East Wind

The snarf muttered to himself as he wrote on a scrap of papyrus. "Cinnamon. Hmmm...better ask the starborn for some help there. Can't make a good tiger bread without it. A fancier tea than the Berbil blend that we normally use? That should be no problem. Masagi has received a new shipment from Tabbia. I would like to try a sample from the east, but such leaves are expensive. Perhaps if I tell him the nature of the celebration, he will lower his price." The elderly servant complained, "He is a Wolo merchant, and they are fierce in the bartering arena. I shall have to use more cunning than usual if I am to win, snarf, snarf." He tapped his stylus against the dining room table, and contemplated his notes. "There must be something I can give to Pum'y'ra in honor of her birth that would coax her, if not to speak, than at least to squeak!" Snarf slumped on his seat. "No one else in the Lair has gotten her to talk. Only the gods know why I think I should be the one to break her awful silence."

Because only you can! a voice from within his mind stated.

Snarf remarked to himself, "Ask me anything but that!"

Only the revelation of your secret can help her. Why are you so selfish?

"It is the only information that I have kept secret. Can't I have just one piece of privacy?"

At the cost of another's soul?

"Stop!"

"What have I done, Oz'burt?" At the mention of his true name, the startled snarf quickly looked up from his work. A puzzled Tygra, who balanced a large earthenware jug on his shoulder, stood before him. The threadbare grey tunic and trousers that the architect wore suggested that he had spent the day on a laborious and dirty task.

The servant replied, "Oh, I didn't mean you. Just talking to myself." Tygra raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "But it's true," Snarf argued. "I was having some difficulty with this list," he added, adjusting the truth to suit his purpose. "Here. Judge for yourself."

The tiger set down his jug, then accepted the note with his left hand. "Ah, the makings of a feast. Is the coming of the vernal equinox the occasion, or Bengal'i's return?" Tygra asked, appearing to accept the explanation offered.

"Not quite. The date that you and Talitha determined for Pum'y'ra's birth occurs just before spring begins."

"Why yes!" Tygra remarked, seating himself on a sturdy chair located on the opposite side of the table from the snarf. "How could I have forgotten," he added with a chuckle. "It is amazing that we manage to celebrate anything at the right time given the difference in Thundera's calendar and that of Third Earth."

"You recall that we have almost missed the twins' birthday in the past, snarf, snarf."

"A fact that none of us is ever likely to forget if Katren and Kitra have their way!" The architect's brow furrowed, his analytical mind at work. "Bengal'i just turned nineteen last moon. Pum'y'ra was born a Thunderan season later, and will turn eighteen." Tygra tapped the table. "I must confer with Talitha about a gift for her. She will best know what a young female might desire." He sighed. "I only wish that I could return her voice to her."

"That is something that she must be willing to give to us," Snarf countered softly.

"You're sounding more like my wise mate everyday, and probably just as right," the striped Thunderan conceded. The tiger stood, then set his hands on his hips. "Guess we cannot pull the plants to make them grow; however, her situation makes me feel so helpless. It has gone on far too long." He ran his hand through his thick mane, an old nervous gesture, then tugged his partial white ruff, a new habit. "Still...." With a wave he dismissed his frustration. "I just came for some water for Panthro. We are checking over the Thundertank. Despite all our adjustments, the engine still sounds rough."

Container in hand, the tall Thunderan disappeared through the swinging doors that led into the kitchen. The sound of flowing water filled the silence for a few moments, then stopped. Tygra emerged from the other room, the jar balanced once again on his shoulder. "If you need any help with the preparations for the feast, let me know," he called to the snarf as he exited the chamber.

The elder considered putting the question of his dilemma to the architect, but decided against it. "You know my true name, but not all my secrets, Thundercat. I know what you would tell me if I told you what I have held in my heart," Snarf whispered. He struck the table with his fist. "If only I knew whether my sacrifice would help Pum'y'ra, I would gladly give up what I have hidden for so long." Snarf crumpled the list, and tossed it across the room. The paper ball landed squarely in a waste bucket. A passing cloud suddenly dimmed the afternoon light piercing the windows set high on the wall. "It's not too late in the day," Snarf grumbled. "Maybe a walk would give me a sign. But somehow, I doubt it!

