mysteries that she and Tygra had experienced during their lovemaking on that special night. Body and soul had traveled different roads, but had reunited on the inevitable path to their final destination. She had never expected the climax of joining to equal the delightful ache born of self-pleasuring, but their love had fused them into one potent being. Her orgasm had glowed like a star within the depths of her womb, and his release had pulsed from the tiny bundle of her sex.

The lines upon the page before her blurred as tears filled her eyes. Despite the joy that she had experienced with her lover, she had not anticipated the lingering sadness that had remained within herself after joining. She had not regretted her decision to mate with Tygra, but only when she had finally rested in his arms had she understood the significance of what she had lost. From that moment, and with each new dawn that had followed, Tygra's love had helped her move towards a maturity far richer than the innocence and the past that she had sacrificed. The tears that now fell upon her poem were those of gratitude.

"A bold tiger dancing; a happy tiger singing. A strong tiger fighting; a gentle tiger loving. A thousand tigers I have yet to discover, too many visions for one poem. A lifetime to learn the words to describe them all." Talitha brushed aside her tears, and marked the soft light that filtered through the windows into the vaulted chamber. Failure. She crumpled the damp page in her disappointment. As she stood, she put the love note into the pocket of her blue gown. Maybe one day the words would come.

The mystic returned to the kitchen. Cinnamon still flavored the air. She took a knife and a plate from a series of small drawers set into the counter. She chose one cool loaf, and cut a piece of bread for herself. Delicious! she decided after taking several bites. Considering Tygra's weakness for anything sweet, her efforts would easily tempt him. "Let's hope not too much, dear Tygra," she said as she sliced the bread, and arranged the sections upon the plate. "I'll have to face Panthro's wrath if you grow too soft. I'm sure that even this small attempt at pleasing you will earn me a lecture from him."

The mystic visualized the hard contours of her lover's body, and decided that Panthro's fears were groundless. She pushed her uneasiness aside. With the first rays of morning, her lover would awaken. If she hoped to trap him in his bed, she had to move fast. "I may have failed with my love poem, Tygra, but I have other diversions to please you this day," she purred. With her offering in hand, she began her journey to the tiger's den.