Demeter

The famous kitchens of Castle Jukard were alight with turmoil and activity one morning in the early spring. Even before dawn broke the morning sky the stoves and ovens were lit, the numerous cooks and their assistants bustling to and fro among the clatter of pans, bowls, and plates as palace servants brought in the stores of food delivered from the countryside. Already charts were hung upon the dark stone walls outlining what was needed and how much for the breakfast feast that would take place in a matter of hours. Normally not this much work was necessary to feed the castle's royal family and all its residents, but not everyday was it that the king was holding a week-long tour and peace settling conference with neighboring countries in one of the biggest treaties of the century. Everything had to be perfect.

With all of Jukard's experienced workers taking charge of the first job of the venture, there would be no doubt as to its success. Jennyanydots, a stout, elderly woman with fur of bright orange and yellow mixed throughout with red tabby stripes and spots, was head of the project, and supervised the goings-on with a strict, professional eye, keeping order with her infamous large wooden spoon. Surrounding her thick, curly fur and swirling apron were the sights and smells of all kinds of food: meats, breads, cheeses, drinks, soups, salads, and all manner of varieties in between from the far stretches of Felinera's borders in every flavor and taste, domestic and exotic. With her large, motherly paws she directed the flow of traffic between the kitchens, ducking and dodging around the stacks of plates being carried for washing, the cooking utensils being handed out as weapons are assigned to soldiers, in the preparation and cooling rooms the finest china and crystal glass plates and bowls filled with the prepared food for the servants to take upstairs. One could only stand back and marvel at how she managed it all.

"The scones are done. You, get them out and set them to cool. The honey should be in the storage. Go in there to find enough to pour over them. And you, check the ham in that oven. If it glistens and has a fine brown outing it is done. Heat up the syrup for the cakes to get rid of any sugar. No! No, lad, those plates go to be washed. Not one dirty plate will be used twice in my kitchen! Demeter! Oh, for Heaviside's sake, Demeter! You clumsy girl! Someone please help her. Mercy, my nerves!"

Kneeling on the cobblestones of the kitchen floor, the young girl called Demeter hid her face in shame and embarrassment as she gathered up the mushrooms she had been carrying in her apron, cleaned and ready to be chopped, only to stumble trying to avoid a tray of passing pastries and tripping to spill her cargo. "I shall wash them again, Miss Jenny," her young, timid voice reassured quietly as she did so. The authority of the kitchens nodded with a tap of the wooden spoon on her hip.

"Be sure you do, Demeter. I'll not have the prince coming down with sickness because of dirty mushrooms."

Demeter hurriedly gathered up the rolling mushrooms and hurried away. Jennyanydots watched until the girl's golden-furred tail vanished through the door that led outside to the palace grounds and the water pump, then with a weary shake of her head returned to her overseeing. "Merciful Heaviside! Does nobody know how to cook a proper apple pie anymore?"

The proceedings carried on like that as the sun rose over Pawprin. The Jellicles who dwelled outside the walls of the castle woke up to the sweet smell of baking and frying that filled the air, drifting on the breeze and watering the mouths of children who woke eagerly to their smaller, meager breakfasts, but with such aromas drifting on the dawn breeze they could gladly sit back and imagine their simple bread, oats, and milk to be the vast bounties that covered the table of the royal family when they and their guests woke to be served: cheese flans, honey oat scones, sweet-fried ham and eggs, warm milk and damson wine, loaves of steaming bread beside servings of butter and assorted jellies of every shade, plates stacked high with fruit-filled cakes, roasted apples, candied chestnuts, fish spiced to perfection, and countless more. Spread out along the enormous wooden table lined with velvet-cushioned chairs in the vast dining hall of the palace, accompanied with silver utensils and goblets, fine lace napkins, golden candelabras staggered like those of a deer's antlers on a red silk tablecloth, the feast combined to make a beautiful spectacle set before the fireplaces of the dining hall.

Which was all the reason why Demeter stopped dead in her footsteps and stared at it in unhidden awe, her lips parted in a gasp that halted in her throat. This being her first time as a server of the tables, she had never before seen a royal feast firsthand, let alone one as splendid as this one in Castle Jukard. Being a poor servant girl, her astonishment was well justified.

"Don't stand there all day," Jenny chided in her motherly voice, urging Demeter on with a spoon-rap to her tail. "Those cakes will get cold."

Demeter came back to life with a start and hurried forward, her tattered skirt bustling as she set down her serving tray of mushroom hotcakes to cool and absorb their butter as they waited for their guests to arrive. "How long will it be before the family sits down to eat?" she asked of Jenny after depositing her cakes and helping to arrange chalices beside pitchers of wine and milk.

"Approximately two hours," the older woman answered. "The family likes to sleep in a little late."

"Good," the girl laughed. "Then I shall have time to breakfast beyond the grounds before I am needed."

Jennyanydots smiled warmly, taking the large serving tray from Demeter's young golden hands. "Ahh, off to see that sweetheart of yours again, are you? Mischievous little imp."

Demeter laughed a sweet sound as she hurried back towards the kitchens. "He is not my sweetheart. Merely a friend who is poorer than I."

"Of course, dear. Take along some scraps from the kitchen, if you like. Just you be sure to return in time to change your dress. Hear me, girl!"

"I hear you, Miss Jenny," Demeter called, already halfway down the stairs to the kitchens. "I shall be back in time!"

The sun was just peeking over the rolling hills of Pawprin's horizon when Demeter headed out across the grounds of Castle Jukard, passing through the gates by way of the servant's exit so she was free to roam the countryside at her leisure.

Demeter was a very young girl to be so free-spirited as to venture out into the woods surrounding Jukard by herself. Barely into her young adulthood at fourteen years, she was a bright-faced Jellicle with slim golden fur speckled throughout with black, red, orange, and brown markings, her neck, throat, mouth, and tail tip highlighted with a fresh clean white colored as pure as milk. Her eyes radiated that vitality of childish youth with an emerald green color, her body naturally fit and trim despite the sheltered life she led as a servant of Castle Jukard. Residing in the servant quarters of the lower levels of the castle, she was free to venture out as often as she pleased when her occupation allowed it, and took full advantage of her time to wander off into the dark woods every chance she could. In the tattered brown-shaded dress she wore whose apron had been detached and bundled up to create a carrier for the food scraps she had been able to take as a picnic that fine morning, she skipped and sang merrily to herself as she crossed the cultivated field surrounding the high walls of Castle Jukard, the green lawns, and finally entered the shaded woods beyond.

All around her the air was cool and fresh with dawn, the ferns and leaf-covered trees damp with moss that was a cool relief to Demeter's bare paws after the hard cobblestones of the kitchen floor. Morning birds sang above in the trees, an uneven but beautiful accompaniment to Demeter's own song, and in the shafts of pale morning sunlight that filtered down through the trees she could see swarms of gnats dancing wildly in the air. She laughed merrily as she skipped over the moss-covered stones and piled leaves of the forest floor, the ferns and bushes grabbing at the tattered hem of her dress.

"Plato!" her melodious voice called out to the waking forest. "Plato! It's me! Where are you?"

Her voice held such playfulness, such innocence that one could only think she was calling to herself, fantasizing some handsome prince to emerge from behind a tree and sweep her up onto his black horse to carry her away into the sunset. The way she searched, peering up into trees and behind rock formations, seemed as though she was just a child at play, chasing fleeting shadows and bounding in short bursts on a whim, laughing delightedly in her joy at being alive. "Platoooo!"

Demeter paused in her search at a sparkling stream that ran through the forest, her bright green eyes watching the pathway of water trickle and gurgle before her, tiny fish darting through the crystal-clear flow amid the sparkles of floating minerals and silt. Demeter leaned forward onto her knees to watch them, tiny frogs leaping away from her into the safety of the water and burying themselves in the soft mud alongside the little crayfish and penniwinkles. Demeter gazed at her reflection in the water, snapped at a passing dragonfly, then whirled with a frightened gasp, dropping her picnic bag, as a dark shadow suddenly dropped into view behind her from nowhere, landing with a predator's silence on the large rock formation behind her.

Plato was the most beautiful cat Demeter had ever met. Not outwardly in the way she admired other toms, but it was a beauty inside him that she could see rival even the sun itself. On the outside he was naught but a normal tom: fur a gentle mix of brown and silver with black paws and a white face patched in brown. His silver-brown mane tumbled wild and uncared for over his shoulders and down in front of his face, and behind those thick, unwashed strands his golden eyes peered out. His eyes were intense, shining with such intelligence and knowing... By a mere glance he seemed a dangerous, savage creature, with a body long and lean from a life of hard survival in the woods, his claws thick from frequent use, his fur having never seen sight of soapwater or brush. His clothes were the bundled furs of animals: a dark brown bear skin wrapped about his waist and torso, held by bound twines of creeper plants, and rabbit furs wrapped in layers covered his feet the same way. But Demeter saw under all of this.

Inside he was the most perfect of creatures. He was gentle and kind. He never spoke much, but what little he did was as soft as feathers. He had never told her his name, and when she finally decided he didn't have one she began to call him Plato. He didn't seem to mind. Nor had he the need to speak. Everything about him radiated happiness and contentment. All Demeter had to do was look in his smiling eyes to hear his melodic laugh. He was never sad or depressed as far as she knew, and there was little doubt in her mind at all that he was simple happiness embodied in one creature. A creature directly from Heaviside. In all the time she had known him Plato never said where he came from, and thus there was much mystery to him as there was wonder. The sad thing, though, Demeter had realized as she became more acquainted with him, was that he didn't seem to know what love was. She felt a pity for him in that aspect. He didn't know love, or for that matter: fear, or greed, or anger. All he knew was happiness. That was why Demeter took off for the woods every chance she could to meet him.