*****

Walking on all fours in the normal manner of snarfs, the elder approached a large, flat stone that nature had placed at the edge of the forest. Despite the fact that winter still reigned, yellow flowers decorated its smooth surface, their petals forming tiny five-pointed stars. Two small wooden statues sanctified the rock. One depicted a female Thunderan who stepped upon a demon; the taller of the pair portrayed a winged male, his arms open in greeting. The elements had marred the wood, but the damage could not obscure the carved stripes that designated both individuals as tiger clan members.

Snarf fingered a blossom that had fallen. "I see that Talitha has not forgotten you," he said to the statues. "Her hydroponic garden always grows." He stood upright, and with difficulty reached for the statue of Mrísena. When he had secured the representation of the Goddess of Healing, he made a slight bow. Kissing the wood with reverence, he asked, "I pray to you over those deities who help my people because Pum'y'ra is not a snarf, but is of the cougar race. Sa'lan, my friend and teacher, who encouraged my talents against the advice of many, was of her people, a fact that I have long ignored and should not have. Open my heart, so that in respect of his name and his teaching, I may help she who has suffered." He replaced the statue of the Goddess, and repeated his gestures with the other figurine. "Irri'in, no matter your representation, you are respected among both my people and the Felinari as the guardian of knowledge. Help me, so that Pum'y'ra may heal. Show me the right road, so that I may guide her back to her voice." With a gentle laugh, Snarf returned the statue of the winged god to his place. "Sweet Talitha, whatever made you force the woodcarver to give poor Irri'in the face of Tygra." He scratched his whiskers thoughtfully. "It could have only been love," he answered wistfully.

The snarf sat on a nearby stone to rest before the short journey back to the Lair. He listened to the birds, and realized that their singing had steadily increased over recent suns. "Another mark of the advent of spring," he said with satisfaction. A mixture of sounds suddenly blended with the happy chirping. Snarf looked to the south, and easy located the approaching figures, dressed in colorful robes and cloaks, who emerged from behind the trees. Ah, Bengal'i has returned from his brief sojourn amongst the Balkins. Looks like Lion-o and the others have formed a welcoming party.

The Lord of the Thundercats and the swordmaker both reached for a high note in a marching song, and missed. The discordance made their companions laugh. "Let me show you how it is done!" cried Katren. The younger Thunderan held the note only a second before his voice cracked. "Gods be damned!" he howled in embarrassment.

"There goes the upper end of your range," Kitra, his sister, teased, pulling the belt on his blue robe. "Tygra's right. You're sounding more like a cross between him and Bengal'i every day."

"He sounds nothing like me," Bengal'i huffed, straightening the long bundle strapped to his back. "My voice is both resonant and pleasing."

"Then how do you explain that note-breaker," the king remarked, genially punching the swordmaker's arm. "At least Katren and I have the excuse of youth. You're old enough that your voice should have finally settled down."

"'Excuse of youth?' My Lord Lion-o may I respectfully remind you that regarding our actual physical ages, I am not that much older than you!" the white tiger answered with irritation as he rubbed his bruised arm.

"Such a fancy assessment, Bengal'i. Now you really sound like Tygra!" Snarf added to the delight of the others. Their laughter, however, failed to cheer the elder. Pum'y'ra should be with them, not alone in her room in the Lair, he thought sadly.

"Snarf, maybe you can convince Bengal'i to show us the sword that he has made using Bentrin's forge!" Lion-o said abruptly. The king playfully mussed the yellow patch of fur on the snarf's head until it blended wildly with the red.

The white tiger stepped back, his hands raised in warning. "No. Lord Tygra must be the first! It is for him that I made this sword."

"Bengal'i is right, snarf, snarf! The privilege of the gift is his alone to extend and in a manner that he has deemed fitting." While smoothing his jumbled fur, the elder noted the smile the young swordmaker returned for his support. It was good of Tygra to send you south to the Balkin village, Snarf thought. You are like a brother to Pum'y'ra. Her silence has worn heavily upon you, but now the distraction of your art has put life back into your eyes, and muscle on your body.

