A/N: So, I decided to pick this fic back up for a bit, because I miss it and love it to pieces even if I don't quite remember what all I had planned beyond the general gist of things, but hey! We'll just figure it all out together, no worries!

A few Reviewers asked if Kienta was gonna hook up with Finch and Ferrows, and, the answer to that is: I don't know. Originally, it was a flat-out 'nope!' but now I'm not sure. I wanted to make her Dogs Original Characters with quirks and twists to them, and share those with you all, so that you could connect to them properly, you know? It was just always a bit of an irritation for me, how little information on Tunstall and Goodwin we got in the books, and how little Beka got to 'know' of them to write down for us. Like, you got little tidbits and pieces of personality, but they didn't have many outside-of-work dealings, you know? (Which never made sense to me, to be honest)

And then Mastiff came out and BAM! I got hit in the face with all this random info about Tunstall and little quirks he had, and, because of the desperate lack of build-up in his character to that point, he seemed horribly out of character all during that book, to me at least. I mean, the whole book seemed kind of rushed and lack-luster at points, but that was what really bothered me (Besides the sudden "OMG I totally love you even though I barely even know anything about you, lets get married!" thing near the end, but yeah...)

(Still a good book.)

Anyways, I have no concrete plans for a Ferrows/Kienta/Finch sandwich. I just want to expand their personalities and such a bit, and if you have suggestions on how to further that along, feel free to send them my way! If you want to suggest a pairing, or even how the threesome would/wouldn't work out and all, go for it, I'd be glad to hear your suggestions and reasonings!

Remember to Review!

The Journal of

Kienta Bails

Thursday, April 16, 246

Before My Watch

Sommat strange happened, while I was working for Levens this morn.

My Dogs showed up to watch me Play.

Now, I know they spoke of it after our Watch this early morn, but I didn't believe they would show up this morn! And, not only that, but they brought with them a pretty, older mot with gray-streaked black hair and dark blue eyes. She looked to be a bit past sixty years old, and was in a green wool dress, with a sheer, gold-colored shawl that glimmered faintly with a bit of magic that looked like a form of protection, weaved into the fabric. I struggled to ignore them as I sang and danced about, Jinglenob dancing around me as well and acting the part of his namesake. Curiosity made it more difficult, but I somehow managed not to lose my nob or make a fool of myself.

Once my set was done, and I was signaled to go on break, I handed my coins off to the Coin-counter, accepted Sarro's assistance off the platform, and made my way over to where my Dogs and their companion stood waiting.

Today, they were both wearing dark blue tunics and sturdy brown boots, although Finch had on black leggings and Ferrows wore brown. They looked so strange outside of uniform, I doubt it is a sight I will ever grow used to.

"Bails," Finch greeted mildly while Ferrows eyed me and my bright purple dress with a furrowed brow, as if he wasn't sure just what he was seeing. The mot startled me further, then, when she promptly smacked both of my Dogs on the chest with a huff, as if they were no more than children being bratty. As I stared, fairly gaping at the mot, she stalked closer to me. She was near a whole head shorter than me, and her dark blue eyes were sharp as a tac as she placed her hands on her hips and looked me up and down consideringly. As though I was some stray she considered feeding, a looked that spoke of consideration and the weighing of options.

Befuddled and a little uneasy, I barely had time to cast a confused glance at my Dogs before the mot huffed in a short, firm way and nodded at me.

"Suppose she's a'right," the woman decided, wrinkling her nose in thought. "Could do wi' a bit more weight ta her bum, but she's got a decent pair o' peaches, for a strong-bodied mot an all." I stared, confused, and glanced from her to my Dogs again. "Mos' muscled mot's y'see, they've lost th'r peaches an' th'r bums an' 'aven't a care for it, but not you, there's a good lass," she told me easily enough, nodding firmly to herself while I stared at her, wide-eyed.

She waved off my confusion like one would swat at a fly, before grabbing my hand and forcing me to let her link our arms together. Then she began to stalk away, forcing me to jog in order to keep up with her no-nonsense pace.

