Crescent Moon

The Mighty One: Rowan

     Somewhere in the heart of the pantheryn city of Randoon, six boys circled their quarry with a confidence often wrought by superior numbers. In their midst, a rambunctious young woman looked at them impatiently as she inspected her claws. Her face revealed that she was more than ready to skip past the banter and get right to the heart of action. It was a silly exchange she had endured often with most of the boys present. Today, they opted for the safe route and gathered their strength

"Face it, Rowan! It's time we taught you some manners. All of us grow tired of your antics and need to be different." A young pantheryn boy was pointing a claw at the young girl, a fellow pantheryn he had known since they were cubs. For as long as the boy had known her, she had held more difference than just her rare black fur and purple hair. No, it was much more than that in fact, a problem he saw that stemmed constantly from her actions and carefree choices.

Crossing her arms, the one known as Rowan looked at the boy as if he were the silliest thing in all Lunaria. "Is that so, Richtor?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. "And what pray tell makes me different than you and the rest of your silly, silly pals? I mean, other than the fact that you are quite silly." For emphasis, Rowan pointed at the five-other scowling pantheryns that had surrounded her. None of them looked at all friendly, which was the usual when they addressed Rowan.

The young male threw up his hands, obviously tired of his target. "I don't know! You just are, and you love it! You always need to be different and cause trouble, no matter the case! And you like it, even if it means trouble for us too. If you know what's good for you then you will knock it off now!"

Rowan nodded at this. "I see," she said before looking at each of the other pantheryn's present. "Then I think you should be asking yourselves a better question. What is so very wrong then with the lot of you?"

Richtor growled, baring his fangs. "There's nothing wrong with us! We know our place. To act as you do brings shame on us and our class. We are the children of dignitaries and nobles and must act accordingly. You are an embarrassment to us and your parents, for while we are proud pantheryns, you choose to be a mangy cat," said Richtor.

With her arms still crossed, Rowan rolled her eyes as her tail thrashed about. She looked about the little city she called home. A proud place of heritage and renown, Randoon was the largest of all pantheryn havens. Though beautiful in its fancy structures and graceful citizens, Rowan had always found it a little stuffy. She had explored everything her home had to offer and now the walls were growing a little boring.

Rowan offered the hecklers one last shot at reason. "I know this is a lost cause, but don't you ever get tired of being what others expect you to be and not who you truly are? We were meant for bigger things, for adventure! I know that as well as my bones and the nine lives that drive me! And I will make this assurance now that no one calls me cat and gets away with it. I will expect your outright apology before we continue. So, do we handle this like intelligent creatures or do we do this the fun, yet painful way?" she asked.

Richtor smiled deeply as he drew closer to Rowan. "And what are you going to do about it?" he challenged as looked her right in the eyes. "Cat."

At this, Rowan grinned earnestly as she held up one hand, allowing her claws to come out. "The fun way, then!" exclaimed Rowan as she leaped upon Richtor.

Richtor yelped in surprise as Rowan attacked him. A moment later, the boy's five friends joined in. For a long spat the seven Pantheryns battled upon the ground, hissing and biting and giving it their all. Those adults that passed by continued about their business, far too occupied to deal with the trivial matters of children.