"I wonder if Tygra still knows how to use one of these," the king replied with disdain, miffed at the snarf's disagreement.

"You can be sure that he does!" Kitra argued in the architect's defense. Her white nose crinkled in defiance, and the hairs of her red-black mane bristled. She shook her finger at Lion-o, the sleeve of her green robe fluttering. "He's smart and fast and can best you, Panthro or Lynx-o."

"But he is a mystic now, and very sensitive to the pain of others," Katren said gently to his twin. "It will be hard for Tygra to use a sword to inflict harm. Talitha has even said that it will be difficult for him to perform surgery, if we need the benefit of his physician training."

"Maybe my gift is ill-chosen," Bengal'i said, disheartened.

"Not at all," Lion-o answered, his anger fading. "I was wrong for making such a rude statement when my wish was not granted. Actually, it does not matter whether Tygra uses the sword or not, Bengal'i. What matters is the gift. His father's sword was lost during the battle at Star Vale. Although he knows how to use a long sword, Tygra has never had one made for himself. Through his mother's bloodline, he is as much a part of the white tiger clan as the red. It is fitting that you offer him the blade out of respect for his rank. Believe me, he will not take your offering lightly."

"He's still trying to figure out how to thank Lynx-o for the marvelous flute," Katren added with a grin.

The raw power of youth, changeable and enduring, surrounded the snarf as the youngsters cheerily continued their discussion. The internal fire made to temper the young into adulthood also hardened the elder's heart to doubt and fear. I will tell Pum'y'ra everything, Snarf decided. Talitha has said that the right time would eventually come for the youngster's healing. Well, that time is now!

Snarf walked back to the simple altar, unnoticed by the others, who now headed toward the Lair. "Thank you," he said to the gods.

*****

The small red figure marked the time on the wall chronometer. "When will she come," Snarf grumbled, tapping the tan scales of his chest. "I'll have to make dinner soon, snarf, snarf. I just want to get this trial over before then!" The elder began to pace. With each step, his short tail lashed in vexation, a fur-scaled banner that keenly advertised his displeasure. He carefully averted his eyes from the objects on the low table in the center of his room. His engraving tools and design books always made him think of the past, and the memories brought pain. To ease his anxiety, he once again reflected on his actions to see the rightness of his chosen course.

The youngsters, once home, had scattered to their rooms or to the recreation hall. To his knowledge, Panthro and Tygra still worked on the Thundertank; Chand'ra and Lynx-o had not yet returned from an outing to the Wolo village.

When he had entered the command center, he had found Talitha on watch. Cheetara, sitting in a hoverchair that Panthro had skillfully cobbled together from spare parts, had chatted amiably with the tigress. The historian's pregnancy had grown troublesome, for she carried twins. The tigers in the household had ordered her to stay in bed to prevent miscarriage. The grey panther's device, used with the mystic's approval, had freed the cheetah for a few hours each day from the monotony of her confinement and the distraction of her increasingly rounded form.

So that he had the time to prepare for the youngster's visit, he had asked Talitha to deliver a note to Pum'y'ra, who rested in her room. After helping him with the morning routine, the cougar had often spent her time alone in her quarters, a fact that he had found distressing, but had not worked to change. The mystic had decided that Pum'y'ra should not be pushed to any special training, or required to use her unique skills as a artisan, until she had come to terms with what had happened to her on Zera. After completing her required morning work, a move the tigress had designed to make Pum'y'ra feel safe through routine, the youngster's time became her own. Talitha had convinced her mate and Lord Lion-o of her strategy. It seemed to be only a matter of form that the others had lent their agreement, for no one had developed a better option. In the quiet with which Pum'y'ra had surrounded herself, Talitha had hoped that the cougar would find an impervious center that Ba'ai's rape had not violated. In that deep place within herself, Pum'y'ra had hidden her voice. When she would release it was an event that none in the Lair could predict.

Suspicion had rested in Talitha's dark blue eyes as she nervously passed the note back and forth between her long fingers. However, once he had made his request, the mystic had immediately acquiesced. She had not questioned him about the contents of the note, and that had increased his guilt. She had turned the watch over to the cheetah with a rapidity that matched his speedy departure. He had denied the inquisitive historian an opportunity for interrogation, a move that he was sure to regret.