"Now, you listen ta me, dear," she said firmly as she forced me towards one of the food stalls, this one selling grilled meats. "If'n my lads start given ye any sor' o' trouble, you jus' need ta give 'em a good, hard smack, righ' abou' th'r nobs. I raised 'em both better'n ta treat pretty gixies li' cheap Doxies, I did, ev'n though the two o' 'em don't like mot's much ta begin wi'. They give you any snuff, just give'm a kick or sommat o' the sort. If'n tha' don't work, dear, you bring 'em right ta me. They're not so old as I can't put 'em over my knee as I did when they were wee lads." Finch and Ferrows both looked vastly amused from their place behind us, and rather exasperated. But they did nothing to disagree or stop the mot from dragging me about, chattering away about all the ways a mot had to keep a cove in line and how to keep a body from nosing about when it wasn't their business.

I was torn between admiring this little mot, grinning at the way she spoke of my pitbull Dogs, and being utterly baffled. I had never had a mot, family or not, chatter at me so. As she dragged me to and fro, she insisted on paying for two sticks of grilled horse meat from an amused stall-worker and forced one into my hand, before dragging me off to the nearby benches, set up so gawkers had a place to eat and enjoy a bit of a show. The moment I sat down, Jinglenob plopped himself onto my feet with his head on my knee and yellow eyes as wide and pleading as a Cesspool beggar. As if he hadn't already rooked poor Sarro out of three skewers of horse meat and an entire cheeze tart, the silly scut.

"Ye 'aven't introduced yerself ta th' Pup, Ma," Ferrows teased as he sat himself on the bench behind me, while Finch took the empty space beside me, offering his jack as he dug into his own snack, a honey-glazed fruit tart. I accepted a quick drink of the ale he had, and turned my attention back to the mot beside me with much sharper interest.

Ma?

The mot huffed and neatly tore a chunk of meat from her stick, before sending me an assessing look while she chewed. Then, she swallowed, and smiled faintly at me.

"M'name is Silvira Finch," she introduced herself. "Barbric is m'son, an' Godric is 'is brother in all but blood. Raised'm up side-by-side. You'll not see one wi'out th' other anymore'n you'd see a fish drown!" She laughed, a hoarse, near-cackling sound, and went back to her food.

"Ma wanted to meet our first ever Pup," Finch informed me casually, leaning back on the table with one of his arms spread out behind me and towards his mother as he ate his own skewer of meat with the other. Ferrows had the jack, now, and drank deeply from it with a hum.

"Di'n't know ye could sing, though," Ferrows added as he passed the jack back to Finch. "Yer alrigh' a' it, I s'pose."

"Thank you," I said simply, and quickly shoved the last piece of meat from my skewer into my mouth, as Sarro sauntered over, Jinglenob heaving a low, deep sigh of sorrow before perking up at Silvira obligingly handed him a tougher bit of meat from her own skewer.

"Five minutes, Wintry," he told me blandly, eyeing my Dogs with sharp look with his dark eyes, a look they returned with equal sharpness. Coves, I swear they're like four-legged dogs with a bone betwix them at times. I nodded at Sarro in thanks, and bid my Dogs and Silvira goodbye with a half-smile and a wave. Quickly, I made my way to my new platform, and got back to work.

My Dogs left around one of the afternoon with their mother in tow. Silvira had spent the whole time ordering the two about, and made them wait for my last break so she could kiss me on the cheek and order me to eat more so I could "catch a handsome young cove" because they really liked "a mot they can get lost in". It was both mighty embarrassing and yet it made me smile. Mama was always saying something similar, and encouraging us girls to eat more, while still keeping up our exercises and work.

"If a cove is wan'in' sommat bony an' 'ard ta lose 'isself in, 'e'll be lookin' at ano'er cove!" she always laughed, while Kindle just leered and wrapped his arms around her curvy waist.

