Jenny: None Too Sure

It was a small comfort, but the slave-girl was right. But there was no time for comfort. She swept down the halls to her chamber with the feeling of one pressing through a dark fox-hole with no light at the far end. It was not often, she confessed to herself, that maternal instincts arose in her breast, but at the moment she felt as though she cupped a small group of blooms in her hands, trying to shelter them against a winter blast. It frightened her, and what frightened her made her angry.

So when she swept into her own room and snapped the door shut only to find Lucius seated in her chair, "What," dropped out of her mouth like a knife falling to the floorboards.

Lucius and the Guttersnipe and Wulf looked round. She felt her temper waver still further to find a dog among her pillows. Where was her cat? What had the dog done to her cat? The thoughts tumbled one after the other through her blazing mind. So she asked, "Where is my cat? Get that dog out of here. And what are you doing in here? Where is my cat?"

Something pained and annoyingly amused flickered in Lucius' countenance, but the Guttersnipe fluttered up and explained. "Lucius came to keep me company. I have been killing myself for suspense here." And she started forward, hands balled into fists at her sides. "Is there any news?"

It took a few moments of deep and even breathing to find her temper again. "There is no news," she replied, carefully pronouncing each word. "Now it is late, and we have an early start in the morning. I suggest we all go to bed, and someone tell me where my cat is."

As Domitia went to herd the dog out, the Guttersnipe gestured upward at the perch. In the shadows she could see her wildcat's eyes winking at her in small gold orbs. Something in her middle relaxed.