Had the mystic discerned that he was about to take an action which might not meet with her approval? Had she known his mind, but trusted his judgement? Or, like himself and Tygra, had she also decided that the cougar's silence had persisted for too long. Was she willing to let him try to reach the youngster because he had spent the most time with her?

It was true that he communicated most effectively with the youngling despite her lack of language. Each morning he had watched her carefully, and had soon assigned meaning to her movements. He had deciphered her lexicon, a fact that had often unsettled the cougar during their work. "No matter which scenario is correct, I have surely damned myself this time," Snarf growled.

The gentle tap on his door cracked across his consciousness with the ferocity of Tygra's bolo-whip. "En-Enter!" he said, his uneasiness making him gag on the word.

Pum'y'ra crossed the threshold, her soft leather slippers and the lightness of her stride quieting her steps. The closing door behind her hissed like an enraged serpent jealous of her gift for silence, an irksome noise which the female ignored. Was it a hint of reluctance that subtracted the hardness from her stony demeanor, the elder wondered, or only a trick of the weakening light that streamed into the room?

Snarf considered his young charge further. The layers of her orange robe hid well a body that was still too thin for a cougar close to adulthood. Her round eyes, which she kept lowered, were as rich a gold as her fur. Her dark brown mane, clipped short so that it barely touch her shoulders, angled forward with the slight bow of respect that she made to him. The white fur that bordered and striped her mane seemed by its stark contrast the work of a rebellious god.

Not expecting a verbal greeting, Snarf said, "Please sit." He pointed to a round cushion, which served as his bed. It was large enough to accommodate the female, who was not much taller than petite Talitha. As she passed the table with the possessions she did not yet know belonged to him, he noticed that her eyes widened briefly with interest. "You may look at anything you like."

A flicker of mistrust made her eyes fire bright. Pum'y'ra shook her head in refusal as she lowered herself onto the cushion.

Guess she won't help me at all. I'll have to take the first move, Snarf decided. He grabbed a small padded mat from the top of a squat storage chest, and comfortably seated himself by the table. He indicated the objects once again. "Pum'y'ra, don't you understand? I am giving these things to you."

Genuine surprise made her lips part, but no sound escaped. She opened her palms in a questioning gesture.

"Because even by snarf standards, I am old. I hope to live a long time, but in the end, I am not going to live forever. You're a jeweler from a fine family of jewelers. I wanted these things to go to someone who might actually use them."

The youngster frowned. Her brow wrinkled with consternation.

"Gods, youngling! Is it so wrong to want to pass on my legacy to another artist!"

She pulled back in astonishment, then just as suddenly leaned forward. She took one book from the pile on the table, and leafed through it. Her eyes gave expression to so many emotions that the snarf lost count. In the end, however, only one remained: respect. She tapped the book cover, then pointed at him in inquiry.

"Yes, the designs are mine. In my youth, I too worked silver, but mainly as an engraver. Being short and limited in bipedal motion have disadvantages for one trying to twist metal into all kinds of shapes." He paused for a second before adding coolly, "Sa'lan, by the way, was my teacher."

The cougar put her palms against her brow, then bowed, a gesture of great reverence.

Snarf chuckled. "I take it then that you have heard of him."

She moved her hands to her hips. Her eyebrow arched almost as perfectly as Tygra's to suggest that she knew that she was dealing with a fool. After all, what member of her clan was not familiar with the illustrious cougar artisan who had made jewelry for the finest families on Thundera. The elder rubbed his whiskered chin. But how many knew that Sa'lan had a most competent assistant who had created some of his spectacular designs. Snarf purred, "Care to hear the whole story, youngling, and share in my secret?" And also learn the lesson I have to teach you, he thought with anxiety.

Pum'y'ra drew her legs close to her body, and rested her head upon her knees. A slight nod indicated her affirmation. Although trying to remain nonchalant, her tense expression betrayed her interest.