Still, it was interesting, meeting the mot that had shaped my Dogs into the Pitbulls I knew and was used to. I wouldn't mind seeing Silvira Finch again some morn or night, as long as it t'weren't ever in the Temple, may the Black God Bless her.

I ended my Player's work on time, and collected my coins (A fair sight more, earned without a single rook, then I'd gotten at Faraways, that's for sure!), and went for Mama's house. She was washing my uniform, and I'd get to eat before my Watch.

Now, I'm finishing writing this as I finish a heavy sandwich, and prepare for my Watch. My brothers Hanse and Kir are both sniffling miserably at my sides, both sporting scrapes and bruises after the two decided to fight over a wooden spoon of all things. Little Mick has the spoon now, shoved betwix his little teeth and coated in sweet-mix. Despite the homely feeling surrounding me, though, I can feel the anxiousness in my bones, the same impatient twitchiness that comes over me when my Dog's and I are ordered away from our hunting grounds for a night.

My hackles are high and my teeth are bared.

Mayhaps I shall find the Alley-Cat's trail tonight, or mayhaps the Cat himself, so that I may slake this eager hunger in my belly that the sandwich doesn't touch.

One can only hope and pray that his disgusting self will end, one way or another.

May the Black God bless.

Saturday, April 18, 246

My Apartment.

A little past seven of the morning.

Being a chronicle of the events of my Watch on Thursday, April 16, 246, beginning at about one hour after Watch Start, or near-about (Curst this sarden head of mine for aching so bad as to make my writing tremble to and fro)

We've no new mot to pick up pieces of on this night.

Instead, we've got some poor scut who knew his wife was going to meet a cove tonight, and knocked her so bad the Temple Healers will be holding her for a few days. She may never again be able to see from her right eye, nor use her left arm properly, but she will live, unlike her cove. The sorry scut, whose name was Drew Weston, went to the alley she was supposed to meet her other man at, and now Drew is the poor sod we're picking pieces of up.

"Our Drew pulled th' Alley-Cat's tail," Ferrows remarked, eyeing the end of one severed limb with interest. "Th' last few mot's, they's cuts been clean'r, an' th' pieces closer t'geth'r. Our Drew, though, 'is body's all o'er, hacked an' cut, li' a butcher's been a' 'im. A butcher as ne'er 'eld a blade a'fore." Finch nodded, while I knelt beside the torso and eyed the cuts. I reached forward and pressed my fingers to them, grimacing as I felt the clotted blood stick, but I ignored it as I felt around, trying to picture the way the Alley-Cat had gone after him.

It hadn't been neat nor clean, in any form. This was more of the sort of damage seen in a brawl, like river dodgers soaked in steeped hot-blood wine that's been handed a butcher knife and a kick to the gems to get 'em madder'n a midden-hen and thrice as vicious. There was no grace, no aim, none of the cruelty, even, of the mot's a'fore this one.

This was desperation and rage and struggle.

One of Drew's hands lay nearby, and my eyes caught the faintest hint of a gleam, like a shadow at the corner of my eye, a flicker of sommat that made me think Gift. There was sommat hidden by his curled fingers. Curious, I reached over and carefully picked the limb up, pulling the large, blunt digits back. They'd not yet set into the rigidness of the Black Gods hold, but the stiffness was beginning to take hold.

A reddish-colored charm sat in his palm, the purple bit of string that had tied it to the Alley-Cat torn.

I felt that thrill of excitement, my hackles rising with a shiver and my heart beating faster. Immediately, I let out a sharp whistle to catch my Dogs attention, holding up the charm by its string.

"Well, well!" Finch announced, eyebrows rising as he plucked it from my fingers, a faint gleam of reddish-plum Gift sparking a bit, the charm losing it's hold on the spell as it swung from my Dog's grip. "If this is what I think it is, we'll need that scent hound after all!" We'd been told that it would take an hour for a scent hound to get to us from another district. We'd still sent for one, but hadn't thought we'd be so Blessed tonight.

