Disclaimer: Ah, no. I wish. But no.
Snarf needs some loving. I've got another few ideas for 'Lean on Me,' but those need more work. And this story…I dunno, I wanted to tell it. Canon's going to shoot it down, I'm sure, but I've gotten to the point where I don't care much anymore.
Not going by 'Butterfly Blues' because the Crew of Omens said that short – while rather cute – is absolutely not canon. So while I don't know how long Snarf has lived in the palace, I know he wasn't a nanny in the newer TC. I fancy the idea that he kind of moseyed his way into everyone's hearts.
Warnings:
This. Is. Not. Fluffy. There are sweet moments, but it is a surprisingly dark story. Snarf "talks" – as in, Lion-O understands him – and it is more from his point of view. But don't let that put you off.
OC or FC, whatever you want to call them. There's one or two in here.
Blood and such. Yes, even a Snarf story can have some misery and blood.
Mentions of prejudice. And it's just overall kind of a sad story. Snarf is not the only focus, but he's bound to it.
Also my ideas on why Lion-O seems to have a special pity for the lizards. While I like the idea that he's just that kind, it seems like there could have been another reason. For these the fic was born. Not going to be nearly so long as the others I'm working on, and it's in the backseat. So don't worry too much about it taking over.
Also, kittens were adorable last episode. Filler? Perhaps. But it was cute filler.
Imps and Goodnight Kisses
"Pre-series. Snarfs weave themselves into legends whether they mean to or not. Children ask questions that don't have easy answers. And sometimes those you love go away, leaving without so much as a goodnight kiss."
There were once many legends about Snarfs. They are rare now, but they used to be plentiful, common as flowers. But they and their legends have faded with time and parchment, even though the elderly can often drudge up bits of stories about tiny red creatures that wove themselves into the fabric of adventures. But they have fallen from their perch of heroes and valiant adventures as the centuries rolled.
Some people revered them as tiny bringers of good luck, a symbol of blessing to a household. Most were inclined to swat them with a broom to get them out of the pantry when they burrowed into the house looking for food. It was believed that Snarfs could not commit evil deeds, though that was quite questionable, particularly to those who found themselves shooing the creatures out of their stock rooms. Few seemed to realize that they understood many languages and were nearly as intelligent as the speaking races.
"It's ugly."
…More intelligent than select members of the speaking races.
He didn't move. The ground hurt him, but if he pretended to be dead maybe the voice would leave.
"Think we killed it?"
"Nah. It twitched." The boredom scared him most. For it was when these sorts were bored that they sought entertainment, and entertainment to them was often found in the abuse of bizarre animals. He'd seen it happen from the safety of Mama's side one rainy day in their nest in the alley, seeing several youths tease a tethered mount with hay and thorny sticks. They would hold out the hay to the hungry beast, and when it extended its neck to take the food the kids would smack its hindquarters, making it jump. Then they'd do it again, and the poor thing was so hungry that it kept doing it in hopes that they'd relent and give it something to eat.
They never did.
It was really sick. He didn't know how he'd ever be a victim of such treatment himself.
Another rock hit his haunch and he squealed; already throbbing and bleeding, his thigh seemed to explode with a greater pulse.
"Toldja. Eeh, look at his toes. I think we broke one."
"C'mon, this is sick." The other voice was marginally more welcome, but the even disinterest meant that aid could not be expected if the abuse started again. "It's just a baby. Leave it alone, the swine rats'll get it."
"Yeah, that's so much more humane. At least if we club it, it goes quick. But naw, you want it to get eaten while it's still kicking?"
"Better than sticking around for an hour while you guys throw rocks at it."
He meowed, plaintively. The fur on his face was sticky and clumping together, and his mouth cracked as the dried blood parted. "Think it's some kind of rodent? Because Mom would kill me if I let a rodent live. It'll try to get into the bread on the shelves. Swine rats ate up ten loaves last year."
"I dunno." Beyond puffy eyelids, he managed to peek at his tormentors – greasy adolescents and slightly younger than that, all in shades of sallow yellow and burnt brown. Unfriendly, tawny eyes considered him. "We need to get home anyway. The guards are making their rounds in a little bit before heading back to the palace for a report. Wouldn't look good for them to find it here."
"They still looking for that criminal? The one that killed old man Atrox?"
"Yeah. Don't think we'd get in trouble for this, but it wouldn't be good to test that theory. Be best if we got rid of it and hid it."
He meowed again. If the boys had understood Snarf-language, they would heard a plea for mercy. "I've got an idea. We don't have to kill it ourselves, and we'll get it out of here way faster…"
He did not understand how the torture of creatures such as himself could possibly bring happiness to anyone. But the boys sniggered as the plan was relayed, and one boy passed him to enter the alleyway. The snapping of wood from a rotted crate made him try to lift his head; were they going to beat him to death? He squealed, struggling to roll onto his stomach. Perhaps it would make them laugh to see him try to crawl away. But his leg would not bear him, and he felt little bits of grit and rock getting into his scratches, so he lay still, burning like salty ash.
