Niome And Dieome: The Keepers Of Keron

A blinding light blared into Niome's eyes. She blinked once, twice, three times. The light began to dim as her eyes adjusted.

Three sets of eyes stared at her unblinking. Red, green, and purple.

"Niome," a voice purred. A black paw latched onto Niome's. Claws extended and dug into her furred pelt. Drops of blood fell to the table that the light set on and kept the four apart.

Niome's eyes darted to her deepening wound. A hiss of pain escaped her lips even though she tried to stop it.

Dieome smiled wickidly, her serated fangs peirced her skin, but she didn't seem to notice.

"What do you want?" Niome snarled. Her eyes narrowed and her ears pressed to her furred head. The fluffy tan tail twitched in irritation. Dieome was being to get on her nerves.

The black furred catnis laughed. It sounded like twenty snakes hissing in harmony, ready to snap at its target. The hair on the back of Niome's neck stood up.

Dieome's smile turned into a sudden frown, "What do I want with you? Your serious right?"

Niome looked into Dieome's bright green slitted eyes and smiled at her response, "You heard me. What do you plan on doing with me? You've captured me, but know what?"

Dieome released Niome's hand, and sat back in the wooden chair across from Niome. It creaked in protest as she repositioned herself to ponder what Niome just said. What did she plan to do?

She could torture her, but for what reason? Keep her prisoner, but that would mean they would feed her , and they would run out of food quicker. So what should she do?...

"Dieome?" Pamell tapped her on the shoulder bringing her back to reality, "What are we going to do?"

Niome snickered at this. Mina had better hurry up and finish gathering The Riders. This would get ugly fast.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

A yawn escaped the tired catnis as she lazily trudged to the kitchen.

Her fire red hair stuck up in odd angles. Another yawn sounded from her mouth. Her long lean tail slid across the floor, the tuff of fur at the end the same color and messiness as her wild mane atop her golden furred head.

She slouched in the nearest chair and grabbed the remote that layed on the polished wooden table. Turning to the T.V., she punched in the on button, and it flared to life.

Her chocolate brown eyes wandered, finally laying eyes on the television, "Today it will be in the highs of eighty-five and the lows of sixty. Now, back to you Stacy."

Sighing, Mina stood back up and walked over to the fridge. Throwing it open, she began rummaging through it, but soon stopped.

A slip of parchment floated slowly to the carpeted floor.

Mina bent over and picked it up. It seemed to have writing on it. It looked as if it had been written rather quickly:

Dear Mina,

Meet me at the bar on fith street and shadowlong. I'll be there. I've made my decision on whether to goin The Riders or not. Remember, tomorrow at five.

Bernie

Mina smiled and crumpled up to note to throw it in the garbage, but stopped to find more writing.

(P. S. Niome's counting on us.)