Now comes the hard part, Snarf thought. One wrong word, and she'll suspect a trap, and all my hurt will be for naught. The snarf traced circles upon the table, his short claws carefully following the dark grain of the wood. He spoke with solemn tones. "My clan consisted of those who assisted the Felinari in working the land. The regularity of the seasons, and the cycle of life were our domain, and the production of food, our creation. As your family were artists in metal, we were the artists of the soil."

The elder sighed, and looked at the lengthening shadows that reflected the cold places in his soul that no fire could ever warm. "I would have led a happy and quiet life had I followed that staid path, but when I was 18, I met a snarfria who was of the merchant class...A'mrina." His voice caught in his throat, his loss lessened by time, but still present.

"Such a beauty, she was, snarf, snarf. Her fur was the brilliant fire of a summer sunset framed by an unmarred whiteness. Her plumpness was the envy of every female. And her eyes...so dark a brown as to almost be black. Elin'ar, 'eternity eyes', I used to call her, so wondrous was her gaze, so serene and all-knowing. From the moment of our first meeting...a collision in the market place--oh, how the vegetables flew!--I knew her to be T'nitar, my other, and I swore that I would win her heart." The snarf laughed at the happy memory that he had buried in the shrine for his lost mate that he had built within his soul. "You must understand that I was outclassed from the first, for A'mrina had already chosen me. No chance had brought us together in the marketplace."

The snarf studied the cougar's sinewy hands, ones that could easily work metal, unlike his own. Now comes the worst part. Oh Pum'y'ra, you still have some seasons before your body is ready for fertility and joining. Has the rape that you have endured forever destroyed the beauty of that experience for you?

His voice dropped with a shyness he had never outgrown. "My clan did not take esfra... coupling...lightly. By our custom it was usually a privilege reserved for those pairs who had declared their love before many. Our parents felt that we were too young to take such an oath, but that which ultimately destroyed A'mrina proved to be the gateway that we sought. You see...A'mrina...she who was younger than me...was dying. The village elders and our parents sanctioned our bonding because of her illness."

Pum'y'ra quickly traced a symbol in the air. "No, young one, she was beyond mystic help," Snarf answered. "The treatments of their best could no longer stop the unnatural hardening of her tissues. Her infirmity also made her incapable of egg-laying, so our love could not be celebrated in the generation of new life." The cougar shoulders slumped and mirrored the sadness that he still felt. In her inadvertent gesture of solidarity, the snarf found comfort. He continued with the renewed confidence that he had chosen his strategy correctly, for he had her full attention.

"Nes'ta, the goddess-weaver who determines the length of each snarf's life, had chosen for A'mrina a short and difficult span. Despite Her workings, we had two wonderful seasons of companionship. My lover embraced my life, and through her, I learned much of the world beyond our small village. Then... one day...during the autumn's glory...we spent our last night together. At least her passage was peaceful. She died in her sleep."

Snarf shook his head to drive the constrictions from his throat that the painful memory had caused. The words spilt from his lips like water in a rushing stream. "I refused to stay for her funeral. A'mrina was dead. As far as I believed, her spirit no longer dwelt in her insulted flesh. I fled the village before anyone could stop me. I wanted to get away from all that I had known. My life became a chasm, and it mattered not if I too dropped into the silence!" He took a deep breath to damn the torrent, and slow the flow of his words. "But at the moment of my greatest defeat, I was to stumble onto the road to victory."

"That I cannot believe!" Pum'y'ra cried out in an alto voice made hard with suffering. Suddenly aware that she had spoken, her face suffused with rage. "You Snarfri bastard! You tricked me! None of this has to do with Sa'lan, you damned liar." The youngster leapt to her feet, and stormed toward the door.

Shocked that he could find his own voice after the cougar's unexpected outburst, Snarf hollered, "If you leave now, you will never learn how my loss made me strong."

She spun around, and exclaimed, "How can I be strong, if I can never be 'whole' again! I was raped; the gift that was mine to give was stolen from me! I am forever diminished."

"Only if you choose to be! Life takes much that we don't want it to take, young one. Better to learn that right now. Haven't you seen that this is the point of my story? Do you think that I enjoy letting my pain fly free of the cage that normally imprisons it? It is only by learning how to be strong that one can survive the woundings. Inner strength facilitates healing, and makes the scars less thick. Now sit back down, snarf, snarf! Do you not respect your elders?"