The boy knelt beside him, and took out a length of string. Holding the long, thin piece of wood parallel with his aching tail, the youth was surprisingly careful about binding the stick to him.
He didn't know what to make of that. The wood was rough and scratched against the welts along his back, but perhaps the cat was trying to make a splint for him? Confusion made him yowl, and the cat shushed him, hurrying. "Okay. I need a handkerchief or something."
The other boys shoved each other and muttered until a scrap of cloth was produced, a dirty bandana. He pierced it with the wood, sliding it almost up to the cord. A firm paw then gripped his tail. And then, he heard something clacking, loud and rough.
He smelled smoke, and after a couple seconds, his skin was unpleasantly hot. Turning his head in disbelief, he screamed; lit in the sparks, the boy had a twisted grin on his face as he watched the cloth catch fire and begin to burn the wood. The fur on the tip of his tail smelled bad as it caught fire, hot and heavy and sick. But even though he forced himself to his feet and pulled with all the strength he could, the paw held his tail until the sparks had well and truly set.
Then the cat let go and he was off, bumbling and fumbling over the ground, screeching and caterwauling, loud enough that he blocked out the laughter of the other boys. He whipped his tail and sprinted, knocking it against the brick alley walls to try to dislodge the flaming cloth. All for naught; his fur was on fire, and panic flooded through him. He rolled, hoping to stop the burning.
It didn't work. So he simply ran, squalling for help and hoping the boys were not behind him. Buildings whipped by, masses of wall and cloth and wooden stalls. And then people, jumping away from him and dragging their cubs away by one paw, hollering when he darted past their ankles. Pain crackled over his skin, partly from his scratches and partly from the smoking of his flesh. He squealed again, before suddenly being terrified by a distorted reflection of himself.
It was in a warped piece of metal attached to a cat's leg – a piece of armor. But the sight scared him, and he flooded past the cat even as he tried to bring his spear down in shock. His claws scrabbled over the path, running rampant as he whipped and whirled, avoiding more and more cats as they swarmed around him, trying to shoo him away.
If he hadn't been so petrified, he might have noticed that he was in a massive courtyard, and that he'd run through the arch of the main entrance. He might also have noticed the yells of the guards for somebody to, "Get back from the wild animal!"
It was the sight of a still figure that made him slow up. Looking back, he was never sure why he started to balk, heading toward them for aid. An overpowering sense of trust hit him; this person was kind. They smelled of honey and kitten.
He bawled – wouldn't they help? Didn't any of these twits speak decent Snarf? How much more plainly could he scream, "Help me!"?
The figure on the cobblestone path stared at him with big eyes, and the Snarf mewled, feeling his skin roast as the person took in the flames and their nose wrinkled at the smell of burnt hair. And then tiny arms were suddenly tight around him, carrying him in a hurry. With a fresh wave of panic, he bit the arm and clawed, hissing. The cub jerked, and bright red blood sprang to the thin scratches, but he didn't let go.
He caught sight of a body of water – a canal, as he later realized – and suddenly understood. He had the presence to feel abashed as the cub jumped into the water, still holding him tight.
Pain. Water rushing into his wounds and over his burns was horrible, but it brought such soothing relief immediately afterwards that he released his breath in a sigh, bubbles flooding from his mouth. He relaxed utterly, too tired to even bother about squirming for the surface. And they were going up again anyway, and suddenly his head was heavy, neck limp as he was hauled from the water.
The smell of wet cat came to him, along with diluted blood, and he heard panting. "You're all torn up."
He was placed gently on his side, on what felt like a cloak. It kept the dirt out of his fur, and he felt it cooling him, sodden as it was. Opening one eye – it was not too puffy just yet – he saw his rescuer properly for the first time.
He was perhaps four summers old and sopping wet, and his red mane was messy against his head, fur clinging to his skin. Big, blue eyes met his, and he blinked, letting his gaze drop to the cub's arms.
The scratches leered red on the creamy fur, and he winced; one ran from the cub's elbow to the middle of his forearm. "Sn-Snaaarf," he whimpered. It was a weak apology, but it was all he could manage.
The cub looked at the scratch and simply huddled his arm beside his stomach. "It's okay. You were scared. How'd you catch fire?"
"Sna-Snarf-Snarf." Finally, somebody who spoke decent Snarf. The cub bristled, lower lip setting.
"What! That…that's bad! They were bad people! "
"Your Highness! Get away from it!"
"Hey!" The cub was pulled away, yowling when one of the cats dressed in those shiny, gleaming pieces of armor touched his injured arm. The guard released him, and he dropped back to the ground. A good thing, too; one of the spears had been over him, and in spite of his injuries, he had tried to get up, to roll away. He hadn't survived being bludgeoned and burnt to get skewered, had he? But the cub sat right in front of him, putting his arms open wide, as if to block the blade. "He was just scared! Some bad people tied a fire to him, and he's hurt! See?"