"Plato!" she exclaimed, throwing a slim golden hand to her chest. "You scared the life out of me!"

Another strange thing was that Plato interpreted everything as plain text. At hearing this expression he cocked his ears in curious alarm and peered closely at her, reaching forward to take hold of her shoulder and sniff her face closely as though to check the validity of her exclamation. Demeter giggled at the tickle of his whiskers so close, and gently pushed him back.

"No, I mean you startled me."

Blinking in satisfaction, the strange forest tom hopped back to his original place, crouched like a panther with all the agility and flexibility of a spider, his tail and ears constantly moving. The sunlight filtered down onto his back in streams of brightening gold, and silhouetted as he was atop the rock formation, he was a dramatic sight. Demeter giggled, bending to pick up again the wrapped bundle she had dropped.

"I brought breakfast for us," she said, indicating the apron as she climbed up on the flattened pile of rocks to untie it and spread out the picnic goods. Plato sat down as well, eyeing and sniffing at the contents with a curious but seeming hunger. Demeter had never known how Plato managed to feed himself during the long stretches Demeter was unable to visit him and in the time before they met, almost a year ago. But he seemed to do well, making these picnic visits a special treat. "I'm going to be serving at the king's table today when he and the visitors have their breakfast," she said excitedly, selecting from the pile a single blueberry scone and breaking it in half, pouring a cap of honey over both sides before handing one to her friend. Plato took the scone carefully, seeming to not notice Demeter's laughs and giggles as he sniffed and examined it closely before gobbling the pastry down eagerly, ears perking up expectantly for more. Despite his simple manner Demeter knew he listened to her every word and understood. He was a very intelligent cat, perhaps a year or two older than her but every bit as pleasant to be with. With neither of them having any family of their own, they found a sibling relationship with each other, quiet and content.

"You had best wish me luck," Demeter talked gently on as they divided and devoured the rest of the food: a small sample of what the royal family would be given free use of once their own breakfast began. It was not uncommon as most of their conversations were carried on by the young queen, Plato listening quiet and attentive as he licked the sticky sweetness of honey from his claws. "I shall have to serve the family and their guests in that awfully uncomfortable dress they have designed for us. Colored black, as well. Could they not have chosen a more festive color?" She took her eyes from the stream to look sideways at Plato. Having long since finished the contents of the picnic, they sat in rest now, savoring the peace and quiet that was so different from the bustling palace kitchens. Plato sat in a crouch, his chin on one knee as he watched Demeter with polite attention and interest. She smiled at him, and he returned it. Straightening her skirt, Demeter sighed, unable to express her content happiness otherwise.

"Oh, Plato, why won't you come and live at the castle? I'm sure they would love to have you, and it would be a much better place to live than out here in the woods. You could have a soft bed, warm food, nice clothes..."

She let her voice trail away when Plato resolutely shook his head, seeming to laugh rather than grow irritated as Demeter asked him this constantly. She thought it would have been nice for Plato to come and work at the castle with her. She could have a friend to talk to while doing her work, and Plato could have a warm fire to turn to when the weather outside turned to storms instead of hiding in the dangerous woods. But no...the tom was resolute. He was a tom of the woods, and in the woods he would stay.

Mood changing as suddenly as his head stopped shaking, Plato stood to his feet, pulling Demeter up to stand beside him, nearly a full head shorter, with gentle hands as he smiled warmly down at her.

"Something to show you," he purred. Demeter smiled widely, unable to contain her excitement or a small delighted giggle.

"Oh...what is it?"

"Come."

Demeter said nothing, questioned nothing as she had complete confidence in the wild tom as he led her by the hand in a sudden burst of speed over the uneven forest ground, every step perfectly balanced and measured. Demeter laughed out loud in her surprise and delight, giggling as drops of lingering dew splashed onto her face from a fern Plato's tail disturbed. Her lungs drew in the fresh morning air without haste despite the swift, agile run the tom led her through, deeper and deeper into the forest without fear. When it seemed only minutes had passed, the couple stopped at the base of an enormous snaggle-rooted tree at the edge of a clearing in the forest. Demeter placed her hand on the mossy tree trunk to peer out into the sparkling clearing, searching for whatever splendid thing Plato was going to show her. No doubt would it be splendid, she knew. Plato had showed her the most amazing things...seashells from the distant ocean she had never seen, feathers from birds so bright they made the queen's gowns seem dull, insects and creatures among his forest home that rarely any other peasant girl chanced to see. How he obtained these things was a mystery, but not one she was bound to question.

The clearing was empty, however, its tall, wavy grasses swaying in the morning breeze and sparkling in the sunlight that speckled the ground through the canopy of leaves that covered the place. Insects buzzed, birds sang, leaves whispered, but Plato's expected treasure was nowhere to be seen. She looked at him curiously. He only smiled.

"Stay," he whispered, urging her closer to the tree's trunk. Demeter did as she was bid, clasping the tree for balance as she stepped up onto one of the tree's high arching roots, and watched with a curious faith as Plato climbed like a squirrel up into the tree she lingered at, crawling out onto a large branch to overlook the same clearing directly over Demeter's golden mane. Following his gaze, she looked back out into the open forest space, eager and anticipating as she heard him lift one hand to his lips and whistle through it three strange, haunting notes that sent chills up her spine. Plato called the whistle again which seemed to silence all creatures around them, providing a mysterious aura that settled over the place for the creatures that pranced into view.

The most gorgeous and amazing creatures Demeter ever had and ever would see.

"Oh, Plato," she gasped. "They're beautiful!"

Horses. Two horses in perfect response to Plato's beckoning whistle pranced daintily into view from the opposite side of the clearing, more proud and refined than any horse ever possessed by the king himself. The horses, a stallion and a smaller mare, were spotlessly white, the sun falling in shafts over their backs and manes with such brilliance she was blinded. Their hooves were perfectly round and fell in exact precision in one another, stepping with utmost ease and grace among the cool peacefulness of the forest around them, masters of all their surroundings. The very air and grass parted before the sweep of their ivory manes, the trailing white banners of their tails leaving a wake of blooming flowers with their every step. Their dark, shining eyes gazing with a knowledge too deep and too vast for anyone but they to comprehend. When Demeter gazed into them she was lost in wonder, speechless with astonishment and reverence. The flaring breath from their silvery nostrils and mouths was sweeter than roses, bringing life and happiness wherever they looked. But grander than all of these traits, grander than the elegance of their strides, the serenity of their gazes, the beauty of their white bodies, tails, and manes, grander than their very presence which was divine in itself were the two golden spirals that lifted up towards Heaviside from each of the horses' foreheads, shining with their own celestial light.

"Unicorns..." Demeter gasped without her realizing. Too captivated to take her eyes from the majestic creatures, she didn't see Plato's serene smile as he set his chin on his crossed arms, gazing out at the divine horses, letting his legs dangle over the tree branch's sides and swing as he nodded dreamily. She could have stood there for all eternity, simply watching them, dwarfed by their magnificence but loving their peaceful, magical presence. With a sigh Demeter leaned her head against the tree's mossy bark, all else in the world forgotten as she watched the unicorns through half-lidded eyes, imagining herself riding atop their graceful backs through dreams of clouds and endless fields of those wildflowers; Plato would be there to lead her to the most distant corners of the universe where they could explore and share the secrets hidden from the rest of the world. But now, in her childish innocence, she was satisfied with merely watching the beautiful horses, feeling herself grow drowsy, lulled by their presence, as they crossed the small clearing, pausing only once to glance in the direction of the two Jellicles before they moved on, vanishing into the dark forest as mysteriously and dreamlike as they had come.

"How do you call them?" Demeter heard herself ask, her voice quiet and distant. She heard the rustle of leaves and claws on bark as Plato climbed down from his perch, but even then felt the spell of serenity assert its influence until he gently touched her shoulder. Demeter laughed as she finally found it within herself to turn away from the place that had just a moment ago held such beauty, her senses fully returned to notice Plato's misinterpretation.

"Friends."

Though it had seemed so much longer to the young girl than a mere hour, Demeter found herself wandering back towards Castle Jukard as one would wake from a dream: with a questioning, wondering if the past events were indeed real or images drawn from the mind. Singing her sweet song yet again, though much quieter as her mind could only think of the magnificent creatures she had seen, Demeter held her untied apron by one corner and let it drift around her in the soft breeze, her song dropping into a melodious hum as the castle's dark silhouette came into view. Plato had accompanied her on her journey back as far as the forest's edge and would go no further. In a strange path of thought Demeter discovered herself withholding envy for him. Plato who was absolutely free from all the bonds of Jellicle society, who at liberty called unicorns his friends, lived in the forest as though his own palace. How wonderful it must have been! Closing her eyes to breathe in deep the drifting smells of a feast when she drew near the castle walls, Demeter enriched her soul more than she could ever recall. Having experienced the magnificence of a unicorn, and now these royal luxuries...how could life possibly be any more grand?

"Who goes there!" called down a steady voice when Demeter came into earshot of the high walls surrounding the castle. Startled from her private bliss, the young girl's green eyes turned up to the posted guard upon the wall's top walkway. Waving up into the cool morning air that still lingered in the castle's shadow, Demeter smiled warmly.

"Only myself, Tumblebrutus. Back from my morning walk to serve at breakfast!" Spreading her golden-furred arms out to the side, she twirled like a dancer so her ragged brown skirt fanned out, her laughter uncontained. The young soldier soon followed suit.