Now we may have lost the scent, or trod over the Alley-Cat's trail like bugnobbed tosspots.

"We'll wait fer th' hound," Ferrows told Finch seriously; my black-haired Dog nodded.

"And I'll run over to the Kennel. Mayhaps Fulk can actually find sommat for once, with this." Finch clapped me on the shoulder for finding the trinket, and ran off towards the Kennel. Staring around the alley, I searched for clues, trying not to step anywhere else less I do more damage than good. Ferrows was doing the same, while my Jinglenob sat in the mouth of the Alley, staring out at the street something fierce, yellow-eyes gleaming oddly as he tracked the movements of the scuttling coves and mots as passed us by.

Many drew the Sign as they passed, and one mot paused to murmur a prayer to the Carthaki goddess of justice, Shakith.

Ferrows and I found naught more then we had before the charm, besides Drew's missing ear (hidden under a scrap of over-turned scummer) by the time Finch returned with a snarl of disgust.

"Sarden, murrain-infested puttock isn't worth his damned weight in Slum Stew, let alone what the Kennel pays him," he spat furiously as he stomped over to the two of us, spitting off to the side of the alley opening. "His 'Gift' is abou' as strong as scummer an' worth the same!" He snarled; Ferrows glowered, large shoulders growing tense and hunched and teeth barred. I let out my own disgusted huff.

Fulk was a disgusting little mouse who wasn't even worth the hobbles needed to toss his sorry self in a cage with the real Rats.

"All that sorry scut could find was that the bit o' shine was the bit covering our Cat's scent," Finch told us sourly. "So, as soon as the Scent Hound gets here, we'll at least have a trail to follow." The news made me straighten, my stomach feeling tight and almost nauseous with anticipation as I slunk carefully back out of the alley, taking care to place my feet only in the same places as before, trying not to tread on either Drew's body nor any trails that we might, as yet, sniff out.

The wait was filled with rising tension, my muscles aching from how tight and stiff I held myself next to Jinglenob. Ferrows had begun to pace, restless, like some menagerie beast just waiting for some ducknob to try and put their hand through the bars so he could bite it off. Finch grew still and quiet, leaned against the wall with his head ducked so that his blue eyes looked smaller and colder, the scar on his forehead hidden behind blond bangs and his hands curled lightly over the grips of his sap and baton. He was so still, I caught myself casting my eyes towards him to make sure he was even breathing.

The air was thick with the tension, heavy with the hunger for the Hunt.

Jinglenob suddenly stood, massive head lowered and half-folded ears lifted attentively as he let out a low woof.

Immediately, a softer bark answered him, and, around the corner of a building, the black form of Sock trotted towards us, Drew and Phillard padding grimly after him.

"Sorry it took a bit," Drew told us seriously, her dark eyes solemn. "We was in Unicorn, helpin' their Watch find a Child Killer hidin' in the Market." Sock huffed as he and Jinglenob touched noses, the Scent Hound's white foot lifting to paw the air in front of the alley with a whine as he peered up at his Handlers.

"Seek, Sock," Phillard ordered quietly, his deep voice quiet and smooth as good leather; immediately, the hound obeyed, striding into the Alley to snuffle about the corpse. We watched, my Dogs and I all holding our breaths as the hound cast his nose about, slowly making his way back towards us at the mouth of the alley.

Suddenly, Sock froze, the hair along his back rising and a low growl coming from deep in his chest as he kept his nose pointed down.

"He's got th' scent," Drew breathed; Ferrows hissed out a low oath and a cold, satisfied smile curled Finch's mouth.

"Sock," Phillard said quietly. "Seek." Instantly, the hound was off, the five of us hot on his heels with Jinglenob at his side. Behind us, another pair of Dogs was already arriving with a Black God's Carriage. Drew was in the hands of my God, his body in the hands of my Temple.

His killer would be in the hands of the Dogs tonight, or Black God take me.