His words had hit their mark too well. The youngster looked as if she had taken a blow. Her mouth hung open; her golden eyes had gone wide. The fury that had stiffened her posture, and had made her hands clench had vanished. For a moment, he was afraid that she would faint, for she appeared drained of all vitality. Damn it! Now I have made the hurt worse, Snarf thought, pulling his hands fretfully. I should have left this to the healers. I hope that they can undo the damage that I have wrought. "Pum'y'ra, I am sor-"

"Tell me of Sa'lan."

"You don't look well."

"If I know how he healed you, I might feel again."

"Only if you sit!" he gulped, not knowing whether to cheer his victory, or call for the mystic, in case the young one really did faint.

The cougar resumed her previous position on his sleeping cushion. Hope, an emotion he had not expected to see, brightened her face. "Tell me of the great one, little fellow, so that my good dreams will return," she insisted. "I am tired of the nightmares, the shadows and the silence."

"Well, for one thing, Sa'lan was as much of a lightning bolt as you! His temper could outmatch Panthro's easily," Snarf countered with a chuckle, the tightness in his chest easing. Gods help me, maybe this will work, he thought. "But you must understand one thing. He did not heal me. I healed myself. He just showed the way." He added with a huff, "Now let me continue my tale." Her curt nod of acceptance made him sigh in relief.

"When I left my home, I went into the nearby forest. No one from the village followed after me, and for that I was grateful. For many suns, I sat numbly in a shallow cave, ate nothing and prayed for the silence to take me. One day, I heard singing outside. Curiosity won out over despair, and despite my weakening condition, I went outside.

"I saw a Felinari of the cougar clan bathing in the stream. For his race he was surprisingly tall and strong. His senses were very keen, for my softest footfalls alerted him to my presence. Perhaps believing me to be a thief, he boldly charged the brush that hid me, shouting wild threats. My own fatigue prevented me from running. When he burst through and finally saw me, he halted. My exile must have taken its toll upon me. I hated him for the pity I saw in his eyes. I threw a rock at him, and told him to be off."

Snarf shrugged, then gave a soft laugh. "He dodged the stone with ease, then lobbed a weapon of his own. I'll never forget his words. 'What madness would drive a snarf to become so thin!'" The elder tapped his chest lightly. "He shot his arrow words at me, and I had no defense. Their sharp points broke the smooth ice of my despair. I walked away before he could wound me further. As I slunk back into my hole, he called again. 'Whatever your pain, the silence wants you not before your time. When you are ready to choose life over death, you can have a place with me.'"

The servant slapped the table hard. "That bastard got right to the heart of things, he always did! Life does flow strongly in the heart of a snarf. My anger at him freed the rest of my emotions from their prison. The next day I grew thirsty enough to take a drink of water from a stream. The day after, I nibbled a root. With the return of emotion, grief found an open door to my soul. I despised the cougar whose name I did not yet know, but it was in his gift that I found myself again. Grief gave me strength and my healing. I let it inundate me. I cried when I wanted, and felt no shame. Finally spent of pain, it guided me back to peace. By passing through its cleansing fire, I began to laugh again as I remembered the good life A'mrina and I had shared. The sorrow that always followed my cheer made the happiness for what I had experienced only deeper the next time I dwelt on the past."

"I wish that I could benefit from your story, but my situation is not the same as yours," Pum'y'ra said sadly.

"Despite Ba'ai's evil, you survived. To continue forward and to live well is the best revenge you can have against one who tried to break you. The challenge is not easy. You must grieve, acknowledge the loss of your virginity. You took that first step by meeting and talking with me, and that has made me happy.

"When you can look directly at what happened to you, stare into that horror, weep at your loss through the blessing of grief, and in the end not submit to despair, you will have gained both strength and healing. When the sorrow comes in remembering, for this atrocity you will never forget, the pride of surviving, and thus your vengeance, will drive away the hurt. Accepting life and moving forward will make you unassailable."