Only two guards were present, and they exchanged a glance. "Your Highness, that thing attacked you. We could not call ourselves honorable if we allowed it to live."
"It's just scratches! He was scared, he didn't know any better! Besides, he said he was sorry!"
A faint smacking sound drew their attention to the cub's arm. A single drop of blood had fallen from his arm, pink with water. He scowled. "It doesn't even hurt! Don't kill him."
Yeah. Don't kill me, he couldn't help but think. The cub was warm, and he huddled by his leg. Obstinately, the cub positioned himself so he was curled around the tiny body without quite touching him. He smelled of bread and honey and fruit, and he wondered for a moment what this cub had been doing in this vast courtyard all alone.
"Is there a problem?" A new voice, and this one was old, cultured. The guards stood up straighter but the cub brightened.
"Jaga! Tell them not to kill this thingy." 'Thingy?' Well, that was pretty silly; didn't he know a Snarf when he saw one? Then again, mentally railing against the four-year-old who'd saved him from burning to death seemed ungrateful, so he didn't protest. "He was set on fire, and I took him in the canal to put it out. He didn't mean to scratch me, he was just scared. He said he was sorry."
"Head Cleric, I apologize. The creature ran past me and got to the prince before I could stop it. I accept full responsibility for this. I understand if the king wishes to relieve me of my post." The guard looked blank, and his words sounded rehearsed. "Permit me to be rid of the beast, if you would."
"No! Jaga, it wasn't the thingy's fault! Don't kill him!" Jaga stooped, and he was overcome by the smell of old cat and paper. He examined the cuts in the red fur, the missing, charred fur on his tail. Then he looked at the cub's arms, and settled to look the cub over. "I'm okay, Jaga. But he's hurt real bad. Can you fix him?"
Seeing that cub would not cease squirming until the 'Thingy' was tended to, Jaga seemed to sigh without breath and began to examine the Snarf. He tried not to flinch when the old man poked a particularly tender spot and checked his toe. Oh, ow, that thing was really hurting now. He could move it just a little though; was it broken or just sore?
"I don't know, Prince Lion-O. I can try to help him, but living things aren't like toys. They can't be mended so easily." All the same, Jaga picked up the cloak and cradled him in it carefully.
"Sir Jaga-!"
"Head Cleric!"
He gave the guards a quiet look that plainly said, "Shush. Now." Both closed their mouths, and he felt Jaga settle him carefully in the crook of one elbow, and saw him extend one paw toward the cub – 'Prince Lion-O,' was it? – who took it trustingly. "I will tend to these two, and I will explain what happened to his Majesty. Return to your posts."
He listened as their armor clinked, head beginning to pound as his vision went. Perhaps he'd lost too much blood, and that was why he couldn't seem to think very…well…
Mama yowled for them all to come back, but he didn't listen. She was just in the alleyway, and his three fellow kits – two sisters and a brother – had hurried back to her, pawing and meowing for milk. But their teeth had come in and they were weaning, so she refused to allow them near her belly, instead directing them to the soft bread and meat she'd scrounged from the local butcher. He perked up from his spot amidst the jars and crates on the cart, and meowed that he'd be along in a minute. The cat had long ago headed into a bar, and the catallo at the front of the wagon was lazily munching on straw. Fascinated by the new smells and textures, he burrowed into one of the blankets to figure out what it was covering.
The cart lurched, and he squealed, falling into one of the crates and the grain inside. Sputtering, he tried to climb back out, but the crate was big and the cloth was in his face as he tried to find purchase on the itchy crop.
The catallo nickered in protest when the driver pulled away and cut at its sides with the whip. Mama screeched and yowled, but her calls died away in the rattle of the wheels, as did the mewls of his siblings. And he cowered in the crate until an hour later, when the driver began pulling out his wares and cursed loudly upon finding a baby Snarf in the grain.
He escaped by clawing the meaty hands and sprinting for his life. But he was lost, and alone, and the smells confused his nose until he encountered the boys. Then he just hurt.
000
Whatever he was lying on was soft and smelled of cotton. He didn't dare to move at first, too afraid to induce that horrible pain again. But eventually he dared to twitch his tail. It stung a bit, but the rasp of bandage on cloth reassured him that he was not dead and his tail was not bare to the air.
"…And the Mountain Berries turned gray today, see? I didn't get into the bushes though, so I didn't stick my finger, just like you said." He heard the shuffling of a burlap bag.
"Yes, I see. That means they're ripe. Did you get enough to make jam with? Because they make good jam, and I told you I'd help you make some if you got enough."
"Uh huh. I got two bags. We can both make a jar. And I found a pretty rock, it's blue and sparkly."