(Such a thought was clearly too much of a temptation for the Trickster, I know now, but Papa Kindle always did warn of clear sight after the deed was done. I know it now as well. It is a lesson learned in blood and pain, and will stick with me for the rest of my curst life, hopefully)

We ran down the streets of the Cesspool in silence, following the steps of Sock and Jinglenob as they ran. Coves and mots leaped away from us, eyes following, constant and cautious.

"A Hunt 'as been called," the muttered and hissed and drew the Sign. "Gods have mercy on the poor scut."

Only my God would have Mercy for the Alley-Cat after tonight.

We ran through the Cesspool, into the rest of the Lower City. We passed the Court of the Rogue, down alleys and past brothels and pubs and on. We passed the Kennel, right past the doors, where two more Dogs joined us, a pair of hard-faced mots I'd not personally met before, fresh from dropping off their Rats and eager to join the Hunt.

Onward, our Pack loped, up and back around, curving through the very center of the Nightmarket, where Sock almost lost the scent a'fore catching it again just past a stall selling meat pies. The scent carried us off to the Market Bridge, and across it and the River Olorun, into Prettybone.

"Look at 'em run, boys!" A Rusher mocked as he and his posse passed us, the four of them wearing mark of Ulsa's court. They jeered and hooted and hollered, laughing at us, until a familiar form stepped out of the alley behind them and gave their leader a sound crack on the nob.

"Hunt on, my gixie!" Kindle bellowed after me. "Catch that Rat!" A fierce grin curled my lips and Jinglenob gave a low, bellowing howl and snapped his jaws off to the side, muscles working harder, urging Sock on with his confident gate. The smaller hound had started to falter, tongue lolling, but now he leaped to the challenge, a high-pitched caterwaul joining Jinglenobs bellow as Sock threw himself into the Hunt even more.

"Keep up, Puppy!" Finch ordered with a huffed cackle as we ran deeper into the richer district, muscles and lungs all straining onward. This was a Hunt for the records, no doubt. A Hunt that I was proud do be part of.

A Hunt that came to an abrupt end at the edge of Highfields, when sword swung out of a doorway and cut deep into the scent-hound's shoulder, sending Sock screaming to the side into Jinglenob, the two dogs collapsing in a tangle of flailing, screaming limbs and blood.

"Halt!" Drew snarled, baton raised as a cloaked figure stepped out, sword already swinging, forcing Phillard to throw himself to the side with a curse as the blade damn near took his head. Finch lunged forward with Ferrows, snarls on their lips, but, from the side, three more coves lunged, each holding their own blades and dressed in blacks and browns with no House symbol or telling stitch in sight. I barely managed to get my baton and sap up to block a heavy-handed swing of a blade before Jinglenob was lunging past me with a snarl, tackling the cove who'd swung at me and sinking his teeth into his arm, pulling a high-pitched cry from the cove as he dropped his sword instinctively.

One of the mot-Dogs went down under another cove's blade, the side of it catching her in the face before her partner lunged forward to shoulder-tackle the cove.

"Puppy!" Finch bellowed as I moved to help her, instantly sending me into a spin about as I looked for him. "FETCH!" He roared, he and Ferrows back-to-back as another cove appeared, this one with a pair of short blades.

Beyond them, I caught sight of a cloaked figure turning the corner, and snarled furiously, obeying my Dog without hesitation.

The Alley-Cat would not escape me tonight, Black God take him!

Throwing myself forward, I ducked under Finch's raised arms as he blocked a sword blow, darting past in time for him to throw a nasty kick straight into the cove's gems.

"I ain't done wit'ya, Princess," I heard him snarl as he followed the cove to the ground with his baton and sap swinging, the last glimpse of him I had as a rounded the corner and felt my focus narrow on the fleeing form of the Cat.