The cougar answered slowly, her voice catching in her throat. "After the initial shock and pain of the first rape by Ba'ai, I felt nothing. It seemed that a part of my soul had fled to the silence in escape, because my body could not flee. It had taken my voice on its journey across the swift river of eternity. I drifted further away from myself with each new rape, but what little remained of me remembered. I heard of the suffering of the others, but I could not even scream. That was a torture far greater than anything Ba'ai had devised."

A slight smile suddenly touched her lips, and the tremor left her voice. "But in our torment, the gods finally heard us, and they sent Ba'sir to help." Pum'y'ra shook her head slightly, and said, "I wish I could remember the Fat One better, but we were with him for only a short time after our rescue from that evil world. We were all sick and exhausted. His ship was so blissfully quiet. Under his protection, parts of me began to trickle back slowly. By the time we had left him and had arrived at Cats' Lair, my numbness had dissolved, for I knew myself to finally be safe."

The youngster lowered her eyes. "Truly, Snarf, I did not expect what happened to me next. Anger as strong as any warrior conquered me as easily as Ba'ai had taken me. Unlike you, it did not lead me to grief, but rather built new walls around my pain. It told me lies that I eagerly embraced to keep from accepting the truth of what had happened to me. To punish all the adults, I exerted the only control I had. I kept silent although speech had returned to me on my first night here." She sighed saying, "I was weak. For that, I feel shame."

Snarf gently patted her hand, grateful that she allowed his touch. "What you have experienced, young one, you must acknowledge to know true healing. You are too hard on yourself. Give yourself the gift of forgiveness, and other gifts will follow."

Pum'y'ra brushed a tear from her cheek, and said, "Your suffering has taught me, Snarf. Because of your pain, you have freed the hold of anger upon me, and have forced my voice and my tears. Now I can grieve." Clenching her fists, she composed herself quickly. With a grim laugh, the cougar added, "You have set a fine trap, one worthy of any jan'nirri. You set out your tools knowing that I would be interested in their origin because we have shared a similar calling. That, however, was the cover for your real purpose: telling me of A'mrina and your loss." Pum'y'ra shook her finger at him in defiance. "You have opened me, but I will still mourn in my own fashion. I beg you to let me speak to the others when I am ready. Anger no longer holds my voice, but I must rebuild my inner strength before I can face the others with words."

"For a start, you are doing well, young one. You have chosen the right road." He hesitated, then added with caution, "I hope that you will keep all that I have revealed to you a secret. My time with both A'mrina and Sa'lan is a private matter. The others, not even Lord Lion-o, have any idea that I had quite a different life before living in the palace of King Claudus, and I have preferred over the seasons to keep it so."

The female smiled. "I shall prove that I am worthy of your trust. And if the gods favor me, I hope to please all by speaking at my birthday feast."

Snarf gasped, "How did you know of the celebration we have planned!"

"Cougar sharpness," she replied smugly. "Besides, you favored Bengal'i last moon."

"Another Sa'lan!" Snarf exclaimed.

Pum'y'ra stood and stretched. "If you will not keep your promise, and not tell me now of the Great One, I shall leave."

Gods help us, another tactician too. "There is not much to tell," he demurred. Her low growl signaled her disbelief. "Well, I guess some," he admitted, realizing that he would have to fulfill his promise, keenly aware that the revelation of his past still made him uncomfortable. I've nothing to be ashamed of, and everything to be proud of, he decided. I guess it's just a question of trust. So far, she has extended that courtesy to me. The least that I can do is the same for her, even though I have already accomplished my objective without the complete telling.

The elder cleared his throat, then said, "Seven suns after my first encounter with Sa'lan, I tracked him to his camp. When he saw me, he extended no greeting, just shoved a piece of paper and a stylus into my hands, then commanded, 'Show me what you can do. A nice bracelet design.'"

"How did he know that you could draw so well?" Pum'y'ra inquired, once again flipping through a design book.

"Considering his intense presence, I was too timid to ask. At the time, I assumed that he had gone into the village, and had spoken with my parents. This he later confirmed. In any case, to return to my tale, I sketched for him for awhile. He kept looking over my shoulder, grunting agreeably. When I had finished, he slapped me on the shoulder and said, 'Once we return to the Southern City, we'll get straight to work. I'll start you on the techniques of engraving, apprentice Oz'burt.'"

