Redemption Road

The darkness that surrounded him resounded with the siren song of the sea. Tygra emerged from the cave that had become his home, and raced to the edge of the sandy beach. "Leave me in peace!" he screamed at his tormentor.

Give yourself to us, the sea answered. It is what you need...need...need.

"No more!"

You must...must...must.

The foaming water warmed his legs and coaxed him into the surf. The gentle waves dissolved his fear and replaced it with desire.

Once again, Tygra made love to the sea.

*****

Talitha swam with determination toward the floundering swimmer, but each stroke that she took brought her no closer to her lover. The turbulent water shaped itself into a monstrous swell. "Beware!" The mystic's warning arrived too late to save the tiger. His grasping hands disappeared beneath the consuming wave. The vengeful sea quickly turned on her. Talitha's cries followed her into the silence.

Awakening from the dark dream, the mystic tumbled from her bed and onto the cold stone floor. Trembling with fear, she wrapped her body around the pillow clutched in her hands.

"Goddess help Tygra," she sobbed. "Goddess help me."

*****

Peering into a bowl of water, Tygra viewed himself with disgust. The fur forming the scraggly remnant of his mane had grown too long for one of his outcast status. The vacancy in his amber eyes mirrored his dissipation. For all the washing that he had done with water gathered from a nearby stream, he had failed to cleanse himself of his liaison with the sea.

"Filthy a'tri'i," Tygra hissed at his reflection. He knocked over the bowl, spilling its contents on the sand. "Next time I will not weaken," he vowed. "She will not tempt me again!" Despite his anger, he retrieved the sand encrusted vessel before returning to his home.

The sun cast little light into his barren dwelling. Tygra poked a stick into the embers in the fire pit, but kindled no flame. Walking to the back of the cave, he grumbled, "No fuel, no fire." A narrow beam of sunlight piercing the smoke-hole above illuminated a polished stone. He knelt by the rock, and pushed it away from the wall to reveal a depression. Reaching into the aperture, he repositioned the few belongings that he had brought with him from Cats' Lair. Satisfied with the arrangement, he placed the bowl back into the storage chamber, then resealed the opening.

The Thunderan crawled toward a mat woven of dried grass. The yellowed blades of his bed emitted a sweet scent that lessened the harshness of his surroundings. Tygra stretched across the soft covering, and silently watched the play of light and shadow on the dirt floor.

The life that he had once led had taken on the quality of a dream. He had designed Cats' Lair. His young king had sought his council above all others, and everyone had come to respect his calm demeanor and thoughtful advice. He had also known a love sanctified by the gods. He had lost his happiness on the day that his unborn daughter had died. He had stained his soul with murder and had relinquished everything that he had cherished.

Tygra scratched the floor with his claws, and spelt the name of his beloved. "Talitha," he whispered, "why did I leave you, and worsen my offense?"

The whistle of the wind through the cracks in the walls echoed his accusation. Talitha loved you, it sighed. She transformed you with that love into a healer. You valued your sullied honor above her caring, and deepened your disgrace.

"Damn you for being right!" Tygra exclaimed to the wind. He obliterated the marks that he had made in the dry soil. "I am not worthy to write her name or to gaze upon it," he admitted quietly.

Everyone has a breaking point to challenge, he thought. The warrior finds the strength to move beyond his limitations to victory, while the coward sends himself into the abyss. Tygra struck the floor in anger and raised a small cloud of dust. How I hate myself for failing! Would that I had died on the day of Thundera's destruction, as did countless others, rather than to have garnered such shame.

Then end your life...end it...end it, the tide replied.

"No!" Tygra roared to the enticing sound outside his cave, "You'll not have me! That damnable soul bond with Talitha may still exist within me. I'll not dice with her life!"

You will come...come...come....

The tiger retrieved a stone, and pitched it into the light beyond the entrance. "Silence!" he shouted before doubling over with pain. He pawed at his left wrist. The injury that Panthro had inflicted upon him had not healed well. I should have known better than to flex it that way, he thought as the ache subsided. I hope it doesn't swell again. I've got little cloth left for bandages.

A cool breeze invaded the cave. Gods, smells like rain again. The storm will come with the night. I will have no meal or warmth this evening unless I hunt for both food and fuel.

He pulled a loose thread from his worn ak'ti. Life in the wild had taken its toll on the loincloth that he wore and his remaining wardrobe, which he had safely stored in the stone chamber. "I will truly live as the primitives do when the last of my cloth erodes," he said with resignation. His wrist twinged. Leaving the cave, he muttered, "I hope the rain holds off until after my hunt."

*****

The tigress tapped the delicate teacup that she carried. I must stop thinking of little Keena, she decided. The warrior women have taken her back, so that another, whose need is greater than mine, may nurse her, and that is for her benefit. Talitha crossed into the recreation chamber. She perched on her favorite chair, and looked through the tall windows to the eastern forest beyond. The brilliant sunlight that filtered through the glass pleasantly warmed her fur. Such a beautiful day, she thought. Perhaps a walk will drive away my sadness.

"Will we ever know happiness again." The pronouncement had come from across the room. Cheetara emerged from the hiding place that a high-back chair had provided.

"I thought I was alone," Talitha replied, discreetly avoiding the question.

The long, loose tunic and pantaloons that the cheetah wore hid well her slender figure. The green color of her clothing accentuated the blackness of the spots on her neck and mane. Her soft leather slippers allowed her to approach the mystic in silence.

Talitha marked the tension in her friend's body and the fatigue that shadowed her face. "You look awful! Must you insist on solving the riddle of the Matrix," she declared, aware of what the noble had done and angered by the result. "Your pursuit of this impossible goal will kill you. Have you become as stubborn as Tygra? Must we suffer another death in this Lair because of your pride?"

Looking at the landscape, Cheetah ignored her diatribe. She said in a neutral voice, "I am a historian, and yet, because all the Masters have died, I have not the access to the knowledge in the deeper levels of the Matrix. Meryt will not help me with her sorcery, so I must walk this road alone."

"Must we have this knowledge? You can recite our history by rote. Despite the restrictions imposed on you by your limited access to the Matrix, you can still teach Kitra the way of the historian."

"I can only lead Kitra to part of the knowledge within the Matrix. The oldest memories of those historians long given to the silence are beyond our reach. Can't you understand the significance of my actions?"

"But is it worth your life!"

"I can ask the same of you each time you enter into a healing."

The tigress regarded the tall golden female. I cannot deny that truth, Cheetara, but I question your motive, she decided. "Do you hope to exorcise the guilt that you have assumed in response to my daughter's death by sacrificing yourself on the altar of history?" she asked.

"No! I hope to teach Kitra and preserve the history of our people as my oath commands." The infuriated noble stormed out of the room.

The unexpected departure did not upset her. She had grown used to the tantrums of her peers. Has my indictment hurt her or helped her? the mystic wondered. I guess only time will reveal the answer.

Talitha placed her teacup on the low table adjacent to her chair. She studied her reflection in the windows. The blue of her robe merged with the sky; her white fur became the clouds. The phantom mystic knew no pain. She was as cold as the tea.

*****

Tygra crouched in the long grass, and surveyed the herd of gazelle drinking at the water hole. Where is the weak one, he thought as he studied their movements. A young animal limped into view. Ah, so he comes, but even slowed by injury he still has the advantage of speed. Must wait a little more.... The gazelle approached; each muscle in the tiger's lean body tensed. And.... "Now!"

Tygra bolted from his cover. The herd of frightened animals scattered. Horns and hooves filled the space between him and his victim. Five large shapes lunged toward the Thunderan as he closed on the weakened creature. "Goddess!" The surprised tiger swiftly changed direction. Hoping to elude his pursuers, he raced toward one of the few trees on the savanna.

Powerful roars drowned out the thunderous sound of the stampeding herd. Tygra looked to the source of the disruption only after he had climbed to the highest point on the tree. The tawny female predators had brought down the animal that he had selected for his meal. Their leader, who had stayed hidden during the fight, appeared from the cover of the grass. The massive male shook his dark brown mane and roared a challenge to all who would dispute his right to the first taste of the kill. The sleek members of his harem backed swiftly away from the carcass, but growled their displeasure in their passing.

When the lazy male had eaten his fill, and the females had begun to feast, Tygra silently descended from his safe perch. "Am'ral'im, the first born, you have won this contest," he whispered respectfully in his retreat.

*****

"Will the old wolo lose his leg, Si'va'ka?"

"Hopefully not, Katren," the mystic answered with little enthusiasm. She placed several linen packets containing medicinal herbs in her healer's pouch before continuing with her reply. "Although the infection in Sunndi's leg is chronic, mystic power may keep it in check for a longer period than the herbal remedies that healer Jondu has tried."

"Then why are you stocking more medicine?"

The mystic cuffed the youngster gently on the chin. "Because a healer must be prepared for any emergency."

"But you have mystic power--"

"Which is not to be wasted when an equally good natural remedy exists." The rapid blinking of Katren's eyes betrayed his inner confusion. He smoothed the front of his blue robe out of nervous habit. How can I make him understand? Talitha wondered. She added, "A seasoned mystic can perform many healings in a day, Katren, but the work is tiring. Why waste power on minor ailments? Suppose after a long day, an emergency occurred that required a substantial dose of mystic power for the patient to survive. What if that patient died because the mystic could not summon the power necessary because of fatigue?"

Her apprentice nodded thoughtfully, then said, "That would be a serious breech of the Mystic Code, Si'va'ka."

"Excellent, you have understood. I'll make a healer of you yet," Talitha said proudly.

"If only I could be a true healer like you, Si'va'ka--a mystic healer."

"There are many who serve Mrísena with healing who are not mystics, Katren, and some of them are called to additional service as Her priests. Consider what a skilled physician Tygra was before he opened to...." The words stuck in her throat; the memory of her lost lover burdened her heart.

"Si'va'ka, are you--"

"The tank's ready."

The grim panther, slovenly dressed in stained work clothes greyer than his fur, had entered her chamber without the courtesy of a greeting. Talitha's anger replaced her sorrow. "We are walking!" she snapped at Panthro.

"There are exiled reptilians everywhere since the revolt in their fortress by the avian and his mammalian troops. Mumm-Ra casts his shadow over the land. His pyramid glows with malice. It's too dangerous for you to go to Wolo town unescorted," he growled in return.

"No!"

"Go and get yourself killed, but leave the cub here."

"He serves Mrísena now, and must learn what that means. He comes with me. Need I tell you that guarding me every moment will not erase the past, and will not return my daughter, Panthro?"

"X'trint!" he cursed.

"Siy'hiat!" she spat at the departing panther. The mystic turned to the wide-eyed youth and said calmly, "Come, Katren, we've an old one to help."

*****

Resting his weight on his elbows, Tygra reclined on the beach. His flat, empty belly pressed against the cold sand. Its unyielding complaints mingled with the rhythm of the tide. The few shell creatures that he had dug out of the sand earlier in the evening, and had prepared for his meal, had not satisfied its cravings. He gazed at the black sky to forget his hunger. My old bones have not proved to be an accurate predictor of the weather, he decided. The rain has stayed away despite my aches and pains.

Although obscured from his view by the cliffs behind him and his position, the moon shed its light upon the desolate land. An orb of fantastic beauty, he decided. How wondrous the nights on Thundera would have been under such a comforting light. He pointed to a constellation. "The flying horse, Peg'a'sus." His baritone cut through the seductive sounds of the sea like a fine blade. "So Aidan has called it, a name from the myths of the ancient times. There are many others to enjoy too. Little Ursa, symbol of power. Graceful, feathered Kyknos, white and beautiful. Sinuous Draco, monstrous and terrifying." The cool air stirred the uneven strands of his mane. "Are there any constellations that an a'tri'i such as I can claim?" the Thunderan asked sadly of no one but himself.

Tygra's eyelids grew heavy as he counted the stars. "Enough. I'm tired," he murmured. He turned onto his side, and prayed, "Savar, watch over me. I've not the strength to crawl back into my hole."

The rocks in the distance melted into an indistinct mass before his weary eyes. A small blaze appeared on the moonlit landscape. The dancing flames of the campfire beckoned. Who can be out there? Tygra thought. Must rise. There could be danger. Although he tried, the exhausted Thunderan could not move. The sweet trill of a flute made him weep silently in despair, for his voice stayed locked in his throat. Who tortures me with music from our lost home! his mind pleaded.

A shadow among the cliffs moved. A tall figure approached him. The gentle brush of his long robe against the white sand mirrored the sound made by the tide. If I am to be slain by this intruder where I lie, let it be quick, Tygra requested of the gods. Talitha, forgive me, your death.