He was a block ahead of me, dark blue cloak flaring around him, not an inch of skin easily seen as he ran, sword naked in his hand and clearing space easier than Ahuda could clear the Kennel. Hissing furiously, ignoring my burning legs and aching chest, I yanked my whistle up and clamped it betwix my teeth, blowing the call for assistance as I chased him.

Mayhaps the cove wasn't used to running, or mayhaps he wasn't as fresh as I'd feared when I saw the space between the two of us, but, as our game continued out of Prettybone and into Highfields, I slowly gained on him. The block-sized length between use became a half-block. Then in became a single house, and, I suppose that's when he decided enough was enough, and turned on me, blade in hand.

I did not slow down.

I did not stop and order him to lower his weapon in the Name of the Law.

I bit down on my whistle, baring my teeth at his covered face, my baton and sap in hand.

My Dogs trained me to fight. To fight with all the viciousness of a Cesspool Dog in a middle of a Hotblood Wine Brawl. I knew how to fight multiple opponents of different levels of skill and sober. I knew how to get a knife out of a hand before it could get close to me, my Dogs, or anyone else. I could take a good thrashing and still fight back.

I lunged at the Cat with this all in mind, all the experience of Cesspool brawls behind my speed and blows as baton and sap struck and darted while the Cat swung his sword.

I pressed forward, and the Cat stepped back, defensive, back up against a wall, as I gained more and more ground.

This, however, was no Cesspool Brawl.

This was not some river dodger with wine in his belly and head clouded with fury, no mot with a grudge nor rusher with something to prove.

This was a nobleman, in his own street, with his own blade in hand, and nothing clouding his mind but the fear of capture and loss of his lands, titles, and life.

"The most dangerous kind of Rat is one with no-where to run and only you blocking the door," our instructors told us again and again in training.

The smallest shift in weight, a single step to the side as he used his blade to send both my sap and baton to the side, had me suddenly stumbling, my side wide open as the Cat twisted. Desperately, I lunged forward with my off-set weight, letting myself fall harshly to the cobblestone as the sword sliced through where I'd just been, the bright blade gleaming as it cut my upper arm with the blade-tip as I made myself roll.

I barely had time to regain my feet before he was on me and, suddenly, all the ground I'd gained meant pig scummer as I was forced to twist and turn and throw my sap and baton up in desperate attempts to block his sudden, harsh and controlled movements, holding my own as best as I could, the distant sound of Dog whistles growing closer.

I only had to hold him until they got to us!

I only had to hold until then!

Snarling, I stopped stepping backward, shifting one leg back and shoving forward with my sap as I swung my baton, forcing the Cat to jump back, but he was already swinging his curst blade to compensate, and a heavy slice on the back of my hand had my fingers numb as my baton fell. I forced my tingling fingers to close around the handle of my sap with my other hand, to give me a better chance of using it to brace against the next blow, grimacing at the heavy chips, scars, and splinters both of my weapons now bore.

The distraction cost me.

The next blow sent me stumbling back, and my heel caught the edge of the curb.

The world slowed down as I fell back, both arms up to hold off the blade, unable to catch myself as I fell.

My head hit the cobblestone with a heavy sound, my vision dimming as my muscles weakened. My sap fell, arms limp noodles, and the sword fell towards me.

I remember, clearly, the image of the blade as it hit my left shoulder, the burning pain cutting half through the fog, the scream that tore from my throat. I remember the world turning gray from the pain, from the dizziness in my head, and the flash of silver as the Cat raised the sword high once again, the next blow meant to kill.

And I remember the snarl Jinglenob gave as he lunged out of the darkness and tackled the Cat to the ground beside me, the cove crying out, the first sound I'd yet to hear, as my dog tore at his face, sword lying, bloody, on the ground beside them as they struggled.

I remember all of this, and the shouts of my Dogs, of strange Dogs, swiftly approaching.

As the world turned black and I fell unconscious, my very last clear thought wasn't of any of this. Instead, it was my family's faces that I thought of as I slipped away.