He opened his eyes. They felt sticky, as if something had been put on them to cool them and crusted over when it dried. Ew. He opened his mouth and tried clearing his tongue of the taste of…dry tongue, frankly. He meowed, glancing around for the source of the voices.
In front of him was a bed covered in a blue blanket, and on the end of this bed were seated two cats; the old one who smelled funny, Jaga, and the little boy. The boy's feet dangled above the ground, and white bandages flashed along his arms as he held out various objects to the jaguar, chattering happily about his finds. But both looked toward him when he mewled, and the cub hopped off the edge of the bed. Jaga followed more slowly, kneeling beside him. "Hi. You feeling better?"
Rather than answer, he smacked his lips again, yawning once. "He's thirsty, Jaga. Can I give him the milk right now?"
"That would be best. I don't want to give him anything solid just yet." Lion-O got up and ran to the other side of the room. There was a little desk sitting there, and on this desk rested what looked like clay pitchers and bowls, and perhaps the remains of biscuits. Lion-O trotted back over, holding one of the bowls, and Jaga took it steadily from his little paws and set it before the Snarf.
His stomach growled as he caught a whiff of milk and saw the liquid glimmer temptingly. He tried to climb off the cushion he'd been laying on, but it took a little maneuvering from Jaga to get him to the ground, and that was with hissing and pained yowls. Lion-O's big blue eyes were soft, sad.
"Poor thingy. Jaga says you'll heal in a couple weeks." He glanced up at the cub.
"Snarf-Snarf. Snar-Snarf. Snarf." In Snarf language that meant, obviously, "Look, thank you for the help. But please stop calling me 'Thingy.' I'm a Snarf."
"Oh. Your name is Snarf?"
"Snarf, Sna-Snarf." "No, I am a Snarf. It's my species. Just like you're a cat. I don't have a name; Mama hadn't picked mine out yet." To tell the truth, she actually had basically decided on what name she would give him – Osbert. He cringed inwardly. No, that was not a good name. At all(1).
All of a sudden the realization that his Mama and fellow kits had no idea where he was – nor he them – hit him and his stomach churned, appetite fading. He nosed at the milk, seeing his reflection in it. It looked miserable and scruffy, and bandages crisscrossed over his ears. "What's the matter?"
Lion-O hesitantly reached out and tried to pat his head. He stiffened and backed up, and Lion-O jerked his fingers back. "Easy! My burns hurt really bad. I was just thinking about my Mama and brother and sisters. I…I don't know where they are." Warily, he watched Lion-O's frightened face melt into sympathy greater than he'd ever seen in a cat's face. Telling a strange cat this was not smart, but then, he was the only one who seemed to speak Snarf-language.
"Oh no. Jaga, can we find his mommy? He says he doesn't know where his family is." Jaga gazed at the cub with a long, perusing stare.
"You can understand him?" Lion-O looked puzzled.
"Yeah. Can't you?"
"Not a bit. He just sounds like he's meowing. What does it sound like to you?"
Lion-O nudged the bowl of milk, and he reluctantly lowered his head to start lapping at the surface. His appetite returned quickly at the sweet coolness, and he slurped the liquid into his empty belly. "It sounds like he's saying 'Snarf' over and over, but…it means different words each time."
"Interesting. A Snarf." Jaga got up and he just ignored him, continuing to lap up the milk. Lion-O stood up, following Jaga to the bed. The old cat sat down and reached behind him to pick up a book. There seemed to be several thin tomes on the bed behind him, and Lion-O clambered onto the bed beside him.
"Have you ever heard of a Snarf, Jaga?" As if he'd done it a million times, the cub maneuvered himself so he was sitting in Jaga's lap and leaning on his front so the jaguar could continue thumbing through the book if he wound his arms around the boy. It reminded Snarf of when his mama would nudge all of them closer to her side when it got chilly outside, and sighed from the sudden homesickness.
"Once or twice. That's why I brought these books. They have lists of legendary animals, along with normal ones. He might be listed in either; Snarfs have been in many stories." He finished the milk, running his tongue around the rim of his mouth. "Let's see…Serai, sirens…Snarfs. Here."
"Serai are bird people, right? They live on the third moon," Lion-O said dreamily before he looked at the Snarf entry. "Wow, it looks like him."
He tottered over toward them, planting himself on his haunches. Lion-O took the book and held it so he could see. Aside from the fact that the creature in the picture was full grown and appeared to have golden, shimmery fur along its back, it did indeed look like an artistically enhanced Snarf, complete with a curling, mischievous grin. "According to legend, Snarfs are very intelligent and understand any language. It's just their bad luck that they can't speak in any language but their own, and almost nobody bipedal can understand it."
Huh. Weird. He tried not to think of Mama and the kits; they had to be panicking now. He casually glanced around the room, wondering if there might be some way of exiting at a later date. Not that he wasn't grateful, but he didn't plan on sticking around. He'd had enough of cats in the few hours he'd spent with them for a lifetime, and one sweet kid didn't make matters any better. And he had to find Mama.