The giant stood before him. His long white mane reached to his sandals and gleamed as brilliantly as the moon. The two dark stripes of fur that sprang from his temple streaked his crown like lightning breaking across the sky. His facial markings, a mixture of orange, cream and black, designated him as one of the red tiger clan despite the minor variations in the pattern. The deep cleft in his upper lip made him a being found only in legend: Sil'ral'im, an ancient one. Swirls of silver woven into the blue fabric of the northern tiger's layered robe shimmered. In his left hand, he carried the long flute that had made the tantalizing sound, while his right hand rested comfortably on the hilt of a long sword strapped to his belt.

What is this madness? Tygra thought in astonishment. He cannot be real. The giant flicked the sand around his feet in irritation. By the gods, he has a tail! He is no ancient, but Sinda'am'ral'im, an offspring of the firstborn!

"Ah, ghost, I can't see you, but I can feel you," the warrior said. "What has made you so unhappy that you have foregone the peace of the silence and the realm beyond experience?"

The language that the intruder had used was unknown to him, and yet he had understood every word. I am no spirit! May the gods awaken me from this nightmare, for I am helpless, Tygra prayed.

"You fear me, ghost, but there is no need for that. Let me try to help you. Show yourself, and tell me of your problem."

Help? How can you help, revered one. You are but a dream.

The warrior's rumbling laughter echoed across the barren beach. "Ah, the doubt. Are ghosts always so predictable. You think that you still live, but you are mistaken." He placed the flute on the ground. Reaching into his long sleeve, he removed a small pouch. The blue sand that he took from the bag and sprinkled near Tygra stained his ivory fingers. "Reluctant ghost, wherever you may be, may this bring help to you in Savar's name."

Sand magic electrified the space surrounding Tygra. Tiny arcs of light circled the unmoving Thundercat. He found it difficult to quell the rising panic in his breast with reason. He is only a dream warrior, Tygra reassured himself. I'm not dead. Gods, I can't be dead! Please, don't let me be dead.

The warrior smiled. The secrets of the world were his alone to possess. He picked up his flute and set it to his lips. The sorrowful tune made the sand lights pulse wildly. The sharp notes pierced Tygra's soul. "Mrísena, help me!" the architect shrieked.

The music ceased; the stranger had disappeared. The moon had set; the stars had moved in their courses. Tygra sat up and rubbed his face. "What a dream!" he said. He rose unsteadily to his feet. For an instant, reality became an elaborate illusion perpetuated by the gods for their amusement. The dizziness and the distortion passed quickly; all returned to normal. The beach remained a dark expanse with rocks and sand.

"Gods preserve me," he said as he stumbled into his cave.

*****

Tygra shifted his position on the flat boulder upon which he sat. Rubbing his calf, he tried to coax the blood back into his leg, and relieve himself of the numbness that had afflicted his foot. From his uncomfortable throne, he stared at the rough surf. The roaring wind and the cold drizzle had chilled him despite his fur, his shoddy clothing and his heavy cloak.

The discordant melody of nature in conflict with itself had disturbed his peace since the coming of the rain with the grey dawn. Broken shells, driftwood and the remains of marine life had collected around his rock. As the morning passed, he had counted the toll the battle had taken with a morbid fascination that had left him immune to the discomforts he had suffered.

A crab crawled slowly toward his dirty boot. Its uneven gait and the tracks that it left in the sand clearly indicated its injuries. The tiny creature rolled onto its side. It legs flared wildly for a few moments before it stilled. Tygra retrieved the animal. The silence has called another to its realm, he thought solemnly, but at least this little one lived its life to its fullest expression, unlike me. His passing deserves respect. The Thunderan dug a shallow hole in the soft ground with a stick, then buried the crustacean.

Follow him to the silence...silence...silence, the sea suggested. Give yourself completely to me...me...me....

His desire for the peace that she had promised had ebbed and flowed with the tide. Tygra walked toward the water, but stopped at the shoreline. "Never," he declared. "No matter my crime, I will not be less than a crab."

Fool...fool...fool....

"Snr'y't", Tygra cursed. The architect turned his attention away from the sea. Bundled in his cloak, he roamed the debris strewn beach not knowing what he sought.

*****

Talitha observed the southern plain displayed on the viewscreen. The mists had finally dissipated; the lush vegetation and the dense forest border stood revealed. Everything looks quiet, she decided, but only an hour has passed since dawn. The day can still bring trouble. Who knows what the renegade Mutants might do? That hideous reptilian lot knows no home and owes no allegiance to the avian, Veezmar, who now controls their castle.

And what of Seti? I am convinced that it was his magic that made Slythe's attack on me possible. When will he strike next? This time, will we be prepared?

The mystic rose from her chair. A restlessness had overtaken her that threatened the promise of rest due her once Lion-o had relieved her of the night watch. What can it be that makes my hands clench and my gut tighten? she wondered as she paced the room. The air in this chamber is alive and electric.

The soft hiss of the opening door sounded to her like the clanging of a gong. The startled mystic gasped, "Who is it!"

"Anything to report?" Lion-o asked with concern.

"No."

Regarding her with suspicion, the young king folded his arms, permitting the yellow sleeves of his thin summer robe to hide his strong hands. Along with the others, he had ceased wearing his Thundercat uniform and medallion except when he traveled outside the Lair. By his acceptance of a less formal mode of dress, he had demonstrated his lack of faith in the deceased Jaga, with whom he had once had the special ability to communicate on a regular basis. The sorcerer's voice had remained quiet for too many suns. It had become the Lion's belief that Jaga had finally crossed into the unreachable silence for good. He no longer anticipated any advice from the dead wizard. Neither Jaga nor the Sword of Omens that he had created had helped them in their trials. Since Tygra's departure, the magic weapons assigned exclusively to each adult Thundercat saw little use and remained, for the most part, in storage in the sword chamber.

He said, sternly, "Are you sure? You look like you've seen a ghost, White."

The tension that she had experienced had vanished. If this was the disturbance that I had sensed, then I was a fool, Talitha thought. "I'm not very good at keeping late hours, my lord," she apologized. "It makes me skittish."

"You are the calmest, most reliable person in this Lair," Lion-o replied, "so I don't believe your excuse. There is a certain level of privacy that your suffering has entitled you to claim; however as Lord of the Thundercats, I depend on your honesty. Tell me truthfully: is anything wrong?"

Nothing that having my mate and my cub back wouldn't solve, she thought bitterly, but I can't tell you that. "I can only guess that I am once again feeling the weight of my loss," she answered. "You may think me calm, Lion-o, but the truth is that I'm not made of stone. I face most days with anger and sadness, but the first lesson that every mystic learns is this: personal problems are secondary to the healing work that one must perform. Sometimes the body unconsciously rebels against this duty; one becomes tense."

"The same is true of a king," he said. "I should not have doubted you." The lion dropped his probing questions. He seated himself by the control board, and began a systems check.

He has enough to worry about without considering my sadness, she thought as she watched him punch the colorful buttons on the console, but such is the price of kingship. I must heal my pain to heal him. We could both learn from the Balkin philosophers: Levity leads to wisdom, and wisdom brings company.

Talitha moved next to the young lion. Before she could utter words of comfort, she observed the flashing red light on the panel that indicated an anomalous surge in power in the system, and wondered how she had failed to notice the change.

*****

My feet hurt. Admit it, Tygra, you are unused to wearing boots as well as clothing. You have grown too comfortable wearing only an ak'ti for a covering, the architect decided. This is the first day in many that you have dressed completely, and that was only because of this morning's foul weather. Now look at the sky. Such a wonderful shade of blue, and the white clouds are as floating mountains.

The Thunderan halted. He had walked for two hours along the shoreline in a westerly direction, but the exercise had done little to affect his sour mood. Tygra removed his cloak and spread it on the sand. "Such changeable weather," he complained. "This morning I was wet, and frozen, and now it has become so hot that I can forego all my clothing if I choose." The tiger considered what he had proposed. "Why not," he said, removing his boots. "It is certainly within the limits of Thunderan etiquette to go clad in the summer only in an ak'ti, even when one is not on a hunt." He chuckled, then said with pride, "The summers on this world are no match for those that we had on Thundera. With my heavy fur, I baked." Pretending to eat, he raised his hands to his lips. "I spent many hours lounging in the shallow, cool pools in the palace gardens and savoring the sweet fruits of the warm time because the terrible heat of high summer lessened our duties considerably." The muscles in his chest tightened. The pleasant memory had caused him more pain than the bothersome ache in his wrist.

Tygra's hands stiffened with rage. "One who murders is forbidden happiness." He ripped his tunic from his body, and cast it to the ground. "Would that I could tear my sin from my soul as easily as this cloth, and crush it beneath my feet!" The tiger kicked the rent garment. "What in the seven, demon spawned hells!" he howled.

Looking down, Tygra marked the clay amulet upon which he had stubbed his toe. He scooped up the object. "Your next home is the sea," he snarled at the small medallion that he dangled from its leather thong. His blustery threats ceased. His mind refused to believe what his eyes beheld. The intricate design on the surface of the object blended the figure of a winged individual with an inscription. The writing was in a form that had gone out of fashion soon after King Dera and his people had arrived on Thundera. Only one who had kept the confidence of a historian had ever seen the ancient hieroglyphics from Homeworld.

"Irri'in," Tygra whispered. "What can this mean?" The talisman did not provide an answer. The ancient inscription that he could not read guarded its secrets. The only explanation that fit the facts unsettled him. Feeling dizzy, Tygra sat on the sand. He considered the implications of what he had found. He had originally suspected that Third Earth and Homeworld were the same planet. He and his comrades had immediately recognized that the creatures which protected the grain of the inhabitants from vermin were felines who walked on four feet not two. They had named them Tir'am'ral'im, little firstborn, for except in size they matched the descriptions of their mythological ancestors. However, neither their presence, nor that of the great felines of the plain, had provided sufficient evidence for his claims, for according to the historians, even King Dera had found similar creatures on his arrival to Thundera. In addition, Meryt, a priestess whose knowledge of Third Earth was extensive, had not divulged any information on the possible existence of a native race of sentient felines. She had said that she had known of no such people, but he had always harbored doubts about her claim.

As one versed in the medical sciences, he had convinced the others in Cats' Lair that the best explanation for their observations and the historical record rested with parallel evolution, for indeed, many life forms native to Thundera found similar expression on Third Earth. Having concrete proof for his earlier suspicions in the palm of his hand now obligated him to pass on his knowledge. It was a responsibility that he had no desire to assume, for it meant a return to the Lair, an act both dangerous and painful.

Addressing the talisman, Tygra said, "If I throw you into the sea, as I had originally intended, no one need ever know the possibilities that you represent." The Thundercat placed his hand to his chest. Each breath had become more difficult because of the dilemma that he now faced. "How can I deny my comrades happiness, if others of our kind exist somewhere on this world, and yet, how can I be sure that they exist." Tygra looked to the sky. He had rode the Feliner into orbit around the planet, but he had learned little from that quickly aborted flight. He had to forego the idea of cataloguing the land masses and searching for advanced civilizations when the craft had proved unsuitable for orbital work. He had to rely on the maps and legends of the locals for clues to the existence of other cultures far from their Lair.

Tygra held the amulet so firmly in his hand that the raised lettering bit into his flesh and drew blood. He watched the drops fall onto the sand and congeal. The clotted mass was similar to the mess that he had made of his life. I cannot erase the evil that I have done, but I will not compound it by withholding this information, he finally decided. Although it is incomplete, Lion-o needs to learn this truth. He possesses his father's wisdom and capacity for mercy. I must trust that he will not kill me, as is his right. He fears endangering Talitha, who has maintained that our soul-link still exists.

The tiger stood. He picked up his cloak, boots and damaged tunic and shook the sand from them. "What a damn fool I was for destroying this in a moment of passion," Tygra said of his now useless shirt. "It has been many seasons since I've done anything right."

"Not true," a voice as smooth as the gentle flow of water over stones replied.

"Who!" Tygra demanded. He surveyed the beach, but found no one. The fur on the back of his neck rose in fear. The faint strains of a harp mixed with the sound of the wind. Tygra bared his teeth in anger. "Show yourself, stranger!" The hidden musician continued to play a somber tune. The architect tilted his head slightly to pinpoint the source of the elusive music. "It comes from that rise." He looked among the rocks for a easy passage to the land that rose above the beach, and soon found it.

He shoved the medallion into the pocket of his trousers, then donned his boots. With cloak and torn tunic in hand, the architect struggled up the steep, rough path to the flat plain. In the distance, he saw a figure robed in white, who, with staff in hand, glided across the grass as if made of air. "Stop!" he called, running toward the stranger. Drawing closer to the individual, who continued to move silently to the south without taking notice of him, Tygra marked the unmistakable curves of a female. "Please, stop," he asked again. "Please!"

