Scavengers of the Deadlands

Chapter Three: Nocturnal wanderings

 Something was prodding against her stomach, poking and pressing and apparently doing its best to disembowel her with velvet paws. She awoke with a start, sat bolt upright and sent the grey feline to a yowling heap on the floor.

  “Willow,” she hissed, “what are you doing here?”

 “You,” said the cat, tail flicking, “are sleeping in my bed.”

 “Your bed? What’s wrong with the other bed?”

 “Miss Niamh may be pretty and sweet and so very kind but she snores like a bear,” Willow grumbled, “and besides, it is better for us felines to sleep on the left side of the room. Left being more associated with the supernatural and so forth. But mainly because she snores,” he added. “Besides, there’s something I want to show you.”

 Abigail yawned. “Must you show me now?” She asked. “Only, it is the middle of the night and today was rather eventful.”

 “Well, if you’re not interested I can show you another day - or perhaps next week or possibly even next year. But I want my bed back.” He shrugged, which was not easy for a quadruped. “We could always share, half each?” He added.

 “Half each? You’re one tenth my size.” Abigail was in a particularly irritable mood. It had not been a good day. It had been almost a full cycle of the moon since Araminta had insulted her mother, and the Sifaka had gone from bad to worse. It was the way her and her minions shook in mock-fear every time she walked past or would shout out, “be careful there, she might bite you” whenever she tried talking to other students. It did not help that she was a huyvris, and an impossible one at that. She had found herself visiting the painting of her mother nearly every day. Just staring at it made her feel better, although not enough. She turned some of the pent up wrath on the feline. “Look, just shove off and leave me alone.”

 “Tetchy, tetchy,” Willow grumbled. “Come on, move your paws, I’ve got something that may just cheer you up and no, it cannot wait until tomorrow. It’s a full moon tonight and your less-the-useless Primate eyes might actually be able to see.”

 “I am half Wolf you know,” she reminded him, “I can see fairly well in the dark. And Lemurs are mostly nocturnal anyhow.”

 “You’re still not a feline,” he said. “You can hardly compare. Now, do you want to come or do I have to stick my claws in you some more?”

 “Okay, okay, keep your fur on, just give me a chance to get dressed, okay?”

 In the dim stream of moonlight she hastily threw on her travelling tunic and leggings, she had not worn them since arriving in Tira-Inle but they had been cleaned. Niamh snorted a little in her sleep and Connie whispered something, but neither awoke and thus she slipped out into the hallway, padding lightly along the cold stone floor. As they reached the warded entranceway, Willow crouched back on his haunches and hissed something in a language she could neither understand nor replicate. The shimmering runes flickered and faded, deactivated, and the cat padded through. Glancing about apprehensively, Abigail followed suit, half expecting the lights to flare or sirens to sound. If they could ward against members of the opposite gender, they could surely ward against people sneaking about the university after curfew. Down the stairs Willow padded, and then froze, fur standing on end.

 “Quickly,” he hissed, “hide.”

 Abigail glanced left and right but there was nowhere too hide – the stairwell was bare and open. How useful it would be were there to be hanging tapestries. But alas it was not to be. “Where?”

 “A cloaking illusion,” he muttered, “chameleon, anything.”

 “I don’t know any, I’ve only been here three weeks.” Panic was starting to rise in her – the footsteps were getting closer.