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She had traveled halfway around the globe, but her father's desperate pleas continued to haunt her across continents and oceans.
"This is a suicidal plan, Asena. You can't do this... I can't lose you, too."
He had named her Asena. In the tongue of his ancestors, it meant strength. Except she wasn't strong or brave. This was the most dangerous thing she'd attempted. Again, the urge to tuck tail and run home to him overwhelmed her.
A high-pitched meow interrupted her musings.
'It's not too late. Let's turn back,' her beast suggested.
Asena's knees bent of their own accord. She stood on her toes, preparing to leap over the metal sheets forming a makeshift wall. Beyond it, she could hide in the slum.
'But what then? If we go home, we'll end up in prison. I sure didn't see that coming,' Moggie commented, sounding bored.
They were in a strange land. Their ascendants had roamed the grasslands of the revered cradle of all life for eons. But her family had migrated before her birth. While her beast's doppelgangers were commonplace, they were hunted for their fur. As it is, it was a miracle she'd made it this far in one piece.
Also, hers was a solitary species. Most would not offer her refuge in their territories. She'd spent all her money months ago.
'There has to be another way!' Moggie insisted.
Asena closed her eyes. There wasn't. She'd exhausted all avenues before taking such drastic measures.
The image of Viv's wide grin reminded her why she had to go ahead with this reckless plan. She wouldn't abandon her best friend. Her only friend. Her soul sister.
The words that spurred her to risk her very life echoed in her head.
'I'll never give up on you, Sena. Never.'
Vic had been by her side when she had transformed. Hers had been the first words Moggie had heard. These very words.
Dad's proud purr, had then bestowed her serval the stupidest of names. Moggie.
True to her snarky self, Moggie asked, 'I live up my name. Can you say the same?'
Asena didn't, but after she lost Vic, she swore to find her, which entailed breaking her papa's heart and letting down her pack.
After two years she'd ended up on this infamous beach favored by the scum of the earth--smugglers and pirates. Somehow, she'd completed the hazardous, three-month journey from South Africa to the North-Eastern province of Puntland*. On foot, in the blistering summer, before the great migration and the subsequent monsoon, she'd arrived just before the rains.
Most of her companions had been humans, fleeing persecution, political instability, or poverty. The stench of their fear and desperation still clung to her. They'd dispersed when they reached Bossaso. The few she had talked to were attempting to cross the Gulf of Aden. Yemen recognized them as refugees on a prima facie basis. From there, they'd move on to seek better economic opportunities elsewhere.