His last desperate plea had broken through her inattentiveness. She halted, and turn toward him. The female pulled back her loose cowl, and revealed the face of an elderly Thunderan. Shaking her head, she disarrayed the dark brown stripes that patterned her full ivory-brown mane. "I've never been fond of hoods," the white tigress said dryly. "They so restrict one's view of the world. Don't you think so, Tygra?"

The architect had not responded. The ground melded with the sky as he fainted.

*****

"Maybe a light blue would work with this purple." The mystic dipped her brush into a small pot of ink, then colored the drawing upon which she worked. "Excellent, it's a wonderful combination for this design," she said, satisfied with the result. "I'm glad that after my watch, I slept. I feel refreshed now, and my work reflects this fact."

"Can I see, snarf, snarf."

"Oh, certainly, Snarf. Mystic though I may be, as a weaver I have an artist's desire to have my efforts appreciated."

The elderly servant set aside the tunic that he had folded into a neat square, and approached. Taking the paper from the tigress, he scrutinized the geometric design that she had painted. "These would make lovely towels," he said.

The mystic frowned, unhappy with his assessment. "I had hoped to make a rug with this pattern."

"Oh no, too busy for a rug, snarf, snarf." The elder dropped the drawing back onto the table. "I didn't mean to suggest that it wouldn't make a fine rug, I-- oh, what's the use, I always make things go wrong!" The snarf scurried back to his corner and the little table that he used for folding laundry. He silently resumed his task, and kept his sight only on the clothing before him. The sun had passed beyond the view provided by the windows in the recreation hall. The harsh light supplied by the ceiling lamps only augmented the dejection apparent in the little figure.

Poor, sweet, Snarf. His hurt is so great that it matches the greyness, and yet, I have been unable to help him. It was initially his idea that I should stay at Cats' Lair, and not follow Tygra to the Balkin village. Because the others agreed, I remained, and my daughter died.

He has changed since that horrible day. He used to be talkative and happy, but his cheerfulness has vanished. It's as if someone has removed this part of his soul. How can I return to him what he has lost? My prayers to Mrísena have given me no solutions. Have we all been abandoned by the gods?

The mystic clenched her fist. Never will I believe that the gods care not! They have an eternity to work their plan, and we are just a fine thread in their weaving. If I alone must help Snarf, then so be it. I'll just have to work harder. Servalla. Tir'shan. They would not have admitted defeat, and neither will I.

The muted sound of weeping took the mystic away from her contemplation. She went immediately to the snarf. "There is no need for tears. You were right; this combination is too riotous for a carpet. How many towels can I make for you?" she asked.

The elder said with puzzlement, "I am sad, but I wasn't crying, White."

His dry face attested to the truth of his statement. Talitha listened carefully. The mysterious weeping had ceased.

*****

The architect slowly opened his eyes. The sun shone clearly in the sky. The clouds had followed the storm across the sea. I'm on my back, he thought. What in the seven hells has happened? He set his palm to his aching temple. "Damn!" he hissed. His probing fingers easily found the small, but deep, cut on his skull that caused his pain. With a grunt, the tiger pulled himself upright. Glancing to his right, he saw the white tigress sitting quietly beside him. His memory returned.

"You called me by my name. How did you know?" he blurted.

She smirked, then said, "I could think of a thousand other questions you might have asked."

Her dark blue eyes contained the wisdom gained from a long life. Despite the silver highlights in her fur that indicated her advanced age, her strong features had retarded the effects of time, and had given her the appearance of one who had scarcely begun the journey from middle-age into the last phase of life. Where on Third Earth has she come from? Tygra wondered. Can this amulet belong to her? "Forgive my disrespect, elder," he said sharply, "but the difficult life that I have lived these many suns has left me devoid of patience. Give me credit for some intelligence. I have more than a thousand questions to ask you, but given the circumstances, that question was the first one to enter my mind."

"Such a temper! Bless the gods, I don't have the same."

Tygra leapt to his feet. The sudden movement gave him vertigo. He fell to his knees, and remained motionless until the queasy feeling passed.

"Now that was stupid," the tigress said. "As a mystic, you know that you should not take even a simple head wound for granted."

"I am no mystic!" Tygra screamed. The rage that swept over him had attacked with the ferocity of a wild beast. He beat his fists into the ground to drive the anger from his body. When he had fended off his enemy, he reluctantly raised his head, for he felt ashamed for his display.

The elder regarded him impassively. She said, "You are what the gods have made you, Tygra. To heal, you must accept that truth."

Her calm manner and the secret knowledge that she possessed about him had sapped from him the comfort that he had found in his misery. "Are you a god, honorable one?" he asked at a loss for a logical answer to all that he had observed about the female.

Standing, she said, "Nonsense. I am not a greater being than you. However, I do have a quest to complete and I cannot waste time on someone who will not open his heart and listen."

She touched his shoulder with the end of her staff. "I will tell you this much, Tygra: I am one who searches like you. We may be able to help each other in our respective quests, but with you or without you, I must heed my destiny. Follow me if you will, but I can delay no longer. I am already late for my meeting with my sister." She gave him a gentle poke with her staff, then turned away from him. The tigress walked with a speed and vigor that belied her age.

I have done nothing but brood for many suns, and indulge in self pity, Tygra decided, scrambling to his feet. If this old one is truly one of our people, and not an illusion, she may hold the key to the many mysteries of this world. She may give the others hope, just like this amulet. It is time that I acted as a warrior who wears the open spiral of Savar, though I no longer deserve the title. She will not get away from me and my questions so easily! Following the tigress, he called out, "Wait! I deserve an answer to my question!"

*****

Her mind preoccupied, the mystic walked slowly down the long corridor. Talitha studied the printout that she held. Her finger traced the sharp peaks that indicated an enormous surge in power in the Lair.

That's three bursts during Lion-o's watch, and yet, neither he nor Panthro can find anything to cause these anomalies, she thought. Once again, the Sword of Omens has remained mute. I'm no electronics expert, I'm a mystic. What can he think that I will find that he and Panthro have not? For all my work on this problem, I've not arrived at any conclusions. I've noted the time of each occurrence, but have yet to find the thread that binds them together. Damn you, Tygra. This is exactly the type of problem suited to your analytical thought processes, not mine. If only you were here!

She halted before the door to the dinning hall. I've never been good with calculations. How I wish Lion-o had left me to my weaving. It's one of the few pleasures in which I can indulge myself. I should have refused this task, but Cheetara was too busy instructing Kitra to take it, and so it was left to me. Now the day has fled. Soon, the late watch will be mine again. I hope Lion-o won't badger me all through dinner about this data.

In frustration, she considered crumpling the report into a ball, and pitching it at her companions. The papers in her hand fluttered. The mystic searched the corridor for the source of the breeze, but found nothing. Now the ventilation system is misbehaving. Ever since Tygra left we just have not been able to keep up with proper maintenance. No telling what will go out of order next!

Light footfalls resounded in the far side passage that lead back to the private chambers. Might be Kitra, Talitha thought. Mrísena help me if it is. Please let her pass by me without a verbal attack. I'm of no mind to be patient with an adolescent who blames me for everything that goes wrong in this Lair.

The sound ceased at the juncture of the passageways. Talitha braced herself, then called out, "Who is it that follows me? Kitra?"

No answer. Must be Katren, she decided. He's the trickster in this Lair, and a very good one because he rarely gets caught. This time I will guess correctly. "Show yourself Katren. It is unwise to annoy your teacher."

She listened, but the hidden hallway retained its silence. It must be Snarf! Imagine that old one playing a joke on me. Well, I'll show him. The mystic crept quietly toward the opening. "Snarf!" she shouted, jumping into the passage.

"What in the name of the Goddess!" she declared in surprise. "It's empty."

"Nothing better to do than to play with shadows, mystic?" Kitra stated with venom as she emerged from the dining hall with Snarf by her side. "I thought I heard you talking to yourself."

"Why are you so nasty, snarf, snarf? When you have reached full adulthood, then you can be critical of your peers. Until then, White is your elder, and deserves respect."

Kitra frowned at the snarf whose red fur bristled, making him appear fatter than he was. She quietly disappeared back into the dinning hall. The servant regarded the mystic with confusion. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," Talitha answered truthfully. "Nothing."

*****

Tygra sank to his knees. He touched the bit of cloth taken from his ruined tunic that covered his aching head. "I can go no further! How can she keep to this pace! This is impossible!" Exhausted, the architect rolled onto his back. Thin clouds crossed the darkening sky above him. His lack of nourishment had left him weak, but he had dared not stop to hunt for fear of losing the trail of the tigress. He had spent the day heading south in pursuit of the elder who had managed to elude him. He had not seen her for many hours. Only the broken blades of grass on the plain and the marks left by her sandals and her staff in the softer ground of the forest that he now traversed had pointed to her passing. "I can't lose her! I must continue," he declared, trying to rise. He fell onto his side. His bold words had emptied him of his last reserve of strength. He feared that the noises of rebellion from his stomach could not prevent him from falling asleep where he lay. Twilight became the black shroud of night. Within its comforting warmth, time had no meaning.

*****

The smell of roasting meat invaded his fading dreams. Tygra opened one tired eye. The small blaze before him cast his recumbent shadow on the trees. The spitted rabbit, hung over the flames and cooked to perfection, made him lick his lips greedily. He reached for the food. A shaft of wood diverted his hand from its goal.

"Are you stupid enough to burn yourself for a mouthful of meat?" the tigress scolded.

His roar shook the branches. Primal and self-serving, the sound was the same that he had made when he had killed Slythe. That horrible cry had plagued his rest and had branded his crime upon his consciousness, so that he could never forget what he had done. Shame beat back his hunger.

"Fear not. I won't allow you to starve. I have gone through the trouble of preparing this fine kill, and I expect it to be eaten."

Tygra regarded the scowling elder. Although several inches taller than he and slender, she radiated a warrior strength that her simple robes could not conceal. Despite his feelings, he doubted that he possessed the will to disobey any command that she might make.

The tigress murmured a few words in archaic Thunderan. Rays of light leapt from her fingertips. The glow enveloped the cooked meat. The dead rabbit flew off its spit and landed before his feet.

"Now eat."

Shocked by her display, the tiger gasped, "A sorcerer!"

"Not that it should matter to you. The journey should be your focus."

Tygra pulled the amulet that he had found from his pocket. "You know the old language. The secret to this talisman is part of my journey. Does it belong to you?"

"No."

A dead end. He had been sure that she had dropped the trinket. But if she claimed it not, to whom did it belong?

"You found it, thus you should wear it Tygra, not I. It bears the likeness of Irri'in, a suitable patron for one who practices both architecture and medicine."

In frustration, the tiger shouted at the elder, "Who are you!" The flames of the campfire suddenly shot high into the air. Tygra recoiled as the white fur on his chest almost singed from the heat. The architect huddled by the base of a tree, and wondered with increasing fear how he could defeat the demon he had mistakenly chosen to follow.

"I am not a demon here to lead you to your death."

"You know my name; my thoughts; my gods; yet you will not answer me directly," Tygra said weakly. "What am I to think after witnessing your powerful magic."

"A demon would not fix your meals." Her dark eyes held amusement, but scoffed him not. She rested her chin on her knees, and quietly watched him.

She has only taken defensive measures against me, Tygra decided, and they were well deserved. If I behave, and gain her trust, maybe she will tell me more. He crawled back toward the firelight, and retrieved the meat that she had offered.

"I will see if your cooking is as good as your magic, elder," he said, biting into the rabbit with zest.

The female's hearty laughter drove the shadows from the night and the forest.

*****

Tygra peered into the fire. In the dancing flames, he saw the faces of those that he had left behind at Cats' Lair. The images changed rapidly from one individual into another, but soon settled on only one: Talitha. He tentatively reached toward the vision of his smiling lover. The heat gently warmed the tips of his fingers in the same manner that her love had melted the walls of cold in his soul.

The image dissolved; only the colorful flames remained. The architect turned away from the campfire. The low notes of his companion's harp had worked the spell that had allowed him to see his memories. The tigress finished her mournful tune. Her long fingers rested on strings made of light. She whispered a brief incantation, and the magical harp disappeared.

The elder rested her hands on her lap. A day of travel had not soiled her fine garment. Under the firelight, her white robe reflected delicate colors that enhanced her serene demeanor. Sitting upon his cloak, she seemed as a temple statue, pure and distant.

Her sapphire eyes boasted the same rich color that belonged to Talitha. What secrets do they hold from me? Tygra wondered. How can I ever hope to learn what they hide if she will not trust me with her name.

Her fleeting and exquisite smile added beauty to a face unbalanced by a prominent nose. "I promise that by the journey's end, you will discover who I am. Name me yourself, Tygra, and you will learn more than if I had simply provided the answer to you."

Wise words, but he had grown tired of games. And yet, what choice did he have? "I'm going for a walk," he declared.

"You've been walking all day," she quipped. "I should think that is the last activity that you would want to undertake."