"Indeed," the tom laughed in return with a tilt of his spear. "You had better hurry, young miss."

With a thankful wave Demeter dashed into the palace grounds, using the same small servant's entrance to gain access through the thick stone walls.

Her return did not go unnoticed. The kitchens were still unbelievably busy when Demeter's soft footsteps lightly padded across the flat brick-like stones that made up the floor, her green-eyed gaze watching carefully as much movement around her as possible. The air remained just as heavy with spices, heat, and the delicious odors of well-prepared food as when she had left, if not moreso, and the young servant girl began to think she'd made it safely across to the front entrance of the enormous kitchens without being noticed when suddenly a sharp cry of her name rang out. Demeter gasped as she felt her wrist grabbed by a much stronger, much larger grip, and whirling back as her heart leaped into her throat she dropped her apron uselessly to the floor, lifting her eyes wide in astonishment to see only Jenny's.

"Demeter!" Jennyanydots scowled, the wooden spoon in her free hand waving perilously close to Demeter's slim, captured wrist. "Heaviside help me, young girl, where in the world have you been? The breakfast has already started and you're not up there to help serve!"

"Oh Jenny, I'm so sorry!" Demeter pleaded, trying quite unsuccessfully to free her trapped wrist. "I must have lost track of time. It shall never happen again, I promise—!"

"Nevermind that, girl," Jenny huffed with a toss of Demeter's hand away, her whiskers which had stood forward so aggressively finally relaxing back into their streamlined place. "Change your clothes and get your pretty self up there. Go on, now! If you're lucky none of the family will notice." Already Demeter was nodding fervently, clasping her paws behind her for protection as she backed away towards the main entrance, tail curled modestly about her calf. "I shall deal with you later, dearie. Now go! And we'll see how many more times to go sneak out to visit that sweetheart before breakfast!"

Having forgotten her apron, Demeter purred a final: "Yes ma'am," and turned to run, the brown rags of her servant's dress streaming behind her as she made quickly for her designated quarters, leaving the head mistress of Jukard to her fussing. The servants' quarters made up the majority of the underground floor of Castle Jukard: that part of which was allowed to be roamed, of course. Despite their mere status as workers within the castle walls, Jukard's many servants and guards were well cared for. Two workers to a room that was of decent size, males and females were kept very much separated. Being the simple girl that she was, Demeter did not mind the near-identical appearance of each room, distinguished only by numbers and titles. She had her bed pushed against one of the walls, beside it a small dresser where all her clothes were kept, her personal trinkets and treasures either hidden away beneath the mattress or amid the drawers. Lying in her bed at night, she could gaze up through the one window placed high up in the wall of her room, just peeking above the ground level outside the castle, to sometimes see the stars before falling asleep. Even sometimes the moon. Those warm summer nights when she listened to the music of crickets and nocturnal birds, the rhythmic tap of the guards as they paced the walls, the gentle breathing of her roommate who was also a servant girl about Demeter's age, she would think of Plato and wondering if he was faring well in the forest at night. He must have heard similar things such as crickets and birds, perhaps even so much more filling the world of his so secluded from civilization. But Demeter would have to wait until the next night fall to think of such things, for now her service was required at breakfast.

A plain black dress was hanging on one of the posts of her meager bed. A soft material trimmed in white lace and silk, these types of dresses were not usually supplied to the servants of Jukard, who were content to work in their comfortable, worn old rags. It was only when ambassadors from neighboring countries visited the castle, such as were now from the Pollicle lands, that the servants and many workers were dressed up for show. Demeter quite liked the idea of a new dress, a small smile playing about her features as she gently closed the door to the room behind her, her roommate having already gone no doubt, and held the dress up by it's shoulders to admire. "Why must it always be black?" she nevertheless sighed, exchanging her ragged clothes that were normally used for kitchen work to slip the dress on in their place. It was a very comfortable material that clung to her form securely enough to work, but maintaining that modest appearance of a servant. A series of buttons lined up the front that Demeter had to work frantically at to get attached. Buttons were marvelous things, she knew, especially since a servant girl as her rarely had the luxury of them, but the way they seemed to tug and catch in her fur became quickly irritating. Having finished, she straightened the material down, pulling the white fringe of the sleeves that reached just below her elbows out into their full fluffiness, giggling as she did likewise with the edge of the dress's skirt and the way it tickled her feet. She slipped into her matching shoes, also polished and not normally supplied but for special occasions, brushed out her golden mane of hair, tied it back into a silky black piece of cloth so that it might not fall into her face while serving, and giving a final look over herself in a small hand-held mirror, the young girl smiled delightedly at her appearance and hurried upstairs to join the others at work.

Not a servant in all of Felinera had been ever known to complain about the work they were given at Jukard. Most servants were lodged at the castle itself, paid fair wages, and treated quite justly by the royal family. Demeter in fact quite liked her work in the kitchens, where she could sometimes sneak bits and pieces of the lovely food prepared there just as she had done that morning. Working inside the castle as a server and kitchen girl she had always thought much better than having to be one of the maids, who cleaned all day, or a guard who had to stand out in the hot sun hour by hour in their meager but nonetheless stifling hot armor, or the peasants in the town-city below who had to farm and make their own livings. She was quite happy here, in fact, though the feeling of trouble couldn't be helped as she approached warily the servant's entrance to the enormous dining hall, where two streams of her fellow workers trailed in and out, carrying empty dishes to the kitchens for washing or full platters and pitchers into the room for eating. An incredible bounty... Sneaking along low in her black-clad profile Demeter's wide, curious eyes peeked into the room once she was close enough to the doorway, keeping to the side so as to stay out of the pathway of others, her mouth quite literally falling open at the inside spectacle.

Not a seat remained vacant at the long, richly-clad table that centered the entire hall. She recognized for herself a number of the Jellicles seated there. At the center of one side was Deuteronomy himself, the king so beloved by all of Felinera, on his right side his eldest son Munkustrap, the sole heir to Jukard's throne, and on down the line the king's brother and his family; taking up the other side were cats she would recognize by name but had never met: the highest officers and council inhabiting Jukard, all patterns and manner of colorful, elegantly-dressed male and female Jellicles that, framed by the lush surroundings and supplies, made an extravagant spectacle. But on the other side of the table, clad just as richly but in such more dire colors of browns, grays, and blacks, were the Pollicles. Truth be told Demeter had only ever heard stories and rumors about the infamous savage dogs of the East, about their feral ways and lack of dignity that so distinguished them from the Jellicle Cats, but gazing upon them now Demeter could only smile and doubt the truthfulness of any of those kitten tales. The race of canine beings did indeed appear savage upon first glance, Demeter seeing only their large fangs when they spoke and intimidating size. But their table manners, the way they conversed quietly with the cats across from them, offered a more gentle view of the Pollicles, and the young golden-furred girl would have remained there the rest of the meal to stare in secret had it not been for the insistent nudge of a fellow servant behind her.

"Here Demeter," he said gently, handing over a large pitcher of wine into her slim hands. "Get on in. The Pollicles won't bite. Just take care you don't drop anything!"

Demeter hefted the pitcher up as best she could, perfectly able to handle the pitcher had it not been so unusually heavy. She grunted in an effort to stand up straight, holding the pitcher before her like it was nothing just as she'd been taught to do, and taking in a deep breath to calm her nervousness, she fell into line with the other servants, carrying herself in with moderate, easy steps.

One of the Pollicles's booming voices was echoing off the large walls as she entered, the embroidered tapestries, lavish paintings, and decorated flags that hung over the gray stones doing little to dull the strength of it. "It is certainly not a topic fit for discussion so early in the morning," a gruff male was barking loud enough for all to hear. "But as I've told the Ambassador, and I'm sure you know Deuteronomy, the concept of war between our two respectful nations seems quite inevitable with the developing tensions along our borders."

As Demeter was walking along the Pollicle-inhabited side of the table, she could not see the faces of the many dogs as they were turned away from her. She could hear their heavy breathing as she passed by, however, moving to the opposite end of the table where nobody sat, their throaty growls and whines that made up a speech only the Pollicles could understand. Their scent as well was much stronger than she could remember any cat's being. The way servants of Jukard had been taught, they were not allowed to look directly at their superiors while serving at the tables, but even so Demeter couldn't help but risk a quick glance across the table to where the Jellicles sat just as she passed the center. For a moment, a very brief moment, she feared Prince Munkustrap's eyes had ventured to meet hers as well, thus catching her in the act of breaking a very important rule. Snapping her gaze back as quickly as possible, she walked on, listening if not always looking.

"Needless to say," the much more gentle, rumbling voice of Deuteronomy returned in a quiet laugh. "That is why we've agreed to meet here for these few days...to discuss those current tensions and see if there is a better alternative to war as a solution."

"Which may not be likely," rose up the familiar voice of Munkustrap, not half so deep as his father's but ever the more strong and steady. "It is not among the Jellicle people that any of these tensions reside. It is only in your Pollicle tactics, hungry for more land to add to your already expanding empire, that you feel the need to stir up trouble on the Eastern border."

"Munkustrap!" Deuteronomy said suddenly, silencing the young man of silver-striped fur, who immediately looked properly crestfallen. "I must apologize for my son's words, General. Ambassador. I can assure you he does not know both sides of what he speaks."

"Then let us hear him," said a Pollicle, the same as before. "Speak up, young cat. If you are to one day head this nation you may as well learn what you can. Come, what are your views on the situation?"