"Why can I understand him then?" Lion-O buried his fingers in Jaga's beard, stroking the white, smooth hair gently. Jaga absently patted the tuft of red mane, and the Snarf couldn't help but wonder if the cub was Jaga's kit in spite of the jaguar's age. They certainly seemed very close.
"I think the answer's right there. It's a rhyme." Jaga pointed at the page, and Lion-O squinted.
"I wanna try to read it. Can I?" With a nod, the old cat let Lion-O touch the page and followed his finger as he slowly spoke. He stuttered and frowned, but after a minute or two – and Jaga's incredibly patient hints and coaxing – he had the rhyme and proudly said it all again, enunciating carefully.
"Loyal and true, small and weak,
Snarfs are of courage and habit meek;
But only the noble, the pure and young,
Can understand words from a Snarfish tongue.
In destinies grand where hope is small,
When kingdoms rise and peoples fall,
A Snarf and a friend never shall part,
For the imp of adventure is the stoutest of heart."
"Very good, Lion-O. You're learning your letters very well." Jaga paused, and tickled the cub's stomach. He cackled and Jaga laughed, old and worn like a favorite blanket. He tilted his head, trying to make sense of the rhyme, even as Lion-O tried and failed to escape. "Your tickle fighting abilities are lacking, though."
Squashing the cub in a hug, Jaga looked at the Snarf. "So, Lion-O, did you understand all that?"
Cheeks pink and body squirming, Lion-O paused breathlessly. "No. It sounds like Snarfs are little guys who do lots of adventuring stuff. That's cool."
"Indeed. And it sounds like children and very gentle, loving hearts understand Snarf language." Jaga shifted so they were sitting on the ground beside the Snarf, and Lion-O hesitantly reached out to him again. A little reluctant, he padded forward, letting the fingers touch his face. They were incredibly gentle, and those huge blue eyes were happy. Jaga looked through the book a little more, reading the entries carefully. "How interesting…"
"What should we call you?" He blinked, ears flickering.
"I don't know. I don't have a name." Lion-O chewed his lip and Jaga let him sit right in front of the Snarf, settling his chin in his paws as he lay on his stomach.
"Can we call you 'Snarf?' Because I've never seen another one, and I think it's a good name."
A Snarf named Snarf. How very unoriginal. He nearly said so, but when he thought about it, these cats seemed to be in the same boat. After all, a lion called 'Lion-O?' And a jaguar called 'Jaga?' Clearly name originality was lacking with the bipedal felines. Not that Osbert was preferable.
"Sure. But remember, I want to try to find my litter and Mama. I don't know that I'll stay for long." Lion-O's face seemed a little sad but it brightened again.
"Okay. He says we can call him Snarf, but he might leave soon to try to find his family. Can we help him, Jaga?" Jaga eyed the newly christened Snarf and he felt oddly as though the old man was looking through him. He wasn't, but somehow he got the idea that it would be nearly impossible to trick this old geezer in any way.
"Perhaps. He should remain here for a couple weeks so he can get stronger. Then we'll see about finding his family."
Snarf averted his gaze and tried to ignore the guilty squirm in his belly. He had no intention of staying that long. So putting up with the goofy name for a while would be tolerable.
Funny thing about plans turning out the way one intends them to; they don't.
Snarf was grateful, really. Jaga was a nice old geezer, and the kid was cute. He was never hungry; Lion-O always saw to it that he got milk and even little, tender bits of meat after Jaga deemed him able to handle them. His bed was warm, the cushion was clean, and his bandages were switched out every day.
But it was weird in the palace. Besides, that king dude didn't want him around.
Perhaps he ought not to have peed in the corner of the northern corridor. But honestly, he'd been raised in an alleyway; what did the guy want? He was a five-month old Snarf, relatively young and completely un-housebroken. Smart for his age, but completely wild. It bothered him to be scolded, and it bothered him even more when Lion-O got scolded for what he'd done. Something about, "Snarf is your responsibility while he's here." Which made sense, except for the fact that Snarf had just as much intelligence as the cub, and knew now, after one chastisement, that piddling indoors was a no-no.
"I don't know why Jaga took care of it. Once it's well, it's out the door."
Jaga had been seated in the fancy chair beside the king's while Lion-O stood ramrod straight in front of the king. The lonely flicker of pain across the cub's face went mostly unnoticed. "Your Highness, it may not be that simple. Snarfs are not like common pets. Apparently their intellect is immense, and they form bonds with people they befriend that cannot be broken. He may end up staying, if your Majesty would permit it. According to lore, Snarfs come to those of destiny, guided by fate and strange circumstances."
The king eyed him skeptically and Snarf felt very small. There was no chance of that happening – the king didn't want him around, and Snarf vowed to himself that he would never form such a bond with a cat of all things. The last thing he needed was some emotional dependency on such strange creatures. And adventures were dangerous things.