This was my last clear memory, before I came fully awake in the Jane Street Kennel Infirmary late evening the day after. I do not remember much of that first wakening. Just of being fuzzy-mouthed with an aching head, my left shoulder a low flame of pain and my body feeling as if I had been kneaded in a bowl of rocks by my siblings.

Kindle had been fast asleep in the chair beside me, I remembered, and Jinglenob had been at my feet. I fell asleep as a Healer I didn't know came over quickly, but I remembered the deep blue of their Gift as it swept over me while I fell asleep.

I did not wake again for, I am told, several more hours, and then I was all but force-fed some honey-and-fruit drizzled oatmeal and a glass of twisley water as my mother wept beside me and several of my siblings clung to my legs and one another. Jinglenob sat beside me and did not stop staring for even a short amount of time, yellow eyes solemn and sharp, watching my every move for any sign of pain.

"You're damned lucky to be alive, Kienta," Kindle told me quietly, seriously, once I'd finished eating. "Sir Tullus saw fit to loan you his Healer, so that you would survive your injuries. You'll be well enough to visit his Court come Monday, where the sarden puttock who struck you low will be tried for his crimes, him and his five guards." I had frown at him.

"Who was he?" I asked, voice slurring a bit.

"Duke Petris Duveer of Highfields," a calm voice informed us, making us look to the side to find My Lord Provost, solemn-faced as he made his way towards us with a handsome cove in Healer robes beside him. "He is, perhaps, a more familiar face to one Wintry Rose then to you, Trainee Bails," he offered kindly as my siblings shuffled around so that the Healer could step up, gently resting a hand coated in familiar deep blue Gift against my bandaged head, making me sigh as the aching pain of my body was swept away in a feeling of soothing calm.

I struggled to think, my mind fuzzy still even without the pain, but a flicker of a memory, a line of The Barman's Daughter, had me remembering the only Noble I'd personally met as Wintry Rose.

"...The nobleman with the gold nobles," I murmured slowly, closing my eyes to picture him. I couldn't see it, though, couldn't see the kind, doting father with the Alley-Cat. Those kind eyes twisted into the flashing of a blade and a dead mot in pieces on the ground. "...What will happen to his daughter?" I asked softly. "Mikyla?" My Lord smiled faintly when I opened my eyes to peer blearily at him, as little Mark, the Magpie, curled up in my awkward-feeling, bandaged arms as he clung to the metal gaud he'd snuck from another Healer, burying his face in my chest silently.

"She will go to her late mother's sister in Port Caynn," he told me simply, kindly.

"Why'd 'e do it, milord?" Oriver piped up from Mama's side, frowning. "Why'd 'e kill dem mots? Why'd he try'n kill our sister?" All my siblings focused on My Lord then, and he sighed softly.

"This talk may be too serious for now," the Healer informed us gently before My Lord could speak, smiling softly down at us all, blue eyes kind and brown hair curling about his handsome face. "Trainee Bails has only just woken up, although she is healing very well," he assured us as Mama looked up, frightened. "I love working on young people," he sighed with another kind smile. "Your bones haven't grown resistant to magic yet. You heal quickly, the first few times," he joked; I offered a half-smile.

"Thank you, Master Sholto," My Lord told him sincerely, Kindle shaking the Healers hand as my siblings babbled their own thanks out in a wave that made my poor head ache something fierce, until Master Sholto once more washed it away with his Gift, gently shushing my siblings to quiet them, which they did, surprisingly enough.

"Duveer's reasons will be explained at Court," My Lord told us firmly. "Trainee Bails is excused from Duty until next Thursday, excepting Monday, where you will be required to show," he told me, before reaching over and gently squeezing my good shoulder, giving me a kind look. "You have done us all proud, Trainee Bails," he told me firmly. "I have read the reports, heard the tales and rumors and stories. They say you are a true Pitbull, that you Hunted Duveer and latched onto him without releasing until you could no longer do so. You are well and truly on your way to being a magnificent Guardswoman, Trainee. I look forward to seeing you Hunting in the future." He patted me gently on the shoulder, offered my family a smile and a nod, and walked away, leaving me wide-eyed and stunned, but a flush of pride filled me..