"Maybe, I just prefer to be alone for awhile!"

"Haven't you been alone enough in your life?" she answered softly.

He glared at the elderly female, but realized that against her steely gaze and the truth that she had spoken, he had no defense. He ventured into the dark wood without another word.

*****

"This will do," Tygra said to himself. "Far enough not to see her fire, and yet close enough to help the old one if trouble comes." The Thunderan sat upon the ground and rested against a broad tree trunk. He added with derision, "I am a fool to think that she needs my help." He set his hand upon his temple. That a small cut inflicted by an ill-placed rock could be such a nuisance only added to his annoyance. "Maybe I should have just stayed where I was. I knew the sea and its patterns. One can never learn all the secrets that the forest holds even if one lives a thousand seasons."

His wound began to throb. "You would think that she would have offered to heal this cut. One so learned in sorcery should easily match the skill of a mystic with something as simple as this injury." He grimaced as the pain intensified. I suppose it would help if I tried to relax, he thought glumly, but I am as restless as a guard captain on the night watch. However, if I don't ease this tension, I will not sleep. The gods know that I need to be rested if I am to keep pace with their strange servant.

Tygra closed his eyes and took several long, deep breaths. The night was pleasantly warm. The light breezes, soothing and pleasurable, played with his fur. The heavy scent of flowers lingered from the flown day and reminded him of the spicy fragrance of the females he had pleasured in the pools in his garden on Thundera. One special female had not partaken of the fruits of his private paradise. "Talitha," he sighed.

His tired bones melted with fatigue under the weight of his constant guilt. Would he ever be freed of his loss and his sin? Why in all the long suns had he not been able to summon tears to mourn the daughter he had lost to the silence? Why had he thought only of his dishonor and not of the violence done to his family? What had driven him completely inside himself, so very far from the help his mate and his friends had offered? Since he had left the Lair, he had yet to answer any of the questions of his rational mind, a faint voice that opposed his self-inflicted punishment. And yet, when he encountered the tigress, he had begun to listen seriously to his analytic conscience, and to believe that his emotions had forced him down the wrong road. As he traveled over many miles in pursuit of the elder, it had become clear that the conflicting feelings that battled for supremacy of his soul had blocked the way to a solution, and the road back to his home and his heart.

Moaning twisted the peace of the night. It took the tiger a second to realize that the anguished calls had not come from him. He searched the darkness and spotted the bent figure convulsed with pain. Tygra attempted to speak, but the bizarre paralysis that had inflicted him on the beach the previous night had returned.

The tall form whispered through his suffering words of power. A ball of light formed above him. He raised his head, and looked to his surroundings. "Have you come to haunt me, ghost? What have I done to you that you should cause me such agony!"

This time the stranger wore but a simple brown robe and carried no weapons. The warrior who had again invaded his dreams rose to his feet with difficulty. The hairs of his white mane fanned outward; the dark streaks of brown fur snaked toward the floating light ball. Like a great tree, he spread his arms wide. Eyes closed, he tilted his head back as if an invisible string pulled it. With a voice strengthened by anger, he shouted an incantation.

An unseen vise clamped Tygra's chest and tightened until the Thundercat believed he would sunder. How have I hurt him? Tygra thought through his torment. How can one injure a dream! Savar help me and him! The pressure around his chest suddenly ceased. The pain disappeared from his attacker's face.

"I feel your innocence. You knew not what you had done to me, ghost. Forgive me my outburst, but you cannot know how your sadness feels to an empath such as myself." The large northerner dropped to the ground. His long hair covered him like a cloak. "Please tell me your problem. Maybe I can help you," he said softly.

Even if I desired it, how could I communicate with you? Tygra thought wearily. Despite your sincerity, you are nothing but a vivid dream from which I only wish to awaken.

"Your doubt is strong, ghost, but humor me. What troubles you?"

What doesn't trouble me, Tygra decided with grim amusement. He recalled the death of his daughter. His mind filled with the frightening and confused images which had plagued him since that horrible day. His mate's anguished cry, his cub's death throes and the vacant eyes of the reptile he had slaughtered were the only things he had clearly remembered. Everything else that he knew of that day had taken on an unreal quality. It was someone other than himself who had lived through the experience.

"A cub lost," the giant whispered. "A family broken apart by her death." The warrior shuddered. "A murder, that's how she died, but I don't understand the other feelings--betrayal...dishonor."

Maybe wisdom can come in dreams, Tygra decided. He considered the unlikely source of help before him. Maybe I will only awaken when he knows the truth. Without the benefit of the telepathic gift he had lost, his only hope for communication lay in focusing his thoughts and pretending he actually addressed the warrior. Honorable one, I slew the murderer of my daughter in a manner unfitting one designated an open spiral. I dealt murder for murder, and lost everything that I ever valued.

"Not true!"

The intensity of the reply stunned the architect. How can he say that! Tygra wondered.

"I am not omniscient, ghost. All I know is that goodness follows you. You have not committed murder. You are wrong." The warrior bent forward and clawed the ground. "I cannot endure anymore. Savar, hear your priest, help this unfortunate spirit who haunts me, for he is innocent. I, Ty'gra, ask this favor of you." The light from the magical sphere above him dimmed. The warrior became a dark shape that became lost among the trees and the moonlight.

He shares my name! Tygra thought with amazement. "Wait!" His voice had given shape to a word. The architect touched his lip with his fingertips. The spell dream had ended. The position of the moon indicated that time had passed since he had ventured into the glade. Tygra approached the spot where the warrior had fallen, but knew that he would find nothing.

*****

The Balkins say that if you wish for a pot to boil, don't watch it, Talitha thought. Five hours of watching, and no power surges. Perhaps the problem has cleared up by itself. The mystic noted the latest set of readings. She and her male companions had studied the figures registered from the earlier jumps and had failed to come to any conclusions as to the cause of the disturbances. The discrepancy now stubbornly refused to reappear under her careful scrutiny.

The mystic yawned. The night watch and she simply did not mesh. Like Tygra, she was a person who rose early and rarely went to bed late. Sitting a watch was by its nature boring and did not facilitate her task. She glanced at the chronometer on the panel. Several dull hours remained until her relief arrived.

Got to get my mind off this enigma, she decided. I'll activate the viewscreen. The moon should cast plenty of light. I can search the plain without using the beams. Wonder what might be crawling around out there.

"Can I see?"

The soft spoken request came from behind her back. Tiny and feminine, it possessed the hesitant tone belonging to a young kitten whose curiosity had placed it in a situation it had not anticipated. The mystic stared at the control board. The lights flashed red in rapid bursts. The computer recorded the power surge in the system. The string of numbers flying across the monitor noted the safety measures it took to prevent the loss of data and functions.

Talitha remained calm. Her mystic training had helped her to cope with many unusual phenomena. She fixed her gaze on the panel to focus her mind. "Are you causing this?" she asked mildly.

"I'm sorry," the voice apologized with an uncertainty that indicated it did not know the answer to her question.

The overtones of sadness in the reply pained her. Talitha turned to face the stranger. Before her stood a tiger kitten dressed in a knee length tunic as white as her fur. Although the young one appeared to be at least 4 seasons old, the mystic immediately recognized her daughter.

To stunned to speak, Talitha silently appraised the little figure. My dear dead kitten, your eyes are such a stormy blue. In your face, I can clearly see your father's stubborn chin and solid nose. But how, my dream, can you have returned from the silence?

Tugging at her tunic, the kitten asked, "Are you angry with me?"

Her daughter had addressed her with an innocence that only added to the surreal nature of the moment. "No, I am not angry with you." Her controlled response hid well her dazed feeling.

"Don't you like me?"

The kitten had shot the question like an arrow, and the arrow had easily found its mark. The mystic sobbed, "I love you, Am'mril!"

"Am'mril?" Bewilderment clouded the face of her daughter even as she began to fade.

Leaping to her feet, Talitha shouted, "Don't go! Tell me why you are here!" Her pleas resonated in the chamber where hers had become the only presence.

*****

Cursing himself, Tygra kept his sight trained on his feet. He had lost most of what remained of the night in thought, but had finally resumed sleeping near dawn. The tigress had not bothered to locate the place of retreat where he had chosen to rest. When he had finally awakened, the sun had risen high into the sky. Judging from her trail, the elder had departed their main campsite soon after dawn. She had wasted no time and had put many miles between them.

The panting tiger stopped by a shallow stream, and knelt. Bending down, he drank deeply of the cold, pure water, then immersed his hands and unshod feet in the refreshing flow. With the morning had come a thick and oppressive heat that had left his pelt lathered with a clammy film of sweat that could not cool his overheated body. After he had stripped down to his ak'ti, he had bundled his boots and other clothing in his cloak.

Cupping some water in his hands, Tygra poured it over his mane. The torrent cleansed the drying cut from which he had removed the bandage. He filled his lungs with as much stale, but needed, air as they could hold, then slowly exhaled.

I think I can go on now, he decided as he stood, but this pace has left me starved. I wish I could eat something before continuing, but there is nothing to hunt with ease. This stream is not deep enough to support fish, and I've found no edible berries. He ran his hand over his torso and felt the ribs no longer hidden under the layer of fat that he had gained during his mate's pregnancy. I grow too thin, but no matter my need to eat, I can't let her get too far ahead of me. I must continue, he decided firmly.

He hunted for the shallow tracks, and found the trail. As he continued through the forest, the number of trees lessened considerably. The azure sky dotted with fluffy clouds became easily visible above the uppermost branches.

Rising into the sky, a dark plume of smoke appeared in the distance. Using whatever shrubbery he could find for cover, the Thunderan approached the campsite with caution. He peered through the vegetation into the clearing.

Two figures sat upon boulders near a dying campfire. The elder stroked the flowing mane of a hugely pregnant female whose pinched expression led him to believe that she had gone into labor. Dressed in the same manner as her companion, the younger white tigress's striking resemblance to the older one confirmed their sisterhood.

An overwhelming need to help the suffering female consumed him. The sympathy he felt matched the keen feeling he had experienced when he had prepared for mystic healing. But I am no longer a mystic, he thought with sadness.

Damn you, mystic healing is not all there is! His sudden resolve to help overrode his negativity. I can deliver her cub without mystic powers. He remembered his past. For reasons of their own, Jaga and Claudus had forced him against his wishes to study medicine and to neglect his interest in architecture. On Thundera, he had practiced his skill as commanded by the king and the sorcerer whenever the battles precipitated by acts of Mutant aggression occurred. He had sown up warriors cut open by enemy steel; he had soaked in their blood when the only healing he could offer them was to hold them as they died. His lips pulled into a feral smile. "Jaga, you bastard, wherever you are in the silence, tell King Claudus this: when I practice my art, I will cheat death of its prize." Tygra strode into the clearing confident of the assistance he could render.

"Go no further!" The formidable elder placed her arms around the other female in a gesture of protection.

Startled by her harsh declaration, the Thundercat halted his advance. "You know that I can assist her," he protested angrily, pointing to the pregnant tigress. "Tell me why you will not allow me to help. It is obvious that the cub will come soon!"

"I can speak for myself, Tygra. Don't be too hard on my sister," the young female chided in a voice that exuded serenity despite the pain that colored it. "I will not give birth until the journey's end. I carry a future which can only be born when all my sisters are reunited."

"Mysteries," he snapped, his patience depleted by the conspiracy of the pair. He set his hands on his hips, and at a loss for something more significant to say, stated, "I suppose you won't tell me your name either!"

"You can call me whatever you like," she answered with a slightly amused air.

The tiger could feel the curse forming on his lips, but bit it back. He stamped his foot to release the fury which had collected inside of him because of his impotence regarding his situation.

The younger female turned to her sister, and said, "The warrior waits for us."

The statement peaked the tiger's attention. "I knew he was involved somehow in your journey!" he shouted.

The elder replied, "It is now you who speak in riddles, Tygra. The warrior that we seek is our sister." The sorceress helped the gravid tigress to her feet, then retrieved her staff from the stone on which it rested. "Come, we must move on." Her sister nodded gravely.

"No matter what she claims, she can't possibly travel!" Despite the elder's earlier warning, Tygra headed toward the pair. The sorceress swiftly extended her staff in his direction. Its tip rested mere inches away from the architect's nose. Her glare suggested that she would not hesitate to use the weapon upon him if he tried to keep them from continuing their journey.

"Secrets within secrets!" he exclaimed in anger at the elder. "Keep your secrets. I have offered to help, but you have refused me. You have said that you need me not. Your words have made it clear that you have considered me a liability from the beginning. So be it! I will follow my own path." He turned toward the east, and left behind the females who did not raise their voice in protest or concern at his departure.

In but a few miles, I will be free of this forest, he thought as he made his way once again through the trees. The plain will offer good hunting. This day I will eat my fill.

