Now that cast a shadow of surprise across Elizabeth’s pretty grey face. “I didn’t think he had it in him,” she breathed, and shook her head with a smile. The dark revelation introduced more pleasure than horror in the grey she-cat; her friend wasn’t as listless as he appeared.

Elizabeth reflected on the first time she’d taken a life. It had been in self-defense, of course, but the sensation had felt so natural. She’d known at that moment that she had persevered beyond the greatest reach of morality. Addition by subtraction. For some, each life chipped away at their own soul. For others, each was like adding to a pile. By appearances, Hywel didn’t seem either-or, but she hadn’t known Hywell of the Loch.

“Well, are you?” She frowned at those words. “Bad luck?” She would be due for double the bad luck, now that she’d associated herself with the both of them.

“No, I suppose I don’t,” she admitted. She would’ve resented being so wrong about a cat if the truth didn’t fill her up with fascination. A super-soldier? It was so ridiculous it could almost make her laugh — but her mouth remained still. Somewhere deep within her, she’d known there had to be more than meets the eye with him, given his sordid background.

“The world’s gone mad,” she coolly agreed with the second statement, gazing into her own reflection within the typhoon of the Stranger’s silver optics. She recognized that look — Rhiannon looked how she felt sometimes. Filled with a maddening energy. But not tonight. Tonight she was measured, calm, and alert. She was uncertain what lay ahead of her, and she wanted to be ready for anything.

“Hah!” She smiled devilishly at the last. “I don’t believe that for a moment.” This cat seemed to relish in the chaos she created. “I imagine you all but confessed to being all that they thought you were, and worse. Just to see their world burn.” She glanced at her, reading her expression. “Unless you played your brother’s part in those days; and were the naive and innocent.”

“Oh my, my, perhaps you’re all bark and no bite, then?” she shook her head sardonically. “You know what they say; everyone’s a bad cat until they take a claw to the face.” When she noticed Rhiannon had stopped, she stopped too, turning back to the silver feline, now seated on the two-leg path. She settled down too, all wrapped up in shadow.

She rolled her shoulders, thinking blithely. “Afraid to bargain with your life before you find what you’re looking for?” She laughed. “You said it best — what you’re most avoiding has a way of coming true. Your god might have other plans for you.”

“If you say so,” Elizabeth flicked an ear, though she did afford the smallest of smirks. She took a moment to ponder the other cat's quandary. Indeed, the question seemed designed to suade you into heeding the greater power behind the power; to fear the creator over the minion, but in Elizabeth’s prismatic mind, the immediate always took precedence. “The monster.” She mewed simply. “I’ll take care of its creator later.”

“Let's manifest our way to that oak tree over there,” her eyes shined. “I want to see what your gods have in store for us tonight.”

“Ceremony?” Elizabeth echoed, intrigue lacing its way into her balmy tones. Yes, Elizabeth was a survivor, and one of the keys to staying NOT DEAD in the wild was to keep your curiosity in check. Staying in your lane, as they say. But her curiosity was in overdrive on this breezy Greenleaf night; this stranger was swinging temptation in her face, and gods be damned, she couldn’t resist reaching for it. Even if there was a reasonable chance it’d end with her in some devil’s locker when it was all said and done.

The midnight air was warm on her cheeks as she jogged just behind the stranger. Her blue eyes studied the massive oak as they approached. With the moonlight arcing down through its branches, high on that hill, the tree did take on a ghostly, hallowed appearance, like an ancient god resided in it. Elizabeth, don’t be a mouse-brain, she chided at the thought.

She glanced at the back of the stranger’s head. “What’s your name anyway? So I know who to curse if I end up searing in some eternal hell.”

“You know, I would be more liable to believe you if you didn’t have that wicked smile on your face,” she laughed dryly, her wary expression unalleviated. Truth be told, Elizabeth was a bit unsettled by how much Rhiannon reminded her of herself. Well, they weren’t exactly alike – this other cat was perhaps more flippant than she was. Rhiannon had the effortless confidence of someone in the throes of their youth – a feeling of limitless possibilities and a sense of invincibility. Though she guessed they were around the same age, enough had happened in Elizabeth’s adolescence to salt away any innocence or undue bravado.

Elizabeth was certainly more cynical. In that way she was like Hywel – though she hadn’t totally lost all care in the world like her glib friend had, lazing his days away on his red brick wall.

As they stood under the tree, she concluded that Rhiannon had the type of confidence of someone who had yet to really get cut down – or, parenthetically, struck by lightning. Alas, if she was truly divined by the gods, perhaps Rhiannon would never get hurt, and go on as she pleased forever.

“What’s on the menu?” she asked passively, her mind still possessed by thought. “You’re not going to ask me to eat leaves, are you?” This elder tree didn’t look particularly appetizing, but she knew how these Loch cats chowed down. With their disgorging heads and all. In any event, her original purpose on this midnight walk had been finding dinner, and a fat rat had seen to that. It wasn’t her ideal meal, but there was something of a famine going on in this city, and beggars couldn’t be choosers. But not even a desperate beggar would eat leaves.

Elizabeth’s blue eyes studied the crow as it moved amongst the silvery branches. She waited for Rhiannon to kill it before she remarked, “You know what they say about crow-eaters…?” Her blue eyes shined in the moonlight.

In the world of these Loch cats, everything was supposed to be prophesized and meaningful right? She wondered what the bird’s appearance – in this place, in this time – must mean to their tree-god, Rhiannon’s consumption of it. The thought of the rat sitting at the bottom of her own stomach made her whiskers twitch with amusement. What did a rat-eater, a consumer of the lowest vermin, symbolize? This forest… the ghostly branches and twisted roots. Indeed, something seemed enchanted at the moment.

Growing up she used to be curious about such things. A part of her had always thought there was something beyond Starclan. An older power, one woven into the fabric of the mundane, beyond most cats’ understanding. Maybe that’s why she was so receptive to the tales of these northern cats. She’d never lost that belief – perhaps grown too cynical to have much interest in the subject, but that inkling was still there, buried in her dark thoughts.

The crow is a carrion-eater. A symbol of death, repulsive to eat. Colloquially, we refer to the moment one’s cherished beliefs are shattered as eating crow. It’s supposed to be humiliating and hard to swallow.” Her whiskers twitched in amusement as she looked down at the creature. “Dig in.”

Elizabeth circled around a spot and settled down onto her stomach. The grey she-cat felt surprisingly relaxed at the moment (probably because it was Rhiannon doing the eating). The soft moonlight made her fur glimmer silver, like the branches of the massive oak looming over them. She could see why these northern cats chose this tree of all to worship – it was certainly the comeliest of trees.

“I was wondering what would make me, since I chose a fat black rat as dinner tonight,” she added, seeming to find the suggestion amusing. “Does this god of yours pass judgment on all cats? Or just the believers?”

“I know how to pick my battles,” she meowed vaguely, giving Rhiannon a suggestive blue stare for a moment or two before averting her eyes to their surroundings again. The night air was pleasingly cool, carrying rich arboreous scents so unlike the city stench she’d grown accustomed to. The ethereal feel of the moment was so hypnotizing she feared that it would lull her to sleep. But her expression remained alert; she still wasn’t totally convinced that Rhiannon didn’t pose a danger – at least not enough to fall asleep in her domain.

“It’s strange,” she remarked after minutes of silence. “For someone that was such an outsider – a scourge in your community – you seem so eager to stay connected to it. Don't you ever feel like renouncing it all? It’s what I did when I first came here.”