Demeter heard Munkustrap take a slow breath as a distinct quiet settled over the dining hall, broken only by the odd tinkle of glasses or plates, the shuffling sound of footsteps. "It is my opinion, with all due respect, sir, that I have a very valid argument. The Pollicle Empire has been a large and dominant one throughout the majority of history. There is no doubt about that. We have avoided open warfare for well over a century, Jellicle and Pollicle lands, but in recent times..." A pause just as Demeter reached the end of the long table. "I think your leaders have plans to extend your borders, and indeed Felinera lies directly in your path and would make a very rich target."

More quiet, and ever the more tension. The same Pollicle spoke up. "I see...you think we Pollicles are becoming too greedy?"

"Not at all, General. It is perfectly logical for a strong empire such as yours to want to conquer as much as possible. I can only hope you don't succeed for, and not only because it would mean the dethroning of my father and myself, but I believe Felinera under Pollicle rule would ultimately lead to disaster."

"How so?" growled the canine male. Demeter, the other servants, even the Pollicles and royal attendants had ceased to move, listening expectantly for each response.

"Your institution of slavery, for one," Munkustrap answered, his voice never rising, seeming quite sure of himself. "You say your economy depends upon it, but with the research I have done I've read nothing that says otherwise to the fact that your slaves are merely a source of labor. You enslave a percentage of the peoples you conquer, turn them against one another, destroy cultures and traditions that have been carefully preserved by each race throughout history. Nor are you Pollicles known for your kindness and mercy, your compassion towards slaves and each other. Is it not true that your current leader put to death his own father for all the world to see, himself gaining then control of your empire and no one questioning it?"

"Munkustrap," Deuteronomy said softly. "That is quite enough."

"How old might you be, young cat?" the same Pollicle—the General—asked after a moment.

"I've yet to be twenty," Munkustrap answered, much quieter than before.

"Is that so?" the black-furred man hummed, seeming to break the tension in the air as he leaned back in his chair and laughed, a sinister sound that lifted the fur along Demeter's spine. "Then let me tell you something, young cat. You speak so confidently about your knowledge, having sat back in the safety of some library and read what you presume to be true simply because it's written. But hear me: until you have lived a Pollicle life for over the course of forty years as I have, don't presume to think you know how our livelihoods are run, or our economies and governments."

"I'm sure he meant no offense," said another Pollicle, who Demeter guessed to be the leader of the group. The Ambassador. He didn't seem as deep-voiced, or even as physically large, as the General, but the authority of rank seemed to silence the other dog. Demeter knew actually very little about the things the royals and their guests were discussing, but it sounded important. Arms growing weary from holding up the heavy pitcher, Demeter shifted it in her grasp, wishing someone would beckon her quickly so she could pour some of the heavy liquid out. "Deuteronomy, you have shown a remarkable offer of hospitality since we arrived. Allow me this chance to thank you properly now?"

"By all means, Ambassador," Deuteronomy smiled, standing from his seat, his eyes landing upon Demeter among the crowd. "Here now! Damson wine, the finest ever made." A clap of his large hands, and Demeter hurried forward to the Pollicle who had spoken, lugging the pitcher of wine with her. There was no hesitance in the action, as she had been trained to do such things as slipping between two closely-seated people to pour drink into a sitting goblet, and concentrating as intently as Demeter was upon not spilling any of the royal red liquid she poured from the heavy pitcher, the young girl did not notice the two large, burly male dogs on either side of her. Not right away. When she drew back the pitcher the tablecloth beneath remained untouched for all her efforts, and Demeter smiled satisfactorily to herself, stepping back as the large, brown-furred Ambassador in his gray cloak and tunic stood up in his seat to reach for his freshly-filled goblet, holding it into the air to make a toast. Demeter stepped back, intent on getting out of the way, but was unable to do so.

"Allow me to say," the Ambassador's strong voice rang out clear, drawing all attention. "That just as the kindness of our host Deuteronomy has shown, let this magnificent meal be the first event in numerous days to lead to a long-lasting peace between our two nations. As birds cross our borders in the freedom of the skies without inhibition every season, let it be so among us." He lifted his glass high into the air in toast, his noble words praised by the rising yeowls and barks, Deuteronomy sitting opposite him quickly joining in heartfelt warmth. They drank to the success of their efforts, but cowering below the noise, Demeter could not draw a single breath.

After having filled the Ambassador's portion of damson wine, the young gold-furred girl had backed away to return to her proper place at the edge of the table. But the Pollicle General, sitting on the Ambassador's right from where Demeter served, barked gruffly to her, indicated his goblet as well which Demeter submissively bent again to fill. Her eyes focused on the silver cup, ears flicking backwards against the noise rising around her, Demeter remained steadfast in her determination not to look up to her superiors, even when she felt the hot, damp breath of a panting dog on the bare fur of her neck. In automatic reaction to the tingling sensation her tail curled agitatedly, betraying her discomfort until she slowly withdrew her now much-lighter pitcher and, unable to help herself, glanced up through the fringe of her golden mane. The General's eyes stared down at her: golden rays of piercing light from the depths of a stark black face. It was a timid glance, intended to be brief, but upon contact Demeter felt the blood run cold in her veins, breath halting in her throat. Even when the Pollicle's muscular black forearm reached out to clamp over her wrist, preventing her from backing away any further, the young girl's wince did little to help. The grip was tight, painful; it was all Demeter could do simply to watch the General's black lips slide back over his milk-white fangs—like daggers—gleaming in the candlelight from the tables. Her own parted to cry out.

"General?" instead came the smooth voice of Munkustrap once the cheers had died down. Both gazes snapping across to the prince, just as soon seeing the striking young Jellicle rise from his seat as well. "Is something wrong?"

A blast of hot breath escaped the black dog's powerful jaws, and with a rough reluctance allowed his captor escape. "No, young sir. Nothing at all."

Stumbling to regain her balance with the heavy pitcher still in her grasp, Demeter hurried away, once again her gaze fixed upon the floor, her steps small and hurried as she shuffled back to her proper place far from the General's seat. Breakfast continued, no one noticing of the servant girl's presence or misadventures.

"Very well spoken, Ambassador," Deuteronomy praised after retaking his seat. "Sit down, Munkustrap."

"No," barked the same dark-furred General, gesturing with a gleaming table knife. "The young cat is eager to talk. Let him speak! Surely you Jellicles have tales to tell. War ballads, perhaps? Some heroic epic for entertainment?"

Deuteronomy laughed full-heartedly. "Should there be one thing my son truly loves, it is the history of all nations and races. Come, Munkustrap..." He extended one gentle hand towards his striped son, who smiled grimly in return. "You have a fine voice."

"Of course, father," the young silver tabby nodded as he moved from his seat, pushing back the folds of his red cloak while a servant moved forward to take the heavy material from his shoulders. Demeter kept her silence with the other servants gathered round the dining hall, standing tall and straight, their hands folded behind their backs who had nothing to hold and heads slightly bowed. Even so, at least once each and every slave in the room risked the punishment rewarded by glancing up to the Prince of Jukard as he narrated.

"I present to you," Munkustrap's well-developed tenor voice echoed over the vast spanse of the room, "a war ballad from your own records of history. From your civil war, I believe. The Battle of the Pekes and the Pollicles."

"Of course he would choose one with a Jellicle hero," the General scoffed.

"Silence," the Ambassador growled. "It is an accurate account of what happened."

Munkustrap nodded, bowed curtly, and began.

"The Pekes and the Pollicles, everyone knows,

Are proud and implacable passionate foes;

It is always the same, wherever one goes.

And Pekes and Pollicles, although most people say

That they do not like fighting, will often display

Every symptom of wanting to join in the fray.

Now on the occasion of which I shall speak

Almost nothing had happened for nearly a week

(And that's a long time for a Pol or a Peke).

The weather that winter had been heavy with heat—

None know the reason, but most people think

Divine patience had been pushed to the brink—

And no one at all dared show face on the street

When Peke and Pollicle army happened to meet.

They did not advance, or exactly retreat,

But they glared at each other, and scraped their hind feet.

Now when these bold fighters together assembled,

The air nearly stopped, and the very ground trembled,

And each of the armies were so armed to the teeth:

So thick that they covered the ground beneath.

When suddenly, up riding from the North,

The Great Rumpus Cat came stalking forth!

His eyes were like fireballs fearfully blazing,

He gave a great yawn, and his jaws were amazing;

And when he looked out over the war-torn scene,

You never saw anything fiercer or as mean.

And what with the glare of his eyes and his yawning,

The Pekes and the Pollicles quickly took warning.

He looked to Heaviside and he gave a great leap—

And they every last one of them scattered like sheep."

With an illustrious bow, Munkustrap's performance was met with great applause...save from the General. His chin set in one hand, the black-furred Pollicle sniffed disdainfully. It did not merit an approving look from the Ambassador, but went unpunished all the same. Smiling with a certain smug grin upon his features, Munkustrap straightened, holding up one hand for silence as he belted the final line of the song well-known by any learned Jellicle:

"All hail and all bow to the Great Rumpus Cat!"

The dashing striped tom remained standing proudly, one hand set upon his chair, as another nod confirmed the quiet applause. "Still not satisfied, General? Is it not enough that the very song was written by a Pollicle?"

"Praising a Jellicle so highly, indeed," the General growled. His eyes darting to the side, the General waved one arm in indication for more wine, his growling continuing on the whole while. "Our stuck-up cousins from the North wanted to divide our nation between Peke and Pollicle; enough to start a civil war over it. Yet we are not three battles into the so-called war when your beloved Ruckus Cat...or what you may call him...rides into the midst of our own business to put an end to it all."