*****

A small herd of gazelles roamed the savanna. From his position behind a large stone, Tygra scanned the group. Although he had hoped to bring down an adult, a young animal nursing from its mother had become his preferred choice. Both the long walk and his lack of sufficient nourishment had drained him of enough energy to tackle a larger animal.

He sniffed the air for the telltale scent of his rival predator, the am'ral'im, but his keen nose detected no danger. He waited patiently until the fawn had carelessly moved to the perimeter of the herd. As it strayed from its elders, the tiger sprang from his cover.

The herd instantly thundered off to the east, but the young animal froze in fear. Closing in for the kill, Tygra shut his eyes. The fawn's terror had almost broken his resolve to slay it. "Forgive me!" he shouted as he dealt a strong, fatal blow to the juvenile's neck. The animal crumpled instantly like a doll tossed aside by a bored cub.

Tygra lifted his prey and carried it across his shoulders. Nearing the boulder behind which he had stored his clothing, he detected a shift in the wind. The powerful scent of an am'ral'im filled his nostrils. An earsplitting roar rattled his bones.

The architect dropped the carcass without hesitation, and sprinted toward the closest of the few trees that dotted the plain. An am'ral'im, intent on the kill, ran after him. The bones showing through the young male's loose skin indicated that he had not fared well in previous hunts. He had yet to acquire the harem of deadly females whose superior hunting skills would ensure that he would eat regularly.

The beast leapt at him as he reached the base of the tree. With no time to climb out of danger, and mindful of the am'ral'im's preferred method of attack by a strangle hold with his powerful jaws, the cornered architect aimed his sharp claws for the throat of the descending attacker. Although the tremendous impact flooded him with pain, the downed tiger fought savagely for survival. He dug his claws deep into the animal's muscular flesh, and severed the great arteries of the neck. The am'ral'im's roars of triumph became agonized cries of defeat. Streams of blood splattered the architect. With supreme effort, Tygra pushed the heavy, struggling beast off his body. The fatally injured predator writhed in a gruesome death dance before it stilled.

Astounded that he still lived, Tygra limped slowly back toward his abandoned kill.

*****

"Mrísena!" The mystic clutched her delicately pointed ears to blot out the horrible scream that had severed her happy dream of the temple of healing that she had once called her home. She continued to repeat the name of the Goddess until she had eradicated the tortured sound from her consciousness. When the only noise in her chamber was the muffled hum of the Lair's systems at work, Talitha left her wrinkled bed. She pulled back the heavy curtains shielding the windows to let in the consoling sunlight of late afternoon. With her arms embracing the light, Talitha allowed the radiance to warm and relax her. When calm returned to her dazed body, she moved out of the brightness. She sat in the shadows by her loom, a gift from her generous lover that constantly kindled her memories of him, both good and bad.

The threads of her latest project beckoned, but she set aside any thought of working on her weaving. The purpose of the rest she had taken after the night watch had been to prepare herself for prayer. Through the meditative trance that she planned, she hoped that the Goddess would enlighten her on the appearance of the spirit that had taken the form of her deceased daughter.

Talitha picked at an imperfection in one of the weft threads. Lion-o knows of spirits. In the past, he alone has seen and spoken to Jaga, who long ago went to the silence, and yet, how startled he had been when I delivered my report. How did I manage to convince our young king to remain quiet about my ghostly encounter until I had a chance to ask the Goddess for advice? she wondered. She caressed the wooden frame of the loom. What will the others make of all this when I encounter them at the evening meeting of the council and discuss what has occurred?

The mystic regarded the grain of the wood. The circular patterns nearest to her existed as complete and individual marks. Those at the base of the loom were broken circles, or in some instances, circles that had lost their identity and had blended together into something far more beautiful and fluid in shape. I see the design of life in these lines, she decided. Sometimes, one's days flow smoothly like the ripples of water in a pond that journey toward the final merger with the shore in acceptance. On some days, the pattern breaks down, and everything has lost its meaning and direction.

She and Tygra had been two circles that had created from their joining a sphere of shared power and life. The death of their daughter had split them apart, but incompletely. Her connection to her lover had become a link as transparent and fragile as an insects's wing.

Talitha followed the tiny particles of dust that danced happily in the sunlight. Had the dream cry come from Tygra? She laughed bitterly. Over the many suns since his departure, she had discovered that the weak bond that remained to him provided no comfort and no answers, but only added to her weariness by reminding her of her loss.

But what has happened in the past to Tygra and me is of no importance for the moment, Talitha decided. My responsibility is to the present and the little spirit who has returned. The Goddess will know why she walks. If I am to hear Mrísena, I must set aside my unhappiness, and let her speak to me through prayer. She will tell me how to guide my daughter to her place in the silence.

*****

"Set down one foot, then the other. Set down one foot, then the other," Tygra repeated, following the footprints of the females that he sought. The shreds of cloth that bound his injuries hung like the limp banners of surrender displayed by beaten warriors. The stifling heat and a perverse modesty made him persist in wearing the thin, torn ak'ti. His bruised feet had swelled, making it impossible for him to don his boots. He dragged his footwear, the remnants of his clothing and the dead fawn in the sack formed by his cloak. The amulet of Irri'in, which had prompted his journey, hung about his neck. The gentle taps that it made against his sternum matched the rhythm of his stride, and propelled him toward his goal.

The architect noted the low angle of the sun through the trees. With dusk, the forest to which he had returned would become more dangerous. The animals that hunted at night would prowl. If I don't find the females soon, I shall have to camp on my own, Tygra decided grimly. I need a fire for protection, warmth, and to prepare what I have slain. No matter where I rest, I still must find water.

He had chosen not to double back to the stream he had passed earlier in the day for fear of falling too far behind the females. Tygra halted. He had paid the price for continuing in his search without finding water first. His body clamored for fluid; his wounds needed cleansing to prevent infection. He listened hopefully for the gurgling of a stream. Bird song drifted above him. The crackling of a branch put him on his guard. He dropped his burden, and hid behind a shrub.

After a few tense moments, he growled, "Nothing!" Straightening too quickly, he gasped in pain. The architect touched the tight bandages around his chest. Just how many of my ribs did the am'ral'im damage? he wondered in dismay.

He had not the opportunity to answer his own question. A lyric melody sounded faintly within the forest. Tygra retrieved his pack and moved toward the music as fast as his broken body would allow.

*****

Talitha knelt quietly on a woven prayer mat before the altar of Mrísena that she had created amidst the jumble of stones that had witnessed her daughter's death. Her eyes followed the serpentine swirls of hypnotic smoke from the two large braziers that perfumed her sacred grove. The passing clouds dotted the landscape with shifting patterns of light and dark that enhanced the mesmerizing dance of the spicy incense.

The white plumes of scent spun themselves into the figure of her daughter. The Goddess touched her mind. *Am'mril searches, and yet, she does not know that she searches. What has been separated by Seti's evil must be rejoined by mystic healing.*

Her vaporous daughter ascended and merged with the accepting clouds drifting across the azure sky. In the empty place left by her passing, the coils of smoke formed another larger figure bent in anguish.

"Tygra," the mystic sighed.

*He can be saved if he heals the cub. For him to have the opportunity to do so, you must refrain from giving the gift of healing to Am'mril. Is your love for Tygra greater than your wrath, so that my will can be done?*

Her lover had left her when she had needed most the comfort of his strength and courage. He had destroyed the healer within himself, and had replaced him with a being who embraced his disease and his weakness. His departure had blanketed the Lair under a hood of despair that gnawed at the souls of all who had taken refuge behind the walls he had designed.

Rising, Talitha reached for a brazier. The hot metal scorched the fine white hairs of her palms and the sensitive skin beneath. She declared through her pain, "My anger at Tygra was just, but my lack of forgiveness has caused it to poison my body. Let this disease be burned away! Mrísena, I submit to your will."

The mystic released the brazier, and dropped back to her knees. She regarded her reddened palms. Let me never forget that righteous anger not transformed by compassion into forgiveness is evil. She clasped her hands together. With a several deep, slow breaths, she began the descent into the healing trance that would mend her burn, and seal her compact with the Goddess.

*****

Tygra wrapped the fresh bandage around the long wounds in his thigh that the am'ral'im had made. He paused in his task to listen to the distant music of the harp which had suddenly changed from an innocuous melody to a somber air.

Are you troubled, wise one? he wondered. Has your quest saddened you? He looked to the dark wall of trees beyond his fire. I would offer you solace, if I could but find you.

Completing his task, he dipped a piece of cloth into one of two bowls of water set by the fire, then wiped his hot brow. I am grateful for your magical skills, tigress, he decided. I would have failed in my quest had you not left for me a fire for cooking, water to drink and to use for cleansing my wounds, and unsoiled linen for binding. He fingered the stones arranged in the sunburst symbol of Mrísena. When he had stumbled on the abandoned campsite, he had surmised by the mark that the elder had placed the gifts for him.

Tygra lay back upon the stained cloak, which he had spread on the ground, and watched the dying flames. Little remained of the spitted carcass hanging over the embers. He had satiated himself with the tender young flesh. He patted his bloated belly, which strained the tight bandages. His hands stroked his sore chest. He thought back to a time when it had hurt for a reason other than injury. During Talitha's pregnancy, his body had outwardly mimicked her condition, but within days after the disastrous end of her pregnancy, his swollen breasts had flattened, and the extra fat that he had accumulated on his torso had vanished. The rapid changes that had overtaken his body had fueled his conviction that his special bond with Talitha had broken after he had slain Slythe; however, a nagging doubt had remained in his mind for the very simple reason that they had both survived the apparent sundering of their soul link.

In his encounter with the am'ral'im, he had taken no joy in his victory. He had fought for survival against his foe with a primal ferocity equal to his opponent's. He had operated strictly on instinct and the solid knowledge that his experience had provided.

Tygra ran his claw in the dirt until he had traced the sign of Mrísena. Her light gave healing without discrimination. Like the sun above, she warmed the good as well as the evil without judgement. It had been the part of the am'ral'im within himself that had allowed him to kill Slythe. It was a shadow, an entity of greyness, because in itself, it was neither good nor evil, but neutral, a being that could contain the extremes of light and dark, and in so doing, render them meaningless. He had slain the mutant in his effort to save his mate and future generations of his kind. The instinct of the ancient predator had driven his act of killing, not the premeditation of a sentient being bent on wanton destruction. Panthro and the dream warrior had spoken the same truth: in taking Slythe's life, he had not committed a murder.

Tygra looked to the starry heavens and the moon barely visible above the thick forest canopy. On the day his daughter had died, he had become his shadow. He had wrongly punished himself for failing to control his instinctual drives.

He smiled at his foolishness. Only acceptance of one's being, the dark, the light and the shadow bridging the two, could give one balance and peace, he thought. But to feel that truth within, I would have to extend to myself compassion, and thus, forgiveness. How long must I wait for this day to come?

The tiger yawned and stretched. The answer will not come tonight, he decided. I am lucky to have survived the day, and so, be in a position to consider forgiveness and the future. Tygra rolled onto his side. The flames lost their shape. He slipped into a dreamless sleep.

*****

Talitha reclined on the large bed which she and Tygra had once shared. On the day that he had fled from the Lair, she had sealed his chamber. She had left the furnishings untouched except for the statue of Irri'in, which she had appropriated for her altar.

This night, she had returned to the past. The scent of her lover still clung to the linens. Talitha sniffed the fluffy pillow upon which Tygra had lain. The Goddess had helped her to find forgiveness, and had put her back on the path to love. The familiar, spicy odor gave her a measure of bittersweet comfort against the storm in her soul.

Her thoughts returned to the council meeting and the harsh speech Panthro had given. His declaration had overshadowed all others, and had denied her rest. "Mrísena confirmed Mumm-Ra's role in Slythe's attack. However, no matter the words of your Goddess, your daughter suffers and does not sleep in the silence because you sided with the A'tri'i in sending her to the unknown land unnamed!" His accusation had burned the most because she had suspected that he had spoken a truth which her Lady, for reasons of her own, had not. She had tried to understand his complaint in light of the fact that she had become a lighting rod for his rage.

Panthro had judged himself at fault for not taking seriously Cheetara's dreams of disaster. He had tried to remove the stigma of tragedy from her and place it upon himself. The cheetah had staked her own claim to the responsibility for Am'mril's death, and had frustrated him. In the war of unnecessary blame, both sides had retreated to neutral, cold corners to brood alone.

In defeat, the panther had turned his anger on her for her refusal to hold Tygra at the Lair by invoking mystic law. After the tiger had eagerly embraced his outcast status and had left the fortress, the panther had shifted the brunt of his fury to her improper conduction of the funeral rites for her daughter. His gleeful denunciation of her behavior, along with Kitra's spiteful views, had given a perverse vindication to his claim of why her daughter haunted the living. The solemn faces of the others had lent indirect agreement, and that had fanned the guilt and hurt within herself.

