God, I just love your boots! Aren't you just the most adorable thing ever!"
To his horror, he found himself scooped up and hugged tight. "Miss, please!"
"You're even cuter than the kitty in that movie, the one Antonio Banderas voiced. And I just love Antonio." She rubbed his whiskers with her cheek, not entirely unpleasant but terribly undignified.
"Morgen!" A sharp voice cut through the young woman's gushing. "Come away from there! Put it down and get away, now!"
The second voice belonged to a handsome, middle-aged woman with sharp gray eyes and midnight hair. Her tone was commanding, but fear edged it.
"Mom! It's not like he's dirty. You're embarrassing me."
"Don't be stupid, Morgen. Don't you know what that is?" The matronly woman glared at Kasha. "Who have you come for, demon? You can't have my daughter."
The girl squeaked and dropped him abruptly. "Demon?"
"It's a kasha demon, child. Come over here." The woman raised a hand against him, tracing what he recognized as a warding.
Kasha sighed as he stood, brushing dust from his fur. "Madame, I assure you, I have not--"
"Ettie, stop that!" A third woman emerged from the house, white hair caught in a neat braid down her back, her progress slow and deliberate on the steps. "Great Mother, you girls have no sense. If the kasha has come for anyone, it's me. Don't be rude."
She stopped and leaned on her cane, her winter-pale eyes raking Kasha up and down. "But you haven't, have you? You're wearing boots."
On the surface, the statement seemed absurdly obvious. It was a sign, though, that she knew precisely what he was. He removed his hat and swept her a bow. "Yes, ma'am. I am indeed wearing boots."
"Were you forced into service?"
"No, ma'am. I serve because I must, but this one I serve willingly."
"Whom do you serve, pretty kasha? A sorcerer? A necromancer? And what does your master want with us?"
"I serve the artist, Willem Aufderheide. He has long been an admirer of your beautiful house and gardens, and he sends me with a small gift." He reached into his hatband, pulled out Willem's crane, and offered it to the old woman.
She approached slowly, perhaps more from impaired mobility than caution, but tendrils of powerful magic preceded her, ghosting over Kasha, prodding at him. He drew slow breaths, willing his body to relax, his tail to stay smooth and still. He had no ill intentions to hide, nothing to fear.
With an age-curled hand, she took the crane, holding it in her palm to examine it. "It's a princely gift. His work?"
Kasha nodded.
"It's lovely. Tell him thank you, from all of us. Come inside, pretty kasha. It's too cold out here to talk."
Hat in paws, he followed the three witches, the youngest positively beaming, the middle-aged one still scowling. He sat human-wise on the kitchen chair offered to him, back legs dangling over the edge, tail politely curled in his lap. The old witch offered him catnip tea while she poured chamomile for the humans, and the four of them sipped and chatted. He discovered they were Natt, Ettermiddag and Morgen Engelstad, mother, daughter and granddaughter, and that their family had owned large tracts of the land around Honeybole for nearly two hundred years.
"Aufderheide," Ettie said into a pause in conversation. "Isn't that the beer family?"
"That is my lord's family, yes," Kasha admitted.
"So a brewer managed to claim a kasha?"
"His father was the brewer, ma'am. Willem is a man of more... unusual talents."
"Obviously." Natt, the grandmother snorted, and then grew more serious. "I knew Horst. He was a hard man, but devoted to his craft. I was sad to hear that he passed."
"He leaves a void." Kasha found he did miss the old bear. Strange that he would.
"And into void something must rush to fill it," Natt said softly. "And when we don't see to it, sometimes what we don't wish rushes in."
"My lady, you mean something beside a philosophical statement, I believe." Kasha shifted in his chair as fingers of shadow crept along
To his horror, he found himself scooped up and hugged tight. "Miss, please!"
"You're even cuter than the kitty in that movie, the one Antonio Banderas voiced. And I just love Antonio." She rubbed his whiskers with her cheek, not entirely unpleasant but terribly undignified.
"Morgen!" A sharp voice cut through the young woman's gushing. "Come away from there! Put it down and get away, now!"
The second voice belonged to a handsome, middle-aged woman with sharp gray eyes and midnight hair. Her tone was commanding, but fear edged it.
"Mom! It's not like he's dirty. You're embarrassing me."
"Don't be stupid, Morgen. Don't you know what that is?" The matronly woman glared at Kasha. "Who have you come for, demon? You can't have my daughter."
The girl squeaked and dropped him abruptly. "Demon?"
"It's a kasha demon, child. Come over here." The woman raised a hand against him, tracing what he recognized as a warding.
Kasha sighed as he stood, brushing dust from his fur. "Madame, I assure you, I have not--"
"Ettie, stop that!" A third woman emerged from the house, white hair caught in a neat braid down her back, her progress slow and deliberate on the steps. "Great Mother, you girls have no sense. If the kasha has come for anyone, it's me. Don't be rude."
She stopped and leaned on her cane, her winter-pale eyes raking Kasha up and down. "But you haven't, have you? You're wearing boots."
On the surface, the statement seemed absurdly obvious. It was a sign, though, that she knew precisely what he was. He removed his hat and swept her a bow. "Yes, ma'am. I am indeed wearing boots."
"Were you forced into service?"
"No, ma'am. I serve because I must, but this one I serve willingly."
"Whom do you serve, pretty kasha? A sorcerer? A necromancer? And what does your master want with us?"
"I serve the artist, Willem Aufderheide. He has long been an admirer of your beautiful house and gardens, and he sends me with a small gift." He reached into his hatband, pulled out Willem's crane, and offered it to the old woman.
She approached slowly, perhaps more from impaired mobility than caution, but tendrils of powerful magic preceded her, ghosting over Kasha, prodding at him. He drew slow breaths, willing his body to relax, his tail to stay smooth and still. He had no ill intentions to hide, nothing to fear.
With an age-curled hand, she took the crane, holding it in her palm to examine it. "It's a princely gift. His work?"
Kasha nodded.
"It's lovely. Tell him thank you, from all of us. Come inside, pretty kasha. It's too cold out here to talk."
Hat in paws, he followed the three witches, the youngest positively beaming, the middle-aged one still scowling. He sat human-wise on the kitchen chair offered to him, back legs dangling over the edge, tail politely curled in his lap. The old witch offered him catnip tea while she poured chamomile for the humans, and the four of them sipped and chatted. He discovered they were Natt, Ettermiddag and Morgen Engelstad, mother, daughter and granddaughter, and that their family had owned large tracts of the land around Honeybole for nearly two hundred years.
"Aufderheide," Ettie said into a pause in conversation. "Isn't that the beer family?"
"That is my lord's family, yes," Kasha admitted.
"So a brewer managed to claim a kasha?"
"His father was the brewer, ma'am. Willem is a man of more... unusual talents."
"Obviously." Natt, the grandmother snorted, and then grew more serious. "I knew Horst. He was a hard man, but devoted to his craft. I was sad to hear that he passed."
"He leaves a void." Kasha found he did miss the old bear. Strange that he would.
"And into void something must rush to fill it," Natt said softly. "And when we don't see to it, sometimes what we don't wish rushes in."
"My lady, you mean something beside a philosophical statement, I believe." Kasha shifted in his chair as fingers of shadow crept along
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