"Yet he did it by his lonesome," Munkustrap countered with polite mockery. "Surely that warrants some merit. He could have very well been killed by two opposing armies."

"He nearly was," the General growled darkly. "If you recall—"

The Pollicle was interrupted by a sudden crash. Leaping to their feet, some of the seated guests drew weapons, expecting any sort of attack. Guards sprang forward, armed and ready to defend their superiors, though by the time the calm had settled enough for all gazes to find the source of the crash, all that could be seen was the servant girl Demeter on her knees beside a broken wine pitcher.

"Clumsy girl!" Deuteronomy exclaimed, his deep voice ringing off the rafters of the vast room. Cringing from the sound as though delt a physical blow, the young girl crouched down on the floor, her hands and dress front growing soaked in the spilled wine as she tried desperately to gather up the shards of pitcher. But the tears of humiliation and shame were already streaking her face. "Clean that mess up," she heard Deuteronomy's voice say, none the less sharp and piercing. Trembling, her small hands reached out, only succeeding in making more of a mess by dropping the pieces again. Gasping, she reached for the shards, and froze when a pair of silver-black hands moved into her sight. Her entire body going rigid, even her tears halting in their streak down her face, she looked up to see Munkustrap himself kneeling beside her. All she could do was stare. It didn't occur to her at the time, but Demeter should have known she would be severely punished for this. Not only had she disrupted the royal family's meal, but she continued staring even when Munkustrap's eyes returned to hers.

"Are you alright?" was what she heard him say, soft and gentle. Demeter's own mouth fell open.

"I...I...I..."

"Well, isn't this interesting," the General's harsh voice cut the otherwise still air. Munkustrap looked away, and Demeter thus was finally able to breathe again. "Tell me, Deuteronomy. Is it your custom for princes to get down on their own knees to help a slave?"

Hearing this, Demeter's wide green eyes turned up in fear at the prince before her. His own gaze was harsh, fixed across the distance to where the Pollicle general's back was contemptuously turned. Rising up, Munkustrap towered over the young servant girl who expected nothing short of a harsh word to save face. Instead, he offered a hand to her, breath held in defiance of the General's words. Too frightened to move under the weight of tension, Demeter did nothing.

"General," Deuteronomy ventured to say, retaking his seat. "I remind you that none of the workers in this castle are here by force. We Jellicles do not keep slaves, but hire servants."

"I apologize for General Rawn's prejudices," the Ambassador's soothing voice calmed somewhat the built tension. Demeter saw the stiffness with which the brown-furred Pollicle reached out to clamp a hand upon the General's shoulder, the look passing between them not a kind one. "That is why he is commander of the Pollicle army...and I am commander of him."

The dogs bristled at each other, and frightened by the fires she saw burning in their eyes, Demeter finally reached out to take Munkustrap's offered hand. With a well-founded strength the silver tabby helped her to her feet, her dress front stained a crimson red from wine and soaked thoroughly. "It can be safely said breakfast is over," he purred, looking down to Demeter though her gaze remained fixed on the floor. "You should go get cleaned up."

"Y-Yes sir, my lord...right away."

"A fine show indeed! Blast you, dear girl, how could you have allowed for such a thing to happen? I'll be dead before I let you serve the tables again. Now hold still! This stain won't come out so easily."

"I didn't mean to disrupt," Demeter spoke quietly, cringing at every move the fussy Jennyanydots made as the elderly female moved about the kitchen, back and forth from where Demeter sat dejectedly on a table. After the frantic business of breakfast had passed, the kitchen now law empty and silent save for the two sole occupants and an occasional drip of water. Plates, pots, pans, dishes, bowls, cups, and a myriad of utensils were piled high in every available sink for washing. On every counter the leftover food sat neglected and spoiling on cutting boards or in mixing bowls, the buzz of flies already beginning to gather. Demeter grimaced at the sight of it, but not so much as to Jennyanydots's harsh words.

"I care not if it was an accident, girl," the elder went on to say as she scrubbed at the front of Demeter's dress with a brush and hot, soapy water. "I've got half a mind to make you wash this entire kitchen by yourself before the other workers get back from their own meals." Frustrated by the material's stubbornness, the homely-colored old woman threw down her brush and soap with a growl, sitting back on her haunches. "Oh drat! I shall never get this wine stain out!" Pressing one hand to her forehead with her eyes closed, Jenny sighed in a desperate grab for patience, and when her gaze returned she saw only Demeter hunching down, as shameful as ever.

"Now, now," Jennyanydots purred much more quietly as she stood up, brushing down the material of her own simple brown dress and apron. Smiling gently she took up a seat beside the young girl on the table, gently setting one arm about Demeter's shoulders. Despite her sniffling tears Demeter leaned into the warmth and softness of the older queen's side, curling up as any child would to their mother. "I don't mean to be harsh, Demeter. I only look out for your well-being. When your parents died the last promise I made them, bless their souls, was to look after you. No royal family in all the world wants a clumsy servant to wait on them." She set a gentle hand on Demeter's knee, and the girl's wide green eyes looked up in silent hope. "Now go get out of that dress and I'll see what I can do with it. You shall be relieved of your duties the rest of the day, Demeter."

"So I can go back to the woods?" Demeter whimpered hopefully. Jennyanydots laughed.

"Hardly! My dear girl, you are staying in your quarters until I see it fit for you to venture out."

In her own mind Demeter would have rather faced the ridicule of going back to the tables to serve after her disruption than facing the boredom of being shut up in her small room the rest of the day. Sitting on her small bed and once again clad in her more comfortable servant's rags, the young gold-furred queen sighed longingly as she gazed out the small window near the top of the far wall making up the outside barrier of the dwelling. Just barely able to see the inside of the castle grounds through it bathed in the late morning sunlight, she thought of Plato and what he was doing at that moment. Probably running with his unicorns, as wild and free as any creature of the forest. If only he could be here to keep her company, or better yet: if she could be out there with him, exploring the wonders of the wilderness and surrounded in its natural beauty. What she would have given to be anywhere but here...

Leaning back on her bed with a sigh of defeat, Demeter stretched out on top of the blankets, folding her hands across her middle and closing her eyes as she let her mind wander. It found its way back to the breakfast meal of the royal family, but in no way did Demeter remind herself of her misconduct. Instead, she remembered Prince Munkustrap and how he had been there to help her. Her, a slowly servant, had caught the attention of a prince of Jukard. How handsome he was, now that Demeter thought back with a smile: perfectly groomed fur of silver and black, dashing and strong features, deep golden eyes...and to add to all that the prince had a kind heart. If only she could have spoken to him properly instead of stuttering like she had. But his eyes lingered in her mind, their sincerity and gold color...how many servants in Jukard could boast that they had seen the color of Munkustrap's eyes so close?

Demeter only hoped that the fine prince would give that Pollicle General a rightful telling-off before they left. The General wasn't as important as the Ambassador, so Demeter figured in her simple mind that it wouldn't truly be the black dog's opinion that mattered once they returned to Canin. Something frightened her terribly about the General. There was a look in his eyes that was never one of kind intent. She would be glad when the Pollicles had gone. On the other hand, the Ambassador seemed to disapprove of the General, and that alone justified his existence in her opinion. If peace was what they were truly here for, she prayed silently that everything would work out. She didn't want to have to worry about war when her biggest concern then was getting through today without going mad with boredom. It was thoughts such as these that filled Demeter's head as she drifted off to sleep without her knowing it. The day and its events passed on around her, entirely oblivious.

When Demeter woke she had forgotten where she was. Sitting up with a sharp gasp, her eyes darted over the room frantically. Where was the light? Why was it so dark? Holding her breath, her body went rigid as she listened, eyes darting through the darkness. It took her a moment - a long, tense moment in which she didn't dare draw breath - until finally she heard the chirp of crickets outside, the gentle breathing of her roommate across the small space, the muffled voices of those still awake beyond the room's doorway. Her hands gripped the soft homespun blankets gathered around her, and her eyes adjusted with the moonlight pouring in through the small barred window. Laughing quietly to herself at her own foolishness, she flopped back down onto the bed's mattress, letting her feet kick up in the air for the sheer fun of it. She must have slept all afternoon. It seemed an odd thing to Demeter as most Jellicles constantly commented on her limitless energy. It was testified to by a low growling of her stomach. Sliding up and out of bed, Demeter thought nothing of sneaking out for a quick nighttime snack from whatever was left in the kitchens. She would have to keep an extra eye out for Jennyanydots, who would no doubt still be fussing away at this hour.

On silent feet Demeter padded down the long stone hallways and staircases towards the kitchen, one hand trailing along the uneven walls for guidance as most of the torches hanging in their wall holders had been put out by then. Exactly what hour it was, Demeter didn't know. She found the kitchen to her utmost relief to be empty. Lifting up her skirt, she moved carefully through the darkness, poking at the remaining embers beneath one of the stove fires enough to light a torch and hang it above a counter so she could search for scraps along the counters and walls. Unable to hold back a squeal of delight when she spotted an entire loaf of nut bread sitting untouched upon a cutting board, the young girl dashed towards it, hopping up onto the kitchen counter to take up a knife, cutting slice after slice of bread and smearing it over with a variety of butter, jam, honey, and preserve as she could find it. The loaf was half gone before her craving was satisfied.