The mystic pounded her fist into the pillow. To her surprise, a seam tore open, and spewed a handful of feathers. Talitha grabbed the down and threw it into the air to exorcise that which plagued her. Guilt is not the solution to this problem; healing is, she resolved, watching the white feathers float slowly down onto the bed. Katren alone was the only one not consumed by his own demons to see that and the first to speak on it.

The catling had asked her how Am'mril might be comforted without violating the will of the Goddess, a question to which she had yet to find a specific answer, but one worthy of consideration. Equally important, he had dared to suggest to the others what she herself had not: if the Goddess had opened a way for Tygra to restore himself by healing the specter of his daughter, could not his exile be ended? Her pride in her thoughtful apprentice had grown with his assured performance at the meeting. He had solidified her fortitude to pursue the course which she knew to be right and sacred.

The road that she and her apprentice had seen stretching before them would not be an easily one to follow. Resentment lined the path. Talitha covered her ears, but could not shut out the memory of Panthro's roar. His objection to Katren's suggestion regarding Tygra had shaken the walls of the council chamber. Once the tiger had gone into exile, Panthro had erased the memory of their brotherhood. Forgiveness had fled his heart. To the grey warrior, the lost Thunderan had no name other than that which had marked him as an outcast: A'tri'i.

Lion-o had not reversed his decision on the architect's exile based on the information the Goddess had conveyed to her, much to Panthro's satisfaction. The young king had reserved the right not to go into his reasons, and no one had chosen to question him. His golden eyes had told her all that she needed to know. She saw relief in his expression, a way out of the sadness which the tiger had left as his parting gift. The cool modulated tone with which the lion had addressed the panther had clearly signaled to her that his appeasement by avoidance had been a ruse. If Tygra succeeded in fulfilling the will of Mrísena, Lion-o would find a way to open the doors of the Lair to him, and welcome him home.

Moonlight crept into the chamber. The mystic turned her back to the bright orb and the stars shining through the long windows. Her body had finally grown heavy with the promise of sleep. Lion-o had freed her of the night watch, so that she might recover from the stress of the strange discoveries that she had made. She owed him her best effort to rest because of his consideration and the alliance with her that he had unwittingly revealed at the council meeting. Talitha wrapped herself around the broken pillow with its pleasant scent. Drifting into sleep, she wondered when she would hold her lover again.

*****

With his back resting against a tree, Tygra sat on a carpet of moss and grass. Since he had resumed his journey at dawn, no breeze had risen to cool the baked landscape. Although the sun had yet to reach zenith, the temperature had soared. The forest canopy had shielded him from the burning rays, but could not protect him from the hot, foul air that had made breathing difficult. As he walked, he had yearned for a stream in which to quench his thirst and chill his overheated body, but the gods had not listened to his prayer.

What sunlight had made it down to the forest floor had aggravated the stabbing pain behind his eyes. The architect pressed his hand against his damp brow. The skin beneath the fur radiated the intense heat typical for one who had contracted a fever. Despite his cleansing, the open wounds beneath his bandages had become infected. He rubbed his bound thigh. The throbbing in his lacerated leg had increased with each mile that he covered.

The sharp outline of the trees blurred. The architect grabbed the bark for support, and pulled himself to his feet. I have no choice but to go forward, he decided. If I sit any longer, I will not be able to continue.

A figure suddenly leapt from the cover of the vegetation that surrounded him. Bow drawn, the young white tigress shouted, "Move not!"

"And who is it that commands me, but has not the right!" Tygra exclaimed in rage, taking a faltering step forward. The answer arrived in the distinctive sound made by a bow that had loosed an arrow. The shaft lodged itself in the bark by his head. The tiger reached back and pull the arrow from the tree. "We shall see how you like the taste of your own weapon," he challenged, taking another step.

"By your feet, elder! Beware!"

The presumed threat had become a clear warning. The tiger looked down, and detected an undulating movement in the grass. The asp lunged at him. The huntress released another bolt that pinned the serpent's head to the ground. The fatally injured creature thrashed in the grass until it died.

The Thundercat, rooted in place by surprise, stared at the dead snake and the female who had killed it in his defense. The petite tigress, clad in a white ak'ti, retrieved her arrow from the carcass with indifference. The patches of light brown on her face marked her as an adolescent. The dark brown stripes on her mane and body accentuated her fluid movements that the leather quiver strapped to her back hindered not. She placed one end of her weapon against the ground and leaned on the bow. "Might have made a good meal, if only it were not poisonous, and I had taken its life by honorable means," she suggested, pointing to the scaled predator.

At a loss for an equally insightful comment, the architect merely nodded in agreement. To conserve what strength remained to him, he sat back down on the ground. Tapping the shaft that he still held against his palm, he considered the tigress before him. Her small stature and the slight curves of her breasts and hips hinted that she had only recently put kittenhood behind her and had entered into adolescence. Paradoxically, her skill with the bow matched that of a seasoned warrior. The boldness of her features indicated that she shared kinship with the females that he tracked.

"They sent you to find me, didn't they?" he asked with resentment coloring his voice.

"And to watch over you until we rejoin them," she added. "They are many miles from here to the south east."

"Then I suppose we should get started," he said, ignoring both his fever and the pain of his wounds. Rising, he handed her the arrow that she had skillfully shot at him. "Whoever taught you the use of the bow, taught you well."

The tigress slipped the shaft back into the quiver. "No one taught me, I just know how," she answered with the irritation of one trying to explain the unexplainable. Changing the subject, she said, "Come. There is a brook, but a mile to the east. You need to drink. You must wait for food until we reach the others."

The firm set of her youthful jaw told him that she would not tolerate complaint or rebellion from him despite his rank as her elder. Tygra grabbed the worn sack that his cloak had become. "Let's hope that I survive to taste that meal, little sister," he quipped grimly.

*****

Nibbling on a piece of bread for her lunch, the mystic reviewed the system readings from the night watch. The Lord of the Thundercats had not recorded any power surges in his report. Talitha set the printout on the console, and looked at the image on the viewscreen of the land to the south of the Lair. Under the bright sunlight, the grey boulders in her colorful garden stood in stark relief against the dark background provided by the line of trees comprising the forest edge. Considering that her daughter had not effected the instruments during the night watch, she wondered with concern: have I driven Am'mril away by naming her? Talitha felt the pull of the stones that she had restored and had made sacred. I must have faith that she will return, she decided. Perhaps the stones hold the key to her salvation as well as Tygra's.

The door to the control room opened and broke her reverie. Panthro strode into the chamber without a word of greeting. Dirt and grease from the Thundertank covered his work clothes. Without a care for soiling the furniture or the equipment, he sat at one of the computer terminals, and retrieved information from his engineering files. Arms folded, he scowled at the display.

Talitha considered asking the panther what troubled him, but given his obvious dissatisfaction, decided against the action. The grey warrior rose, and approached her station. Not wishing to upset him further, the mystic stepped out of his way. Ignoring her completely, Panthro appropriated her chair, and proceeded to work the instruments. A series of figures popped up on the computer monitor. Panthro grunted in approval. He tapped the glass with his claws and remarked, "The circuits controlling the port to the tank bay are malfunctioning. Think Am'mril had anything to do with this?"

She had inadvertently given her daughter the gift of her name when the spirit had finally appeared to her. Withholding her name from the others had no longer mattered, so she had revealed it at the council meeting. Hearing Panthro voice it was unsettling; not knowing how to answer his question only made her feel worse. The strained silence between them was as strong as the walls of their fortress. The unremitting hostility that he exuded forced her to look away from her fellow Thunderan.

"Demons!" Panthro shouted, leaping up from his seat. "She'll blow every electrical connection in the Lair!"

The control panel had become alive with red lights. "Am'mril, stop!" Talitha pleaded. The wave of color on the panel lessened considerably as the surge in the power decreased.

A cloud of light shimmered before the grey warrior. The brilliance solidified. The small form became a white tigress. The pouting kitten looked up at the panther who towered above her. "Name of Jaga," Panthro gasped, dropping back onto the chair.

"I want to go home. I want my sa'ba!" she demanded of the speechless warrior, shaking her fists and stamping her bare feet in anger.

Pointing to the image still on the viewscreen, and acting on a hunch, the mystic said calmly to her daughter, "Your Ta'sa'ba will come to you. Go to the stones."

The little tigress faced the mystic. "Are you my Ra'sa'ba?" she beseeched.

"No," Talitha lied. "She is not here. Go to the stones and meet your Ta'sa'ba."

Tears welled in the kitten's dark eyes. A blotch of red formed on her white tunic. "They hurt me," she sobbed.

Forgetting that she had promised to withhold healing from her ghostly daughter, the mystic rushed toward the bleeding kitten. Powerful hands stopped her. "Let me go!" she cried, struggling in Panthro's secure embrace.

"Go find your father! We have no help for you here," the panther snarled at the kitten.

Am'mril bent her head. Her falling tears mixed with the blood on her tunic. "I'm frightened," she whispered. The kitten's form began to lose solidity.

"Am'mril! Wait!" the captive tigress called out in desperation, but the specter had disappeared.

The room spun about the mystic in a mad dance. A shroud of grey draped her. Talitha crossed into darkness.

*****

"I don't care how bitter you find it! Make sure you drink it all, snarf, snarf!" the elderly servant commanded.

"And I needn't remind you that healing potions are not only made by mystics," Cheetara scolded.

The mystic frowned at the two individuals who had greeted her when she had revived from her faint. "Very well," she agreed with disdain, draining the last drop of tonic from the cup. The acridity made her grimace. "Goddess! This potion smells and tastes like urine. What in the seven hells is in this brew?"

"It's a Balkin remedy, the secret of which I promised old Kerwithe I'd keep. Now, feel any better?" Snarf asked.

To the mystic's amazement, the dizziness that she had suffered once she had regained consciousness had indeed passed. She rose gingerly from her chair. Cheetara swiftly came to her side, and offered her support. "No, let me stand on my own," Talitha protested to the other female. "I want to be sure that I am back to normal." She rubbed her eyes; the control room came into focus.

"And Goddess only knows what is normal for a mystic," the cheetah teased in a lighthearted fashion at odds with her recent somber moods.

What has made her this cheerful? Talitha wondered. The observant cheetah, detecting her puzzlement, proceeded to enlighten her. "After the meeting last night, I spent many hours considering what was said, and everything that has occurred in this Lair since Slythe struck his final blow. It will be many seasons before I can completely bury the memory of that terrible day, but I have decided that my guilt has been counterproductive to the survival of this Lair. Your courage and compassion have shown me that." Cheetara touched the mystic's arm. "Last night, I saw in the way that you carried yourself with dignity that you desired to move forward with your life. If you who have suffered the greatest loss can reach to the future, so can I. I will give you whatever help you need to point your daughter home to the silence. I will stand by you if you attempt to bring Tygra back to us. We lost a part of the soul of our people on the day that he left this Lair."

Talitha clasped the cheetah's hands. The healing that she had prayed for had truly begun. "Thank you," she replied, although the muscles in her throat had tightened with emotion. "I believe Lion-o is open to forgiveness; however, I hope that the Goddess can bring Panthro to our side, for he is the greatest obstacle to what we seek."

"I think Mrísena has already set to work on him," Snarf said softly, tapping impatiently the yellow stripe of fur on his arm. "Despite his disagreement, Panthro made you keep your pledge to the Goddess, snarf, snarf." The small servant matched her gaze without flinching. "Of everyone in the Lair, I've known Panthro the longest. He could not hide from me the tears he wanted to shed. He called for us to help you because he could not. His encounter with Am'mril disturbed him greatly." The snarf pointed to the viewscreen. "He went into the wood. Maybe he will find what he seeks."

Despite the elder's serious tones, the mystic could not stop from smiling. Once the wave of healing had taken form, no sorrow could stand against its transforming power. Talitha answered the servant with respect, "Wise one, you have revealed truths to me that I have not seen. You have suffered long in silence, but your pain has not gone unnoticed. Band with us, and know healing. Help us create the path home for Tygra and Am'mril. Help us to heal all within our Lair." With a nod, the snarf eagerly joined hands with the mystic and the historian.

"We three have made a circle, the symbol of life," Talitha declared. "Within its realm, death and grief have no meaning."

*****

Clad in his weathered trousers and wrapped in his dirty cloak, the exhausted tiger lay on his side. The pain from his injuries ebbed and flowed in synchronization with the wavering flames of the campfire. The night, though clear, carried the cool moisture that heralded rain. The slight breeze that had risen, a precursor of the storm to come, was a balm that had drained some of the heat from his fever, but had left his swollen feet chilled. Using his boots as a pillow, Tygra shifted his head to better position for viewing his reluctant companions, who sat amidst the trees beyond the edge of his firelight.

