The Cat Who Knew How to Cry

1. THE SERPENT'S DEN (part 2)

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Irson closed the shutters and put down sonic shields to keep the night sounds from entering the hall. Taking an unhurried stroll along the bar, he used his fingers to put out the candles, then lit several new ones, made of grey lumpy wax. The soft candlelight spread over the surface of the bar like melted butter, cloaking the bottles and their internals with a blanket of golden translucence. The far side of the hall fell under a pall of shadow. Irson lowered himself on a stool, leaned against the bar, yawned... and the Serpent's Den succumbed to slumber. Even the captive myriapods, left without an audience, seemed to bite the walls of their bottle-prison with a far subdued fervor. Some had even rolled up into bristly scarlet rings and lay there motionless, having grown weary and fallen asleep.

An unsettling, unfitting analogy popped into Irson's head. One of his patrons had once told him about the creatures hunted in his homeland – the literal translation of their species' name to the common tongue was "subpredators." These were creatures of extraordinary caution who only attacked sleeping prey. They waited until the target's breath became deep and even, the body relaxed and the heart beat slower and slower, stalking ever closer and finally pouncing so as to finish off the victim with one powerful snap of the jaws. It was at that very moment (the pounce, not the snapping) that the hunter, who had been feigning sleep all the while, had to plunge his long dagger into the subpredator.

Such was the silence inside the Serpent's Den as it awaited its vic... visitor. And the visitor didn't take long. A petite silhouette with two triangular ears on the crown manifested in the door frame. The fresh scent of dragonpine filled the hall – Aniallu must have teleported straight from the woods or a park. She always appeared inconspicuously, without any of the vulgar pageantry so beloved by mages: flames, sparks, mist and the like. Giving her eyes time to get used to the gloom, she paused, scratching the door jamb with her nails, then arching her neck in a true cat-like motion, and brushing up against it with her cheek.

Still lingering in a dreamlike state, Irson looked on in awe at this remarkable creature, her bestial nature so strong that she adored the hunt, growled as she consumed raw meat, cleaned herself with her tongue, and hissed at others unabashedly, all the while looking so sublimely beautiful. It was hard to tell where his nocturnal guest might fit in better, more organically: on a thick branch in a grove, stripping feathers off a bird she had just caught, or in some temple wearing radiant garb, descending to her priests kneeling in adoration.

Aniallu an Briaellar approached Irson with a gait so distinct to her Alae race – majestic yet stalking, soaring like a bird while floating like a water lily. So light was the cat's step that her lithe body, draped with black suede, seemed weightless. And yet it felt almost like before taking each step she probed the floor before her delicately with her toes. Admittedly, now that her slender feet were hidden beneath the soft leather of grey boots, this illusion of dancing on thin ice wasn't quite as strong as when Aniallu walked barefoot, as per her usual Alaean habit.

After the likeness of Alasais herself, as well as the rest of her Shadows, Sianae[1] Alu was blue-eyed and black of hair. Her undulating mane, tied in a casual braid, was on the verge of breaking loose from its binding string. The especially wayward locks took full advantage of the oversight, cascading onto her bronze cheeks. Yet, though Irson's guest was a creature of extraordinary physical appeal, true to her Alaean nature, on this night as she drew closer, her allure seemed to dissipate with each step. Just a moment ago he admired her, but now... Now Irson could see the bloodlessness of her face, the shadows lining her eyes, the thin tense line of her lips. Her graceful saunter – gone, replaced by slumping, drawn-in shoulders; her movements – constrained, almost clumsy. The light fell on her tail – peeling, clinging to her leg, as if hiding from something. All the parts added up to an awkward, unattractive sum. Alu made a pitiable sight. Suspiciously pitiable...