Licking crumbs and lingering taste from her whiskers, Demeter hummed happily to herself as she climbed down, wiping off her hands upon her skirt. The torch had nearly gone out, but the servant girl didn't mind. The sky outside was clear of clouds, allowing a great deal of the near-full moon to pour down its light on all of Castle Jukard, the city of Pawprin, and its surrounding countryside. Hoping to catch a fine view of the nightscape when she washed up before heading back to bed, Demeter kept her gaze focused upward as she slipped out the small kitchen doorway that had been conveniently built beside one of the castle's water pumps. Splashing cold, fresh-smelling water upon her face and hands, taking a cool drink, Demeter smiled as he looked up, drying her fur with the sleeves of her ragged dress. Such a beautiful night...and so bright. If she were allowed, Demeter would have loved to venture into the woods to find Plato that very moment. She had never seen the Pawprin Forest at night before.

At first she thought nothing of it, passing it off as a trick of her eyes in the moonlight, but when Demeter heard sounds that accompanied the dense shadow she saw appear from one of the higher-level doorways in the castle walls - directly in her path of vision as she gazed up. Freezing in her tracks, the young girl stared, listened, as the shadow which was indeed no trick of the moonlight, climbed down the long stairway with an animalistic stealth, leaping down to ground level with the silence of the night itself. Crouching down in her dark, concealing corner, Demeter forgot all else as she watched the shadow cross the flat grounds of the castle towards the outer walls, grumbling something in its throat the entire way. The scent that accompanied it was not that of a Jellicle...but a Pollicle.

Curiosity peaked beyond what was bearable, Demeter stole away to follow it.

It was the manner in which the Pollicle moved that drew such curious suspicion from the young girl. Guests at the castle were free to come and go as they pleased, so there was no need for a Pollicle staying here to sneak out under the cover of dark, intentionally avoiding the eyes of the wall guards that were turned outward to the wilderness rather than inward at the castle, and slip through the small orchard door that lay usually securely locked at night at the foot of the wall furthest from the castle itself. Demeter followed step for step, biting her lip in nervousness as the dull clank of the guards' footsteps along the wall filtered down to her ears. She was surprised how easy it seemed for both her and the Pollicle shadow to slip out. But then again, the guards were only doing their job. They had to keep things out...not in.

Once outside the castle wall the Pollicle shadow had little trouble sneaking away. By the moon's position, the part of the wall it escaped through cast a long shadow on the ground; a shadow that another black shadow could stalk through virtually unseen until it reached the protective cover of the orchard and woods beyond. Demeter herself almost lost the Pollicle figure in the darkness and was forced to resort to the primitive form of tracking by scent to find her way again. By then, they were already in the orchard.

It was only then that Demeter began to feel the first hints of fear creeping into her young mind. It seemed surprising that only now she would begin to feel afraid: only now when she was in the darkness of the fruit orchard beyond the castle walls. The small, petite trees were planted years ago by the castle's builders in long, straight rows. Like a line of cage bars they reached just above Demeter's ears, still and silent in the absence of any wind. Creeping along below their stiff, short branches covered in leaves and heavy fruit in the warmth of the season, the young girl's feline eyes scanned the flat terrain. Not a sound. Not a movement. The shadows of the trees stretched long beneath the moonlight, Demeter trailing one hand along the smooth bark of each one she passed. The orchard was so large...she could remember the last year's harvest when she had been called out to help for the first time. She had to stand upon a ladder to see over the tops of the trees in order to find which way the castle was. The orchard was that big...and all directions identical.

Somewhere in the distance she heard a sound. Freezing in her tracks, Demeter's breath caught in her throat. Her eyed darted, pulse racing though she fed it no air. Slowly, feeling her very bones creak as though rusty hinges, she gazed all round her. Dark. Quiet. Nothing else. Finally remembering to breathe, the stale air left her lungs in a quick burst. She even found herself laughing to relieve the tension that had formed around her, as though the very air were pressing its hardest. Then she heard it again. This time there were voices.

"What are you doing here? You were supposed to come to the woods," growled a deep, throaty voice. Demeter dropped instinctively down onto her hands and knees, swiveling her ears forward towards the sound. The voice that answered was thin, reedy, like a harsh whisper...

"I was on my way. These blasted orchards always look the same."

"Let's get this over with, then. There's a storm blowing in."

"By all means...General Rawn is quite anxious."

Demeter jumped when suddenly overheard there was a rumble of thunder, and her eyes darting up to the moon she saw a testament to the hidden Pollicle's words as dark clouds were just now creeping over the horizon. Odd...it had seemed a perfect night only a moment ago.

"All the better," the throaty Pollicle voice growled. "The noise will cover your return."

It was then that the two shadows Demeter could barely make out against the darkness as she crept forward on all fours, wary of trodding upon her dress all the same, dropped into speaking in their own language: a series of barks, growls, yelps, and whines that made no sense save for a slight impression of their tone based upon the sounds made. Creeping up to lay down flat against a tree's mangled roots a fair distance away, Demeter held her breath as she watched, listening, as something passed between the two hunched figures. A small package. The snicker that accompanied the exchange sent chills down the young Jellicle's mind for all its wickedness and malicious sound. Yet it wasn't until she heard with utmost certainty the name muttered among their strange tongue shortly after the laugh that fear finally struck true.

"...Deuteronomy..."

Immediately she began backing away, as quickly as one could manage on the ground clad in a ragged dress, but not a full pace had been taken by her before something landed behind her with barely a sound just as thunder rang out over the night sky. Demeter drew the breath to cry out, but a hand covered her mouth. She tried to struggle away, but a larger body weight bore down upon her, preventing any and all movement. But even then, she herself froze when a flicker of lightening revealed the hunched Pollicles not a stone's throw away. Their dog-like features were turned her way, tail position and stance indicating a suspicion they were being watched. Demeter remained absolutely still despite her captor lingering where she could not see him, breathing heavily through her whiskers alone and heart pounding in her ears. By then clouds had covered the moon and she could barely see the tree trunks before her, her raspy breathing and racing heart blocking any other sound from reaching her ears. A few drops of rain fell onto her face.

"What was that?" the thin-voiced dog growling over the volley of sounds assaulting Demeter's senses.

"Nothing," replied the other. "Just the storm. Now get back. Quickly!"

"Why all this fuss?" the first complained, though footsteps among the thunder indicated he was leaving. "I'll never get to sleep tonight."

"Idiot! You think the Jellicles would let our guards walk into their own castle fully armed?"

"One never knows. The cats are not as intelligent as they fancy themselves."

Hideous laughter, then the two shadows parted. Footsteps padded off in opposite directions: one to the woods, the other back towards the castle. Only after they had gone did Demeter remember she was being held down, and began to struggle again, shouting protests against the hand covering her mouth. She felt her captor shift, leaning down, and a tingle ran down her side as a voice, feathery-soft, whispered in her ear: "Demeter..."

The hands released, and with a calmer air the young girl turned up to see. A flash of lightening and the tom's face was illuminated.

"Plato!"

It was indeed her friend, and without hesitance - simply overjoyed to see him in such an ordeal - Demeter threw her arms around his neck in rapturous embrace. Clenching her eyes shut, she squeezed as though a child to their most beloved possession. Plato did not return the gesture, but it did not matter to her. His presence alone was gesture enough. "Oh, I'm so glad to see you! I was so frightened! I didn't—"

Demeter drew back to gaze into his face and abruptly stopped. The gaze staring back at her was indeed that of her dearest companion, but he gazed at her in such a way she had never seen before. Perhaps it was the night, or an element of the storm, but something, some kind of glint in his eyes, spoke of nothing but predatorial fires. A dangerous knowledge. Those same kinds of things she had seen in the General's eyes. Frightened by the sight of him, she nevertheless threw herself to the ground when an enormous clap of thunder exploded overhead, looking up to him through her fingers with utter panic.

"Plato?" she gasped. "What happened? What's wrong?"

"Friends upset," he growled deep in his chest, crouching low to the ground like the wild animal he resembled. "Something bad..." Thunder rumbled again, ever the more closer. Plato flattened his ears and hissed at it violently, his tail curling in an arc over his back.

Demeter curled up below him, covering her mouth as tears of fright crept into her eyes. Plato crouched over her protectively, one hand upon her shoulder, as lightening split the dark sky above. Stinging drops of rain fell onto Demeter's face, which she blinked against, biting her lip as from the very ground a tremble seemed to come. A tremble of warning, of danger.

"Dogs," Plato said again, lowering himself with no limit to his flexibility to meet her eyes on ground level. "Dogs want king dead."

"W-what?" the young girl stammered, pushing herself up as though to determine the truth of his broken words. For the grim seriousness not only in his eyes, but his voice and entire manner, there could be no mistake. How he knew such things when Demeter had only begun to suspect them herself, she did not question. "What are we going to do...?"

"Castle," he hissed, in the same movement rising up to his feet and drawing the young girl after him. "Quick."

"But how?" she protested, barely audible over the rain which began to fall, pummeling the ground and tree leaves among the background claps of thunder. "He must already be there by now. Plato!" She grabbed at the furs covering her friend's wiry figure as he began to turn away, her breath coming in ragged sobs for fear and desperation. "I'm scared..."

In a moment that was so heartfelt and tender Demeter once again forgot to breathe, Plato's arm found its way back to slip around her shoulders, his muzzle touching her forehead as his warm breath smelling of spice and golden apples calmed her senses. Demeter curled close into his warmth, yearning for that feeling of safety and protection that he alone could provide. "Courage," he whispered to her, and without releasing his comforting embrace the tom of the woods turned his face away and whistled, shrill and clear, three exact notes that the young female instantly recognized.