He hadn't dared to say anything, even though he was sure the king wouldn't understand him; he sure didn't seem to understand his son.
It was weird. Snarf had expected for Jaga to be Lion-O's sire – he didn't know the first thing about cat breeds, and Lion-O could have been a mixture – but to his surprise, the old cat wasn't related to Lion-O in the slightest. He was the leader of some fancy group that guarded the crown and ran really fast or something. But when Lion-O had been before the king who actually was his sire, he seemed to clam up and do very little other than nod or say, "Yes Father." There was something shielded, hidden. It was vaguely depressing.
A far cry from the plucky, chattering cub he was around Jaga and Snarf. Snarf didn't know what he thought of it, so he didn't. After all, his sire trotted off after Mama had the kittens as some Snarfs were wont to do, so he wasn't one to judge. But the massiveness of the king had petrified him; he'd never seen such a big cat, and it was hard to believe that tiny little Lion-O would ever be that size.
Then again, maybe he wouldn't. He was smaller than the other cubs he saw running around, mostly nobles' sons and daughters, so perhaps he would always be small in stature. And they tended to ignore him, which seemed kind of stupid. Apparently he was a very important person, the heir to the throne. So ignoring him and making him play alone could really come back to bite those brats in the tail.
It did perturb him to discover that Lion-O had no mother. That was not normal. According to Mama, cats stayed with their mothers for years and years – twenty sometimes – as compared to the single year Snarfs remained. He dared to ask Lion-O about her once, and he only said, "Dad said she had to go to heaven when I was born." He sat quietly on his bed and stared at the toy he'd been showing Snarf, some form of stuffed bear creature called 'Doofle.' "I think…I think she had to go because of me. Tygra said something to me once, and…"
Snarf had not been able to respond. The cub had looked so suddenly guilty – something very deep and sad in his eyes made Snarf feel a little like he was drowning – that he meowed in disapproval. "Tygra says she was pretty," Lion-O said finally. "I wish I could've seen her."
Tygra. The brother. He was about seven years old, a very handsome boy. Everybody really seemed to like him for his intelligence, confidence and wry wit. Snarf had little opinion one way or the other about him. He didn't kick Snarf when he saw him and he didn't say anything to Snarf. Once he'd meowed at him, "Could you please tell me where exactly I can find something to sharpen my claws on that won't make anybody mad if it gets shredded? I tried that on a curtain and it made a maid scream at me."
Tygra had stared at him and then told Lion-O as he entered, "I think Snarf is hungry or something." So apparently he didn't have the same stuff Lion-O had that made him able to understand. That struck him as strange, for Tygra was not very old. But he had little patience for stories or anything he couldn't see with his own two eyes. Yet he never mistreated Snarf, and he did not seem to be cruel, so initially he had no dislike for the cub.
Admittedly, Tygra was not terribly nice to Lion-O. When he could be bothered to spend time around his younger brother, he always seemed to grow impatient and exasperated very quickly. So after a few days Snarf wasn't so sure he liked him much. There was something cold and superior about Tygra, and while he also felt the capacity for strength and decency from him, it was heavily skewed by this dark feeling of envy and derision and even resentment. Sort of a like comfortable nest, only with jagged bits of cold rock everywhere, needling his sides. Tygra wasn't bad, but he most certainly did not have the same kind of 'something' that Lion-O did. Lion-O tried to follow his brother – he admired him as only little siblings could, just a tad short of hero-worship – but he could never seem to keep up in their games. And Tygra had little interest in letting him.
Snarf wanted to leave. Every day he casually stretched himself and tried to see if he could walk properly. He was eating solid food again, and his scratches and bruises had nearly vanished in a week. And so, feeling a little bad for it, he began to plot his escape.
He didn't belong in the palace. He was a scruffy, crude Snarf, and he belonged with his Mama and brother and sisters. A fear of cats had rooted into his heart because of the boys, and to be stuck around them all the time – particularly cats who gave him looks as if they'd like to kick him out sooner than feed him – was nearly torture. And this was a fancy place, one he didn't fit into.
Lion-O was a very sweet kid. He talked nonstop, but considering he was the only cat who talked to Snarf, that was better than being ignored entirely. Jaga didn't speak to him very much because he would not be able to understand the response. It struck him as strange that Jaga of all people could not understand Snarfish tongue, but regardless, Lion-O was the only conversation he had. He was living proof that not all cats were cruel and spiteful.
But he still wanted to find Mama. Lion-O would understand; after all, he had no Mama. He too would have traveled as far as he needed in order to find her, if she dwelt on Third Earth. But for reasons Snarf could not explain, he was too ashamed to actually tell Lion-O when he was leaving. Perhaps he simply felt that if he tried to tell the cub goodbye…he wouldn't be able to.