He had no right to criticize their disregard for his state. As twilight had deepened into night, the young warrior had led him to the place prepared by her sisters. The older females had proffered water and linen, but he alone tended to his wounds and his thirst. The warrior had vanished immediately after their arrival, but after a short time had returned with a small kill. The catling had cooked his meal, but he had to serve himself.

The three females had help him in numerous ways crucial to his survival, but they had kept their distance from him as if his touch were a contagion to which they could ill afford exposure. Their inattention had weighed heavily on his pride, a fact that intensified his shame.

Muffled cries of pain drifted across the campsite. Whispers of encouragement from the elder blended with the hollow sound of suffering. She tenderly massaged the back of the other female, who was a mountainous shape in the shadows.

From the beginning, the responsibility of leadership has been your curse, aged one, Tygra thought. It was your magical powers that sustained me. Why can you not free your sister of the discomfort of a confinement that refuses to end?

A change in the pattern of light and dark distracted him. The elder reclined beside her sister. In the darkness, the two became one indistinct form. A softly sung melody shaded by their similar voices replaced the conflicting murmurs between them.

Who fathered your cub, life-giver? What role have you played in this drama, Tygra wondered, listening to the lament of the sisters. You have continued this journey with dignity despite your constant torment. Over the many miles you have traveled with your sister, was it you who convinced her to leave me all that I required? Was it you who directed the warrior to my side?

The shadowed tigress standing watch moved into the circle of light and closer to him. Bow drawn, she stared at the wall of blackness beyond the camp. Her low growls added a discordant harmony to the peaceful hymn of her sisters. A beast hidden by the foliage attended to her warning, and passed the campsite without incident. Lowering her weapon, the warrior relaxed her guard. Silent and still, she resembled the stern marble statues of the ancient kings that had decorated the palace of Claudus.

Pride filled Tygra's soul. You have saved me from poison, dehydration, and danger, little one. During our journey together, you spoke to me only when I addressed you. To my questions, you revealed nothing. What have your far-seeing eyes beheld that I cannot? What can I learn from your courage?

"Mysteries within mysteries," Tygra muttered to himself. "Will I solve them all at journey's end?"

He averted his eyes from his strange companions, and drew his cloak more tightly about himself. The heaviness of his body grew with his every breath. His brain ignited random ideas that spun into twisted webs of thought. "They don't eat," he heard a distant voice much like his own whisper. "They don't sleep. Foolish tiger, You cannot touch what cannot be. They are ghosts." He heeded the spider in his mind, and watched once more.

The warrior transformed into a pillar of light that rose into the sky and was soon lost among the stars. A luminous, winged being stood on the site where the two sisters had lain. It followed into the heavens the fading trail left by the beacon.

The gripping paralysis of the dream realm returned. The tiger could not surrender to the dictates of his fear, and run from the abode of the dead. The trees undulated like serpents poised to strike. The light from many torches held by invisible hands swirled around him. The deafening music of a thousand war drums echoed in his bones and summoned the shades from a lost world.

Warriors in glinting metal danced with abandon in anticipation of the battle to come. In the midst of the frenzy, one who wore no armor stood apart. The priest who had twice invaded his dreams appeared before Tygra. His unclothed body trembled with ecstasy; his erect penis celebrated his maleness. He cast out evil with the switching of his tail. The rattles that he shook brought down lightning bolts. The Sinda'am'ral'im straddled the prone Thundercat. "Fill him with Your power, mighty Savar!" the towering priest implored in a voice that possessed the strength of the unconquered. The holy servant shrieked his war cry, and leapt into the night. A serrated shaft of light roared down from the sky toward the numb tiger.

"Goddess!" Tygra screamed in terror.

"Elder, awake!"

Untangling himself from his cloak, Tygra reoriented himself to his surroundings. He slapped his face to convince himself of his own reality. Illuminated by the diffuse glow of a grey dawn, the trees had lost their menace. The only warrior who remained was the small tigress. Her blue-grey eyes registered concern, but her long toes flexed with impatience, breaking the thin blades of grass beneath her feet.

He dismissed the strange visions of three females that he had experienced during the night. How could you possibly be a ghost, he decided. The rays of the sun do not pass through you, little one. You are as solid as a stone. He ran his hand through his disheveled mane and picked out a burr. Tossing the seed aside, he rose stiffly to his feet. Dizziness overtook him. He bent over until the spell passed.

Tygra placed his palm against his forehead. The excessive warmth beneath his hand indicated that although not worse, his fever had not yet broken. A bead of sweat dripped down his nose. The day was young, but the temperature had already begun to climb. The promised rain had eluded them.

The catling calmly watched him as he stripped off his trousers to keep cool. The temptation to touch her to prove her existence to himself suddenly pervaded his thoughts. Reading his intention, she stepped back several paces. Her hands twitched, and he knew that she considered drawing her bow. Tossing his boots and trousers on his cloak, he diverted his mind from his desire to prove what he believed about his companion.

The tension in her body lessened. She pointed to the east. "They are not that far ahead."

"But we should move on." The tigress nodded in assent. Picking up his packed cloak, he said, "Let's go."

He followed a few steps behind the youngster who moved confidently ahead, and considered how long he could withstand the pain that plagued him.

*****

Pushing aside the tray that contained the remnants of her lunch, Talitha spread several drawings across the table. The artistic exercise on which she had labored all morning had helped keep her mind off Panthro, to whom she had not spoken since the prior day. What has he learned in the wood? she wondered. Has his experience changed his mind regarding Tygra? No matter how I feel, he must find his own road in his own time. She focused on the pretty pictures before her. "What do you think?" she asked the snarf, who stood on the chair next to hers.

The servant, a teacup held jauntily in one hand, replied, "You favor dark colors, don't you."

"You don't like any of my designs?"

"It's not the designs, it's the palette. If you tried some of these patterns with pastel colors, I'm sure that--"

"How dare you!" Kitra cried, advancing toward them. The pleats of her green robe exaggerated her gestures in a wild dance of fabric and form.

So engrossed had Talitha and Snarf been in their discussion that neither had noted the arrival of the enraged catling. The shapely youngster pushed the mystic. The tigress stood and glared at the adolescent whom she still outstripped in height.

"What is the meaning of this, snarf, snarf!"

The catling shook her finger at the older female. "It is because of her meddling that Cheetara refuses to instruct me, and Lion-o has agreed!"

The mystic and the snarf exchanged confused glances. Although she had formed an alliance with Cheetara and Snarf on trying to secure Tygra's return to Cats' Lair, the mystic had not advocated coercion against their recalcitrant companions.

Despite her rage, the small cat's voice carried hurt and shame. Talitha replied cautiously, "No matter what you might believe, I advised no such thing." With composure, the mystic gathered together her watercolors.

Kitra slapped Talitha's hands. The squares of paper flew in all directions. "It was you who drove Tygra away!"

"He left of his own accord," Snarf protested. "Talitha's only mistake is putting up with your tantrums!"

"Lion-o declared him a'tri'i because she did not offer mystic sanctuary!"

"He didn't want my help, Kitra. To refuse, was his option."

A tear trickled down the youngster's face. "Cheetara and Lion-o want me to understand what you did for Tygra, but I won't. He loved you. Even if I never become a historian, I won't forgive you for your betrayal." The distressed catling ran toward the door.

"Kitra, wait, snarf, snarf! You're anger is only hurting our chances of getting Tygra back."

"Let her go, Snarf," the mystic declared. "Only the passage of time will give her the maturity to understand. I'll speak to Cheetara about this. At least it appears that Lion-o has formally taken our side."

The cat pounded the door with her fists. "What trickery is this that it will not open!" she screeched at her fellow Thunderans. "You cannot force me to your will by holding me a prisoner." In response to her accusations, the lights flickered madly. The cat ran in terror to one corner of the room.

"Am'mril," Snarf whispered fearfully.

"It must be," Talitha replied, ignoring Kitra's curses.

"Someone please help!" a voice crackled over the intercom.

Talitha rushed toward the control panel near the door. Punching the button to activate the intercom, she asked, "Katren, is that you?"

"Si'va'ka, I'm locked in my bathroom! The lights are out. Thank the gods, the communication system still works."

"Jaga's balls, White! Your cub has locked the main controls. Talk to her," Panthro demanded, cutting into Katren's transmission over the intercom with his own. "Lion-o and I are stuck here in the control room; Cheetara is stranded in storage. Gods only know where the catlings--"

"They are safe," Talitha interrupted. "Are the scanners working? Can you see the stones at the forest edge?"

"Negative," Lion-o chimed. "The system is inoperative; the viewscreen remains dark."

"Talitha, you must convince your daughter to leave," Cheetara added.

The storm of malfunctions caused by her kitten had reached a dangerous level. Maybe today the story can end, if Tygra comes to the stones, and listens to his heart, she decided. A queer feeling touched in her soul, and confirmed her suspicions. The faint pull of her soul link to the architect told her that his arrival was imminent as the Goddess had suggested. I must compel my lost daughter to go to the stones for her salvation as well as her father's. I must drive her from this Lair, Talitha decided sadly. She is afraid of the place where she died. I must kill her fear by stoking her anger.

"Am'mril!" she demanded harshly.

A cloud of light appeared in the center of the hall, and condensed into the white specter. "Where are my sa'ba?" she begged.

"Go to the stones if you dare, you little beast," Talitha hissed. "There is no one in this Lair who gives a damn about what you want."

The ghost shrieked and furiously stamped her feet. The mystic picked up the utensils on her meal tray. "What are you doing!" Snarf cried in dismay.

Paying no heed to the servant's pleas, the mystic threw the cutlery which passed through the deceptively solid spirit. "Begone!"

The ceiling lights shattered and rained sharp fragments. "I hate you," the little ghost snarled as she disappeared. Sparks erupted from the wall panel. A pane of glass in the set of tall arched windows exploded.

Dodging the flying debris and dragging the shocked snarf behind her, Talitha crouched behind a chair. Concerned for Kitra's safety, she called to the catling, who stared at her with disbelief. "I cannot predict what Am'mril will do next. You have no protection. You're too exposed where you are. Name of the Goddess, come here!"

The cat quickly crawled over to the white tigress and the snarf. She hugged the mystic, and wept. Talitha gently rubbed her back. "Peace, Kitra. The storm will pass," she said soothingly.

Another pane blew apart. "Can't you stop her!" Snarf pleaded.

"We can only wait now for Tygra, and pray that he does his part."

*****

Tygra studied the veins of the long-bladed grass, the curves of the sharp stones, and the lumpy texture of the red-brown soil. The distinct elements in the pattern blurred in a subtle, fascinating way that kept him from thinking about the pain in his head that surpassed the throbbing of his other wounds. The disparate features blended into one colorful, unfocused mass. The tiger rubbed the dust and sticky fluid from his irritated eyes. I am finished, he decided.

"Your journey has ended," the sorceress intoned.

The little tigress that he had followed assumed her place in front of her sisters who flanked the flat boulder upon which Slythe had sacrificed his daughter. In the distance stood the fortress he had once called home.

He dropped his battered sack where he halted. The site of destruction had changed into a sacred grove. The faces of the carved idols atop the largest stone guarded the forest from evil. The hideous rock had become an altar dedicated to the light of healing and knowledge. The colorful flowers caressing the stones laughed at death. Talitha had healed the wood.

A longing for the life he had known overwhelmed him. Did he dare to believe that Lion-o would be merciful and would rescind his exile? Behind the strong walls lived the tigress in whom he had found a soul mate. His faults had blinded him to her love, but the difficult journey back had restored his vision. Tygra fingered the amulet of Irri'in that hung about his neck. The knowledge he had gained had planted the hope in his heart that in the future he would accept himself without conditions, and so, forgive himself for being imperfect.

The architect pointed to the massive shape to the north. "I must venture into the stronghold of my king. Here our path divides. My sisters, I wish you well on your journey. I am sorry that I have been of no help to you. I am thankful for all the aid that you have rendered me." Resisting the urge to embrace them, he said, "Perhaps one day I will know your names and the people who are your kin."

"But you do," the pregnant tigress implored. "Look at us; look into your heart; the truth is there."

He stopped and regarded each one in turn. From the youngest to the oldest, the resemblance the sisters shared was remarkable. Under his scrutiny, the warrior trembled slightly. Her blue-grey eyes, different from the dark blue irises of her sisters, unexpectedly filled with tears. The dissolution of her confidence shocked him. Her expressive sadness struck his heart with the same accuracy as any arrow she had fired. For an instant, he saw not the warrior, but the mystic he loved and a female reflection of himself. Suddenly, he knew that, however impossible it might be, the young tigress was the daughter he had lost to the silence.