Once again proving the truthfulness of Plato's mysterious wonder, melting into view from the darkness like ghostly white phantoms came the very same pair of magnificent horses Demeter had last set eyes on only that morning, and yet it felt as though she'd not seen them but in her dreams...ages ago. The unicorns. As though parting the storm with their presence they trod up on golden hooves untouched by the pelting rain to where the two young Jellicles lingered, Demeter having to shield her eyes against the droplets to gaze up to their knowing black eyes. She could scarcely believe it. "Oh, Plato..."

Without a sound Plato reached up to grab hold of the stallion's shoulder, pulling his limber and lithe body up with incredible ease onto the creature's back who bucked and whinnied, but did not throw his rider. Demeter watched utterly dumbfounded as Plato leaned his head affectionately against the unicorn's strong neck, speaking soft words that she could not hear and stroking the pure white fur, longer than on any horse the girl had ever seen. At her side the mare stomped a hoof and snorted, nudging Demeter into action as she knelt down and offered her back. The young girl looked to Plato for guidance.

He said nothing. Only smiled and nodded. Fearful of touching such a beautiful and pure creature with her imperfect self, Demeter nevertheless bit her lip and reached out, laying a small golden hand upon the mare's back. The white horse's fur was soft as kitten down, warm and dry to the touch. The stallion tossed his head impatiently. Bracing herself as she had seen the soldiers of the castle do, Demeter hopped up onto the smaller unicorn's back, and once she had seated herself comfortably upon the creature she felt as high and mighty as the king himself. Unable to restrain a giggle Demeter smiled, leaning down against the mare's neck to hold on tight to her mane as Plato again whistled, and with the speed of a howling gale the two stark white unicorns galloped back towards the castle.

Few creatures in the living world are ever blessed with the chance to ride a unicorn. Demeter in her youthful innocence could only describe the sensation as the gift of flight. The creatures' hooves never seemed to touch the ground. It was as though they sped over it on a road of air, dancing on clouds. Even as short a ride as it was, she would never in her life forget that feeling of weightlessness, of the only true meaning of freedom that could be achieved. Too frightened to look up for the duration, when the liquid movements of the mare's muscles ceased to shift and move beneath her, the young girl looked up. Castle Jukard loomed dark and enormous in the stormy night, usually a morale-lifting sight of home after such a bleary night but now nothing short of foreboding as she knew what awaited them inside. A confrontation... Revealing the Pollicles for what they were. What if the General saw her again?

The unicorns kneeled to allow their riders access back to the damp ground. Demeter hung close to Plato's side as he again whistled to the horses, whose ears flicked forward in eager attention. When he had finished the stallion flicked his tail and nodded, a strange gesture to see from a horse. He turned to leave, but before the mare could follow Demeter on a sudden impulse reached forward, stroking the soft white whiskers of the unicorn's muzzle. "Thankyou," she whispered. The mare took a step back and tossed her head, whinnying in what sounded nothing short of merry laughter before she followed her mate back into the woods, vanishing finally into the darkness of night.

Plato's tugging of her hand brought Demeter's attention back. "They not like dogs," he grinned. "Inside?"

"Oh," Demeter wiped strands of mane from her eyes, now thoroughly soaked through by rain. "This way..." The unicorns having dropped them near the edge of the orchard, the young servant girl had little trouble leading her mysterious friend on to the castle wall and in through the servant's door. The Pollicle had not locked it after his return. Once inside, the door shut and locked securely behind them, Plato began to act even stranger. Demeter stood back, wide-eyed and stiff with silence, as she watched her friend drop to his four-legged stance and, once again appearing no less than some beautiful spider, crawl across the ground as nimble and balanced as could be. He would have made a wonderful dancer, the young girl couldn't help but think. Across the dark ground under the cover of shadow and pelting rain her friend went, tail twirling in the air behind him, his lean frame swaying back and forth as though doing some obscure ritual. Demeter did not move for fear of distracting whatever his intent search was for, and Plato had reached the stone stairway leading up into the castle itself before he looked back. A wave of his hand brought her scurrying over.

Demeter crouched down on the bottom step, gazing up the steep, jagged way as Plato began climbing, his form like flowing water over the bends and curves. Despite the white tip of his tail like a beacon in the night to guide her on, the young girl remained as she was, hands trembling and heart pounding. A whimper escaped her throat, drawing back the young tom's attention. His dark eyes gazing back through the darkness were cold as ice, the predatorial glow in them no longer that of the carefree tom she'd known. Tears crept into her eyes.

"Plato," her voice squeaked in the still night air. "I'm scared. Are the Pollicles really going to...?"

In one flowing movement Plato had turned and crawled back down the stairs, constant in his four-legged stance, to reach for her hand, pulling her up to meet his eye level. He didn't say anything, and that frightened her even more. Instead the young tom turned to continue up the stairs. Demeter followed as though by a will not her own, lifting one hand to shield her eyes against the pelting rain. Up and up they climbed, finally reaching the high wall that led to the castle. Demeter crept close to Plato's flank, eyes darting in fear each time lightening split the sky, fearing that every burst of light would reveal the Pollicle assassins poised and ready to attack. But Plato crept on, undaunted by rain or storm, the wind howling over the wall's ramparts ruffling the thick fur that was his own and that of his clothing. Demeter's dress clung soaked to her sopping wet fur, her bare feet making small smacking noises in the gathering rain puddles that formed on the cold stone wall while her friend made no sound at all. Another flash of lightening, a crack of thunder, and Demeter threw herself down at Plato's side once they reached the far tower's interior.

The young girl had never been so frightened. Storms were enough to keep her under her covers at night, but to add in these Pollicles...these assassins...and Plato's animalistic behavior, was all too much. Clutching the tom's damp fur Demeter buried her face, the tears streaming her cheeks though she couldn't tell them from raindrops, against his warmth, begging him not to go any further. Not to drag her along towards the danger... "Plato, please," she whimpered, "let's go back. I'm scared! That Pollicle could hurt you! Pla—!"

Demeter froze when Plato's firm hand clamped over her mouth. Breath held, green eyes going wide, she stared up fearfully at him, but his own dark golden eyes were fixed elsewhere. She followed his gaze down the dark hallway that lay before them: the hallway leading directly to Deuteronomy's bed chamber. A flash of lightening and she saw it. The Pollicle assassin. She saw him crouching low along the wall, the torrents of wind and rain having long extinguished the torches that usually hung there to light the passage. In the late night and in a time of peace there were no guards posted along the corridor to protect the king and queen's chamber, thus the canine male moved without hindrance. Another flash of lightening illuminated the scene for a brief moment. Whoever the Pollicle was, it was not the General. It was a dog Demeter did not recognize. He could have been at the breakfast that morning, for his attire matched that of the Pollicles who had accompanied the Ambassador and General, but it was not a face she recalled. His fur was short, thick, a grayish color, and under his arm he carried the same wrapped parcel she had seen exchanged in the orchard.

Plato didn't move, therefore nor did she, as the Pollicle crept closer to the large curved arc that marked the thick wooden door of the king and queen's bed chamber. Unguarded, as vulnerable as an isolated farmhouse in the deepest of war's winter, the Pollicle would have no trouble infiltrating the room to finish his assigned task: the death of the king. Demeter's heart flipped, nearly stopped, when she saw the Pollicle's black-gloved hand reach into the package he carried and withdraw, gleaming in the brilliant flash of light with cruel beauty, a long, wickedly sharp dagger. Dear Heaviside! Demeter's mind screamed. If only Munkustrap were here!

"Stay," Plato hissed in her ear, making Demeter wince, her entire side curling against the tingle that shot down her side against such a sound. Just as quickly Plato slipped away, abandoning her in the shadow, to slink along in his four-legged stance after the Pollicle with silent speed. Hugging her knees, the young girl held her breath, whiskers, ears, and tail pressed forward with frightful anticipation as she watched Plato bear down on the Pollicle's turned back just as he managed to part the heavy wooden doors of the royal bedchamber.

"Arrrrrrrrggggghhhhhh!!!"

A horrendous cry split the air as Plato's outstretched hands, claws fully extended, sank into the Pollicle's broad back, penetrating cloth, fur, and flesh. The Pollicle howled in agony and fell forward under the young tom's weight, the dagger flying from his hand to land with a loud clatter upon the stone floor. So many things happened at once... Demeter's mouth fell open, her scream a silent one, as Plato's fangs let loose a viscious snarl and clamped down into the still-struggling canine man. The Pollicle made a sound - a horrible, gurgling sound - and convulsed where he lay belly-down on the floor with Plato perched like a predator upon his back, then lay still. From inside the chamber came a shout of question, the rustle of blankets and feet upon the stone floor before Deuteronomy himself appeared in the corridor just where the two had fallen, his bellowing bass voice echoing down the long stone hall.

"Guards!"

In an instant the corridor was flooded with light and voices. Demeter cringed, scooting back against the wall to make herself as small as possible as a countless number of guards surrounded both Plato and the slain Pollicle, while Deuteronomy and his wife, the Queen, framed in the vast doorway, looked on with gaping expressions.

"What is this?" the king demanded, stepping forward, his enormous size dwarfing that of a crouching Plato who was immediately seized by the two nearest guards. He offered no resistance, but kept his head lowered against the blazing torchlight. Another guard standing ready knelt beside the Pollicle and reached for the dead man's neck, or what was left from where Plato had bitten. His answer to Deuteronomy was prompt and certain.

"Dead, Your Majesty. One of the Ambassador's soldiers." Glaring feline eyes turned on Plato from all directions, accompanied with hisses and angry tail lashings. "One of our own guests!"