So really, all that commenced was basically Snarf's fault if he was honest about it.
Often Lion-O brought him outside to play and show him around. During that week Snarf discovered many things about the palace and the gardens especially. Jaga accompanied them when he could find time, and Lion-O seemed to love it. It was especially comfortable outside that day, and after much pleading on Lion-O's part – he could beg like a pro, and Snarf had come to realize that Jaga was wrapped entirely around Lion-O's finger though he tried to appear aloof – Jaga agreed to take them around to the gardens to help Lion-O gather the last of the Mountain Berries from the winding bushes before they began to fall off and rot.
"See, Snarf? When the berries turn gray, they're ripe and good. But when they're bright red and look sweet, they're really not. Not to cats anyway. Try one." Lion-O gave him one of the bigger gray berries and he opened his mouth to taste it, humoring the cub. It was sweet, and brought to mind stormy rainclouds and clean water. Or perhaps cold, clear air. "They're called Mountain Berries because they look gray like mountains when they're best."
Lion-O continued gathering them in the little basket he'd brought, focusing on his task with that quiet intent that came to some children. Snarf picked some of the lower ones, tossing them into the basket as he worked his way under the smooth, cool leaves. The shade felt good as he crept over the thorny branches to pluck more berries. Jaga lingered beside Lion-O, watching the barbs and Lion-O's little fingers. "Tygra doesn't like Mountain Berries. He thinks they taste too sweet."
"Watch your paws-" Jaga began, but a little late; Lion-O jerked his fingers back and stuck one in his mouth, sucking on it. "There, what did I say? Let me see it."
Snarf had glanced back nervously upon hearing a yelp. Lion-O had pricked his finger on a thorn, but other than a grimace he didn't seem to be in much pain. Relieved, Snarf slunk under another branch and stopped. He'd encountered the wall, as the vines and bushes of the garden grew up to the smooth expanse. He sighed and nudged it, resenting the wall that kept him penned.
The sound of the canal drew his attention, and he trotted out from under the branches to linger along the water's edge, lowering his head to take a drink. His tongue made little ripples, and his eyes followed them. What was he going to do? He couldn't rely on cats to help him find Mama, but there would be no way to get out the gates without a guard. And the walls were so high and thick…
He watched the ripples fade, lifting his gaze from the water to the end of the canal where it exited the palace grounds through a barred opening in the wall. The bars looked black, blocking the way to the rest of the surrounding area where the water was cleaned and given to the people. Servants came every morning to draw water and have it cleaned for palace use.
The metal was strong, and an adult cat would never be able to squeeze between the squares of the bars.
Snarf crept along the banks, making sure Lion-O and Jaga weren't watching as he clambered into the gap in the wall where the bars were installed. His tail began to switch with excitement.
An adult cat would never fit…but a Snarf would have ample room to squeeze out.
"Head cleric?" Lion-O and Jaga both looked up, and Snarf felt his little heart pounding at the sight of two guards coming across the grass toward them, following a dark cat with a hard face that was what Snarf remembered was called a 'captain.' He hurriedly rushed back to the bushes, hiding in the boughs as if he'd been there all along. "Our forces have more news on the Atrox case."
Jaga sighed. "Lion-O, accompany these cats inside. I need to speak to the captain alone." Lion-O's face fell, but at the affectionate nudge Jaga gave him, the cub obediently began following the men.
"Coming, Snarf?" Snarf shook his head, glancing at the bush and cocking his leg. "Oh. Okay. When you finish your business?" Snarf nodded, meowing once as he situated himself. Lion-O walked away between the two guards, still holding his basket and looking back at Jaga.
The captain watched them go. "Does he still say he can understand that dumb beast?"
Jaga's amiable grandpa air did not dissipate, but he glanced at the cat with eyes so suddenly hard they looked glacial. "You have news of the Atrox case."
The captain inclined his head. "My men have discovered that Atrox was disliked in the community by cats as well as other species. He had a reputation for being vicious, spiteful and venomous. Nobody but the master of the house seems terribly upset that he died, and he is more concerned about finding another overseer for his workshop. "
"Charming. And what of suspects?" Snarf finished piddling – well, he had to keep up appearances – and pretended to be worried about marking territory. "I will be leaving the city tonight, and I'd like to know at least that there are suspects."
"His neck was broken. No knife wounds, no other marks. He must have been attacked from behind. I don't have any leads. Whoever they were left neither fur nor marks. We have tripled the nightly guard in the area, but we have nothing." The captain paused. "We have a possible motive. That is what I wished to inform you of. We have a report that he might have attacked some of the household slaves for impertinence. None of them will speak up about the night; I think they're protecting the murderer. But there are mutterings and rumors."
Jaga stood in silence for a moment. "Hm. The term 'murder' can't be used if there are extenuating circumstances you know. If the person were protecting them from a rampage from Atrox…"
The captain made a derisive, angry noise. "You think you can trust a word out of their mouths?"