"You should rest, for now," Master Sholto told me gently, kindly, as he pat Jinglenob on the head. "Your skull cracked in that fall, and I had to coax your shoulder back together as well. You'll not be lifting anything heavy with that arm for several more days, to let it heal, and you may have some weakness in your right hand for a week or so, Trainee Bails," he told me gently. "Your Dogs have been vicious in your absence, you know," he teased me playfully. "I've heard not but complaints from the Healers here about your Dogs scuffles and snarling and pacing. So, do not damage yourself before Thursday and undo all my work, understand?" Carefully, I nodded, and took his hand in my right one, There was a thick scar across the back of it, just below my knuckles and about as thick as my pinkie, and bright, tender pink.

"Thank you, Master Sholto," I told him, as sincerely as I could, holding his eyes. The Healer just smiled, accepting my thanks with a gentle squeeze to my hand.

"You are free to head home in the morning, Trainee," he told me gently, before bidding my Family and I good night.

I spent the rest of the night in the Kennel Infirmary, mostly alone once Mama and Kindle left to take my siblings home, but Papa returned to stand guard over me until my Dog's got off Watch to take over.

"You stupid little trollop," Finch hissed at me past a fresh black eye, glaring fiercely even as he yanked my blankets about roughly to cover me better, Ferrows slouched in the chair next to my bed with a dark glower, black hair mussed and the both of them still stinking of scummer and sweat. "If you ever do sommat so damned idiotic ever again, I will beat you half to death myself and Ferrows will beat you the rest of the way, do you understand me Puppy?!" Blinking slowly, head aching despite his rather low tone, I could only offer a bleary smile.

"Aye, sir," I slurred out dozily; the two of them stared at me before huffing.

"Go t'sleep, Puppy," Ferrows growled; I hummed as Jinglenob heaved himself up onto the bed so I could curl my arms around him as best I could, shoulder aching fiercely, and obeyed my Dogs once more, slipping straight to sleep.

I did not wake again until just after six this morning, to find both my Dogs fast asleep on the chairs and against my bed, and Ahuda staring at the three of us tiredly, before she kicked my Dogs awake and ordered them to take me to my home so I could sleep in my own bed. And they did, helping me hobble down the street to my building, coves and mots stopping what they were doing to point and whispered.

"It's the Pitbull," they murmured.

"She'll sink 'er teeth in an' not let go 'til th' Black God comes fer 'er," they warned one another.

Let them talk.

Finch and Ferrows have slumped themselves over my bed, scummer and all, with exhausted sneers to dare me to complain, but I am too tired and sore to care at the moment. Jinglenob is spread out on the floor by the door, guarding it, and a runner from Master Levens has just left after telling me my siblings would be selling goods in place of me Playing until Friday.

My hand is aching now, the new scar turning redder the longer I write, and my bed calls, Dogs, scummer, and all. I will end this here, and give thanks to the Black God for not taking me so soon.

I must sleep now.

Gods, but my head and shoulder ache something fierce.

The Alley-Cat has been caught. May the ghosts of his victims find peace in the Black God's Realm.

Good night.

A/N: Ta-da! The Alley-Cat is caught! You'll hear his reasons and the like, a chapter or so from now, but feel free to guess!

Kudos to the Reviewer who guessed who the Alley-Cat was!

(I re-wrote this chapter like six times because I kept feeling like I was out of character, it's been 3 years, okay, ugh)

Next chapter may not be for a bit, my new computer is slow and finicky and likes to abruptly lose connection to the internet, but it will happen sooner or later!

No new vocab was actually used, and I've got a migraine right now, so, I know it's lazy, but I'm not gonna put in the usual Vocab this chap, sorry but the writing in the book is too small for me to focus clearly on it right now (Grimace)

Thanks for reading and don't forget to Review, please! ^-^