"Guards," said the king resolutely, lifting one large furry hand in accusation. "Take this ruffian to the dungeon. He shall be executed for this heinous murder!"

"No!" Demeter sprang forward before the guards could take one step, flinging herself upon Plato's arm that was held securely by a guard, giving no thought to her drenched appearance, her status in the castle, or the fact that tears still streamed her face. "You can't arrest him! He's done nothing! You don't understand!"

"Demeter!" she heard Tumblebrutus's voice from behind just as a sturdy hand clasped her shoulder in restraint. "Demeter, what are you doing here? Calm down!"

"What in blue blazes is going on?!" came another, much angrier voice, and the ranks of gathered soldiers and guards parted as the Pollicle Ambassador and General shoved their way through, attended by their own number of guards. Stopping dead upon first laying eyes on the scene, realization was sudden and complete, and the Ambassador's golden eyes flashed up at Deuteronomy. "Explain this!"

"Yes, indeed," came yet another voice, and from the opposite length of the corridor appeared Munkustrap through the ranks, no doubt drawn by the same noise and attention. Giving no regards to his father's presence, the prince clad in his dark-colored nightrobe stooped to pick up the dagger the Pollicle had been carrying, holding it balanced in his palm to display to all. "Explain this, Ambassador. An assassin's dagger clutched in the hand of one of your people, taken down just outside the door of the King of Felinera?" An angry note crept into his voice and he threw the dagger at the feet of the brown-furred Ambassador, who jerked back with a wince at the clanging sound of metal upon stone. "We're all ears, I assure you."

"And I assure you," the Ambassador snarled back at the younger Jellicle. "I know nothing of any of this! I am here on negotiations for peace, not assassination! This rogue acted on his own."

Demeter could hold it in no longer, and shouted out despite the ache in her heart, her soft golden hands never once leaving Plato's fur. "No he didn't! I saw him! Your Majesties, I followed him out of the castle and into the orchard. I saw him meet with another Pollicle there. I heard them talk!" Without thinking she rounded on the General, tail puffed in exhilaration as she splayed her claws at the black-furred canine who had drawn absolutely no attention to himself thus far. "They said it was his plot!"

A low growl was the only sound that rose up in the silence that followed, the large Pollicle general looking like a fox caught before the eager jaws of a hound, eyes alight with intelligence and plans of escape but unable to decide which one to use. The General took a step back as the Ambassador rounded upon him, canine fangs flashing dangerously. "Rawn! Is this true?"

For a long moment the General said nothing, only the two dogs' stares meeting in cold, calculated hatred before the black half of the pair bared his own fangs. "Negotiations of peace with the cats," the General began, low and growling deep in his throat, with slow enunciation. Demeter held her breath, the tone of his voice lifting the fur along her spine, unable to understand what he was about to do, but knowing it couldn't be good. She'd hated the General since first seeing him, and realized only a split second before he snatched the dagger up from the floor with unimaginable speed that she had good reason to be so afraid. "It should not have happened!"

The dagger flashed in an arc over the General's head as he leaped forward, attacking the Ambassador with unbridled rage. A yelp of surprise emitted from the brown-furred Pollicle, and immediately after guards and soldiers of both races leaped forward. In the mass confusion that ensued Demeter was knocked off her feet by a guard rushing past her, but felt herself caught and held securely in the strong, protective arms of some tom. She thought it was Tumblebrutus. Unwilling and unable to look, her young eyes were fixed upon the scene she felt herself being pulled away from to a safer distance. The General was pulled from the Ambassador and flung away of his own accord, stumbling to stay on his feet as he snarled back at the guards and onlookers in foul Pollicle speech. The dagger was still clutched in his black claws, dripping bright red from the blows he'd delivered some unfortunate guard. Backing away to what could have been possible freedom the very route Plato and Demeter had come and where the storm still raged, the General barked and howled visciously, his speech broken between that of the Jellicles and that of his own. "Never should the cats be viewed as equals! ... It is the Pollicles who are superior! ... You'll see! The Empire will expand to cover all land and sea! ... Death to all Jellicles!" With the final phrase the General drew his arm back and hurled the dagger with all his might. The blade spun through the air, whistling its deadly song as it aimed directly for an unprotected Deuteronomy. Demeter cried out in useless warning.

A tremendous leap, a flash of silver and brown, and Plato - who in the rush had struggled loose from his captors - landed squarely on all fours, the blade snatched securely between his fangs. Whirling to fix his blazing eyes upon the General as the king stumbled back against the wall, one hand clutching his chest, the two remained transfixed, stares locked and utterly frozen save for the violent lashing of Plato's tail, until the General was overrun by Pollicle guards. Plato spat the dagger out distastefully.

"Put him in chains!" the Ambassador barked, regaining his feet with one hand held to the side of his neck where a small trickle of blood strained the high collar of his nightrobe. "Until we return to Canin, General Rawn is under arrest on the charge of treason!" All watched or tended to those wounded as the General was dragged away, howling in protest, until several well-aimed blows knocked him senseless and the guards carried him down the corridor into darkness. Tongue lolling from exertion, the Ambassador turned to face Deuteronomy, who was helped up by his wife. "Deuteronomy," the Pollicle said in the gentlest of tones. "I cannot apologize enough for the radical action taken by my contemporary. I give you my word this does not reflect any intention of Canin."

"I am glad to hear," Deuteronomy laughed, breathless and unnerved, as he groomed his fur back into place. "Though in the future I suggest you keep a closer eye on such contemporaries."

"It is true," the Pollicle admitted reluctantly. "That General Rawn has often before shown the desire for war between Felinera and Canin, but my hopes are quite opposite. You have shown us remarkable hospitality and kindness in our stay here...may it not be in vain."

The two spoke a bit more, but Demeter could not hear it. Trembling like a leaf from a mix of fear and excitement, she found it hard to stand, and only after collapsing limply into the strong set of arms that held her did she look up to the face of her assistant. It was not Tumblebrutus. "My lord..." she gasped.

Munkustrap smiled gently, helping her to balance until she could for certain stand upon her own two feet. Brushing down the shoulders of her ragged servant's dress, she stood stock still, eyes fixed on the ground and hands folded behind her as a servant was expected to do in the presence of her master. The prince, only a few years older than she, laughed good-naturedly. "There is no need to act so proper now, Miss...?"

"Demeter, my lord," she sputtered, daring to risk a glance up.

"Demeter...you've had quite the ordeal tonight. Pray tell me, what possessed you to follow that Pollicle out into the orchard on such a night?"

Demeter looked up for certain this time, gulping a lump that had formed in her throat upon meeting his golden eyes. There was not the usual fear of punishment for meeting a royal's stare...in fact, she quite liked it. "I...I was only...curious, my lord. I had no idea..."

Fidgeting with uncontrollable nervousness, the young girl felt the skin beneath her fur run red hot with a blush when the prince again smiled at her, nodded his silver striped features. "You are a very brave young woman, Demeter."

She blinked. "I am?"

Munkustrap reached for her hand. "Very much so. I was—" Before the fur of their palms could even brush, the tom's speech was cut short by a painful yeowl, and both prince and servant girl's attention whipped across the corridor to where two armed guards were trying rather unsuccessfully to get a decent hold of Plato. Not resorting to his capable claws and fangs to get away, the young tom of the woods wriggled and squirmed, darting and weaving with such agility it would have been like trying to hold smoke on a windy day. After tripping over each other and falling to the ground in a clang of armor, one of the soldiers managed to get a rather painful hold on Plato's tail and held it tight as they climbed back up. The other saluted Munkustrap.

"What should we do with the murderer, my lord?"

"He's no murderer!" Demeter protested immediately, stepping towards the trio. "He's my friend. And he saved the King's life!" When the guards only eyed her with dubious disbelief, the gold-furred queen turned back to Munkustrap, her emerald green eyes looking up in worshipful pleading. "Please, let him go back to the woods. He belongs there. He didn't do anything wrong... You can punish me instead. I showed him the way inside the castle!"

There was a brief moment of silence, Munkustrap's eyes glancing back and forth between the two couples, before he straightened with resolution and waved a hand regally at the guards. "You heard the young lady! Back to the woods with him! This tom is to be commended as a hero." Immediately the guard released Plato's tail, which he yanked away possessively, and turned his attention back with curious eyes as Munkustrap crossed a hand over his chest. "All of Felinera is indebted to you, young sir. Any prize you desire, name it, and if it is my power it shall be your reward."

As could be expected, Plato said nothing. Demeter covered her mouth to keep from giggling. How silly the prince could be! Plato already had everything he could ever want. It lay for him now in the woods below the castle, even then as the storm died out, forever waiting just inside the first line of trees...

Freedom.

"I'll show him back to the forest," Demeter said gently, curtsying to the prince before stepping back to Plato's side, setting a sisterly hand upon his scruff-furred shoulder. "I shan't be long, my lord."

Munkustrap nodded, again adopting his gentle, handsome smile. "I hope not. You two guards will escort them and see that this young fellow reaches the forest safely. And as for you, Demeter..." What began sounded nothing less than a harsh verbal blow barely had the time to register in the girl's mind before his tone softened even more, and again the gentle hand extended to her. "Would you be so gracious as to join my family for dinner tomorrow evening? To commemorate the event, of course. I...can make for you a chair beside mine..."

The glow in Demeter's eyes was unmistakable, such delight flooding her senses it could only be expressed in another kittenish giggle. She accepted his hand, and his offer. "I would love to, my lord."

THE END