"Oz'burt!"

"My true name," Snarf said with distaste. "And please, don't let that get around either, snarf, snarf! Only Tygra calls me by that name, and only when he wants something." His eye caught a design for a pendant as Pum'y'ra continued to peruse his books. "Ah, that was a nice one; we made it for Lady Dar'di of the lion clan. The firestone we set on it favored her red mane so beautifully." The elder smiled thoughtfully. "I lived and worked with Sa'lan for twenty seasons, a wild, wonderful time. He was the finest, most generous master, and always wanted to give my contribution to our art the appropriate credit, but I preferred to keep to the shadows. Despite his reluctance, he acceded to my wishes for relative anonymity. Sa'lan was the true genius, not I, no matter what he claimed to coerce me to accept my own glory."

Snarf sighed. "My truest friend died unexpectedly soon after his fiftieth birthday. Maybe too much work and pleasure had finally caught up with him. In his latter years, he had grown quite fat, but the females still loved him for he was starfire and thunder. He died as he had hoped. His favorite female awoke after a night of excess to find him dead beside her, a peaceful expression on his plump face. He had a short life for a Felinari, but one that contained enough adventure for ten lifetimes." The elder rubbed his hands, and lowered his head. "After all these seasons, like A'mrina, I still miss him very much."

The elder opened his hands, then shrugged. "But even in death, Sa'lan had the last jest. Among his possessions and his will, I found a recent letter from King Claudus that begged him to become the royal jeweler. My friend was lax about correspondence, so it was a task that I usually completed for him. Considering the circumstances, I felt it best to personally inform the Lord of the Thundercats of Sa'lan's death."

Snarf leaned forward on the low table, and rested his head against his fist. "I was terrified on the day of the audience. Thank the gods that my meeting was in private, for I quaked so, and I would have felt ashamed had others of my kind witnessed my fear. Even in his chamber, seated on a plain wooden chair, King Claudus made a formidable figure, a god descended to earth in his robes of red. His gentle queen Alina, however, quickly put me at ease, and plied me with sweet juices and pastries.

"Once I had given them the news of Sa'lan's passing, I made ready to depart, but the queen asked me to join the royal household as an engraver. It was apparently she who had wanted Sa'lan for the post of royal jeweler. She had done her homework well, and also knew of my skills."

Snarf straightened. He reached for a volume, and caressed the leather cover. "I realized when she had posed the question that I no longer had any desire to work as an artist. It was Sa'lan who had made me all that I had become. And without him to goad me on, the work was no longer pleasurable."

"So you declined?" the cougar gasped.

"Yes," he said, gently nodding. Snarf chuckled. "But the queen was as strong as her mate. She asked me what I then intended to do with the rest of my life, and I was at a complete loss for an answer."

"You became part of the household, but not as a jeweler."

"Domestic staff...after, of course, I had settled Sa'lan's estate and had sold our home. However, as part of my bargain with Queen Alina, I also became her personal designer of jewelry. Occasionally, she called on my skills as an engraver. At my request, she kept my other persona a secret. It was one that was well kept for the others have never had any inkling that I performed this additional function."

"And when Lion-o was born after his brothers' tragic deaths, you became his personal servant."

The snarf answered with pride, "Queen Alina trusted me implicitly." And I did my job well, he thought. His parents would be proud of their son. Snarf tugged at one of his whiskers, and reflected, Although Lion-o still has much to learn about being king. A bit too rough around the edges; however, he is growing in wisdom with age. Time will smooth him just as it does the jagged mountains.

"Well now you have heard it all," Snarf declared as he rose.

"Oh, I differ," Pum'y'ra retorted. "I want to hear more of Sa'lan and his 'wild adventures'."

Snarf folded his arms. "You're too young to listen to some."

"Oz'burt...."

"But I can tell you others," he said, relenting under the subtle threat. "But not right now. I must prepare the evening meal. Care to help?"

"It is the very least that I can do, my friend."

A pleasant warmth suffused the snarf. You know much already, Pum'y'ra, but I will teach you all that Sa'lan taught me, he decided. In your art, you will be his legacy on this world.

He said brusquely, "Then let's be off. We have some gazelle to defrost."