He could no longer carry his own weight. He dropped onto the nearest rock. The trials of his journey paled in comparison to the revelation he had just experienced. His already pounding brain ached with the enormity of its implications. He began to laugh. The gods had played well their tricks on him. Had the elder told him her name at the beginning of their quest, he would surely have not believed her. As it stood, the name was but one name for all three sisters, for they were one divided soul. "Warrior, Life-giver, Wise One. I don't pretend to know how or why or what it means," he finally gasped, his brain still reeling, "but somehow each one of you is my daughter, each one is Am'mril."

The elder took a stick, and drew a circle made of broken lines in the soil. "It was the evil magic of Seti contained in Slythe's dagger that divided our soul into the separate parts that you see, father." She retraced the figure so that no gaps remained. "The power is within you to restore us to wholeness."

"Tell me how and I will begin immediately, my daughter!"

"Mystic healing," the pregnant tigress responded.

Another arrow of sorrow lodged in his heart. "That I cannot do! On the day you died, my mind gifts fled." He gestured toward the Lair. "Your hope lies with Talitha, your mother, not me. I am as crippled as you."

The warrior answered, "Although her decision has caused her suffering, Ra'sa'ba has sworn to Mrísena not to interfere in this matter. Ta'sa'ba, we cannot go to the silence unless we are made whole."

"Unless you help us, you condemn us to walk between worlds. We cannot attain the rebirth promised beyond the silence," the elder concluded.

The tiger beat his fist against his chest. "I have not the means to help you. How can the Goddess be so cruel!"

"Listen to me, father," Am'mril the life-giver replied. She tenderly stroked the top of her huge belly. "I am pregnant with myself. When we died, and our soul sundered, the cub, she who was the most helpless, retreated into me for safety. One of us is still missing, the one in whom our mystic force is locked. She is the kitten who remembers death; she haunts the halls of your mighty fortress, giving those within no peace. She too must be rewoven into our soul circle. That is why we journeyed here. She is bound to the stones by her trauma. Call her, and the way will be open to you."

His daughters became a dizzying blur. Tygra covered his face with his palms and prayed. Mrísena, Goddess of Healing, whatever I have learnt in my quest matters not if I cannot help my daughter. Relieve her of her torment. Let her pass into the silence, so that she can enter into a new cycle of life. Let me be an instrument of your will. With his faith his only hope, Tygra raised his arms to the sky. "Am'mril come! Your Ta'sa'ba calls you!

The hot, stagnant air stirred. A whirlwind of colors spun before him. Am'mril the kitten materialized. Her wide eyes held the mute blue-grays of a summer storm. The tips of her fingers bore the stain of red that marred her white tunic. "Ta'sa'ba?" she asked in a voice breaking with tears.

"My little daughter," Tygra murmured, kneeling beside the kitten. "Come into my arms, and suffer no more." The tiny tigress met with his embrace. The coldness she radiated numbed the pain in his limbs until he was no longer aware of his body. The desire to give warmth to his cub consumed him completely. The ice chains in his soul melted. His power escaped the bonds of his doubts.

*Tygra, I am with you. Feel my love, and be strong.*

He existed in a present which he could not address with words. Everything glowed with rainbow light. He looked across the glade and envisioned his mate floating above her altar. Arcs of violet and blue framed her. The restored bond with her nourished his starved spirit. He sang his song of power, one pure tone that flew with the hawks. Blue light poured from his hands. He became the moment with each moment.

Enmeshed in the restorative glow, his daughter giggled with delight. She smiled at him for one last time before she transformed into a luminous gold cloud contained within the blue field of his power.

Prepared to embark on the last step of their journey, his other daughters approached. "Farewell, Ta'sa'ba," the warrior said. Without flinching, the brave catling put her hands to the nebulous brilliance. She spiraled into the light.

"Until we meet again," the life-giver promised, following her sister into dissolution.

The elder laid her hands over his. The brightness of her smile matched the glowing cloud in his care. Her fading voice drifted across his mind. *Slythe died with your first blow.*

With her passing, his daughter's radiance vanished from Third Earth. Tygra stared at the empty space between his hands, and withdrew his healing. Blue wisps of residual power fell from his fingers, fluttering to the ground like butterflies. With her final words, his daughter had given him the key to self-forgiveness.

Tygra grabbed a boulder for support as he raised himself slowly to his feet. The colors of the world had dulled. The architect stumbled toward the altar. *Help!* he pleaded before collapsing amongst the flowers.

*****

Unconcerned about her companions in Cats' Lair, Talitha darted across the southern plain. Rushing to Tygra's assistance had become her only thought. Through their renewed soul-link, she had participated in his triumph of healing. Lightheaded, she had slumped against Snarf when the tiger had depleted his strength. He had completed the task Mrísena had set, and had left her free to act on his behalf. Her zeal had driven away her vertigo. Unmindful of the worried pleas from Snarf and Kitra that she not waste her own reserves of energy, she had commenced her race the instant the systems in the Lair had returned to normal. Punching the proper codes into the control unit, she had opened the great doors of the fortress easily. Earlier in the day, Panthro had conveniently deployed the bridge spanning the river chasm. Because of his action, she had crossed the natural moat without losing time.

No obstacle stood between the mystic and the forest. In her frantic wake, she left bits of broken grass and clods of loose dirt. In her haste, she failed to notice a depression in the earth. Her misstep snapped the leather of one sandal. Talitha fell forward. "All Gods be damned!" she howled, twisting her foot and soiling her robe. Ignoring the pain in her ankle, she tore off the remaining sandal, and continued her sprint to the forest. Her eyes focused on the shape sprawled by her altar.

Talitha entered the glade that she had sanctified. "Dearest Tygra!" she gasped, kneeling beside her stricken lover. "What in the name of Mrísena have you done to yourself." She pushed him from his side onto his back. She brushed back the uneven strands of his short mane from his gaunt face. "You're burning with fever," she said, noting his poor condition and his tattered bandages.

The mystic placed her longer fingers against his neck. "Your heart is very strong, tiger," she said with satisfaction. She marked the steady rise and fall of his chest. "The northern blood of your ancestors has served you well. You give credence to the legendary endurance of that race of tigers."

She positioned her hands over his heart. Slowing her breathing, she descended into the trance state necessary to summon mystic power. Talitha flooded her lover with the blue light of healing. The vibration of energy she had chosen would revive him and check his infection until she could get him into the Lair for proper treatment. She recalled her power, and monitored the result.

Tygra stirred beneath her hands, his eyes opening gradually. Recognition replaced the dull expression on his face. She touched the tips of his fingers. The protective resistance that guarded her identity failed under the weight of his sad gaze. The fire of his emotions warmed her soul.

Though his love entered her through their special link, neither his tired mind nor his voice could summon her name. She ran her finger gently down his nose. "Be at peace, dear one. You have come home." She grasped his hand. "Do you think you can stand?" He nodded slowly. His slight smile gave her the courage to try to move his greater weight. "Good. Use me an your anchor." Although it was a struggle, she brought him to his feet. He braced himself between her and the altar to keep from pitching forward. "Can you walk," she asked hopefully, knowing from his reluctance that her request was impossible for him to fulfill. He tightened his grip around her waist to signal that he was ready to try.

"White!" She looked to the shapes in the distance that had called her. Lion-o and Panthro bounded across the plain. Her lover stiffened with dread.

"You are under mystic sanctuary. No one can harm you." After the initial shock of seeing his comrades, the tiger relaxed slightly.

The Lord of the Thundercats and his grey companion crossed into the clearing. The panther's frown chilled her optimistic expectations. Her mate bent his head in shame, unable to look directly at either Thunderan. "Although you have named him a'tri'i, have mercy on him, Lion-o," Talitha demanded. "He has done the will of the Goddess. He has shown that he is worthy to be among us."

"That decision has already been made," Lion-o answered softly. Turning to Panthro he said, "The disc."

The grey warrior pulled a medallion from the ragged pocket in his work clothes. The grey warrior indicated the black feline outlined on its surface. "One who serves the Lord of the Thundercats cannot be an a'tri'i. I think this belongs to you, Tygra." His deep voice gave no hint of reconciliation with the tiger. Panthro had accepted the decree of king and sword, but what he truly felt remained a mystery.

The architect raised his head to look at what the panther offered. His eyes brimmed with tears of joy. Placing his hand to his throat, his bittersweet expression changed to one of horror.

"Can you tell me what is bothering you," Talitha asked. "Your hurt also burns me."

"Amulet," he whispered, his voice a gravelly thread that threatened to break completely. "I must have dropped it."

The panther swiftly searched the ground. He pushed aside the grass near the base of a rock. "Is this what you were looking for?" he asked, holding the amulet by its leather thong. The tiger sighed with relief. Without scrutinizing the object, Panthro stuffed the talisman into his pocket.

The architect suddenly cried out and grabbed his head. "Easy," Talitha scolded, trying unsuccessfully under the burden of his weight to brace her feet on the slippery grass.

The lion loomed before her. "Give him to me," he said to the mystic. In one easy movement, he gathered the tiger in his arms. "Let's go home."

The architect didn't complain. His arms hung limply by his side. Talitha limped alongside Lion-o. Her mind-link with Tygra had quieted the moment her lover had fainted.

"Stubborn female! What have you done to your foot!" The ground disappeared from beneath her. She floated in the air on a carpet of grey. The panther jostled her roughly as he adjusted his hold. She clung to his strong arms for support. "Tigers are all alike," he muttered as they headed for home.

*****

The hot breeze caught the last note of the flute and carried it across the plain. "Wonderful!" Talitha exclaimed. "You played that song as well as any priest of Mintálí."

"You have always been generous with your praise," Tygra said with a measure of embarrassment. "I play music as well as I shoot a bow--poorly." He set the small woodwind beside him on the blanket, then lay on his back. Only the branches above him broke the vast blue expanse of the cloudless sky. He closed his eyes for a moment, and almost fell asleep. The mystic had healed his injuries, but only good food and rest would restore his stamina and condition. Hard to believe that only three suns past, Lion-o had to carry me up the steps of Cats' Lair, he thought. My exile already seems like a bad dream.

"You look tired. I think this outing was too much for you. I'm sorry I suggested it. Let's go home."

He pulled himself up and rested on his elbow. Regarding his mate, he finally noticed that in violation of tradition, she had not trimmed the ends of her mane into the pointed shapes of mourning. Her long tresses hid the swell of her breasts. He wanted to wrap himself in those fine white strands, but lacked the courage to ask her back to his bed. "You know what an awful patient I am," he replied to break himself free of her allure. "I couldn't stand another minute cooped in my chamber." She wrinkled her nose at him in disapproval. Her eyes crossed. He couldn't help but find her expression comic. "It seems that not much has changed in my absence," he said. "You are as beautiful as I remember."

"You-you--son of a--of a--!" Talitha sputtered.

"Of a mystic," he said, finishing her statement. Pouting, she turned her back to him. "Won't work, white one. The view is as nice from this side," he said, his eyes tracing her curves.

"Shall I show you another view?" she purred seductively as she faced him once more.

When will I say yes to you? he wondered sadly. "You know of my love, dear one, but I need time to adjust to being home," he begged. "I spoke an untruth, for indeed, much has changed. I must find my place."

Talitha shook her head from side to side in resignation. "Your place is where you left it, Tygra. Has not Cheetara insisted that you take on the responsibility of council leader once more? Have you not the disc and the weapon that proclaim your status as a Thundercat?"

"All true. Lion-o respects me as before, but there exists a wall between Panthro and me that was not there in the past."

"It will come down in time. Although he has not the words, his actions indicate that he cares about you."

"Snarf never changes, but the young ones--they have grown so! I wasn't there for them when they left kittenhood behind. Katren displays a confidence and maturity that one would not have imagined possible considering the shy kitten that he was. Kitra is still upset about the way she treated you. She feels uneasy around me. I remind her of her misbehavior. I must help her to move forward in a positive way."

"You needn't worry about the catlings. They will be fine because they have always respected you, and so, have learned from you."

"My recent behavior has not been a sterling example for them to follow."

"No, but even in this, you have taught them about life."

The tiger shredded a blade of grass. "You are not going to let me brood, are you."

"Not likely," she conceded, sprawling playfully across the blanket.

"I suppose I shouldn't mention the amulet that I found and what it might represent."

"Not unless you want to amuse yourself by talking to yourself. Silly tiger, when will you learn that the universe unfolds at its own pace, and the more that we are in harmony with its plan, the happier we will be."

"How did one so young get to be so wise?"

"You know the answer to that question, elder," she challenged.

You blaze with the fire of the east, dearest Talitha, he told himself. You outshine the rising sun. His desire for her deepened. Not yet. When the time is right, it will be perfect. Her love is worth the wait. He sat up, and casually adjusted the sleeves of his robe to feign disinterest. His mate resumed her sitting position. Her smile suggested that he had won the battle but not the war.

"Shall I play for you?" she asked, resting her harp against her knees.

"Now that would be wonderful," he answered.