Jaga looked at the captain, and Snarf was glad he was hidden. Though the old cat's face remained the same, Snarf could smell the anger coming off of him. "They may or may not be trustworthy. But the information is worth considering. You are dismissed, Captain. I will inform the king of your suspicions."
"Is it necessary to involve his Highness in this case? A cat is dead, but we will find the culprit if I am given leave to interrogate…"
"You are not given leave to interrogate in your preferred manner, Captain." Jaga's voice was soft. "The king wishes to be kept informed because he is alarmed that the culprit is still at large and has gotten away from your forces so easily. You are dismissed." The captain saluted him and began to retreat. "Oh…by the way. I mentioned that I am leaving the city for four months to check the colonies, didn't I?"
"Yes sir."
"Well," Jaga said, and Snarf eyed him; he knew that tone. He hadn't been hanging around very long, but that particular way of weighing his words had become very notable. "I will not be around to look after the heir. I want you and your men to watch him better than you ordinarily would in my absence. And if that means personally walking with him and listening to him talk while you accompany him, do so."
To Snarf's surprise the captain looked pained. His distaste was evident, and it was rather alarming. "Sir, what harm can possibly come to him here? Are not our normal sentries sufficient?"
"Perhaps. But I should think we'd prefer to be safe than sorry. Because I assure you, if I come back and he is not happy and safe, forget any punishment the king can devise; I will personally make you sorry." With that Jaga left, and Snarf trotted after him, letting the conversation slip from his mind as watched the rattled captain leave with relief.
"Do you have to go?"
Jaga never ceased to amaze Snarf. Here he was, packing several satchels of items, tidying up his quarters, all with a moping cub clinging to his neck. "It's rather important that I check on the new cat colonies, Lion-O. Last we heard they were having trouble fighting with the viper clans from down south. They'll need help until the seasons turn and start getting cold; reptiles don't like the cold. Their bodies aren't built for frosts."
Lion-O moodily buried his face in the white beard, Jaga tucking one arm around Lion-O's back as he ambled about the room, adjusting items and covering them with sheets to protect them from dust. Snarf watched from the foot of the bed, inhaling the smell of tea and paper. He'd come to associate that smell with the nice old geezer, and it was soothing. Lion-O still held on to Jaga's torso like a baby monkian, little arms tucked around his neck. "I know. But I'm gonna miss you, Jaga. And we've gotta find Snarf's mommy."
"I know. But I've instructed the captain to help you. The sentries that make rounds in the city know to look for them." Jaga sounded a little weary, but Snarf lashed his tail; random guards looking for Mama and the kits? They'd never find them. Snarfs were not so easily caught or found, if the guards even really bothered looking. And Mama would not have any way of knowing that he was alive, so she'd never go with them anyway. And Snarf himself going would annoy the cats, and he knew that they'd be just as inclined to dump him anywhere and go back claiming they'd found his family.
No, Snarf was not going to rely on these guys. But Lion-O looked at Snarf, and his eyes were suddenly sad.
"You mean I can't go with you into the city to look for them?" Jaga had finished packing and began to carry the prince out of the room. Snarf hopped to the floor and followed him through the door, heading toward Lion-O's room. In the corridor's windows, stars gleamed in the dark and the paleness of the walls surrounding the palace winked from the ground when he hopped to see out of one.
"No. I'm sorry. If you were older, perhaps. But you are very young, and the city is a dangerous place. The guards will do their best; I'll leave them very careful instructions." They entered Lion-O's room and Snarf watched as Jaga managed to work himself free of Lion-O's grip and sat the cub on his bed. "You need to go to sleep."
Lion-O suddenly looked crafty. "If I don't go to sleep, you won't be able to leave without me hanging on."
"I could outrun you."
"Would you?" Jaga eyed Lion-O and his plaintive face.
Then the old cat sighed. "No. But I really do have to go, Lion-O. I'm nearly finished packing." Lion-O's face fell, and Jaga went to the foot of the bed where the cub's nightclothes had been laid out. "Come now, get changed and I'll tuck you in.
Lion-O cackled when Jaga tickled his stomach and slipped the pajama shirt over his head so he was snug and warm and obediently changed his shorts. Jaga then tugged back the blanket and stuffed Lion-O under the thick sheets and tucked them around him. "Well then. I suppose you're ready to sleep now?"
"Nope. Can I have a story, Jaga? How about the one about the Nai(2) that live in the ocean with the fish people?" Lion-O freed himself from the blankets and crawled over the bed to make room, patting the spot beside him. Jaga settled in and appeared to scratch his head.
"Oh…you mean the one about the sea witch who turned the Nai into stone, and the fishmen who rescued them by defeating her spell with the power of sunlight?"
A vigorous nod was his reply, and Jaga half-winked. "Perhaps. I'll make this an extra long story, since it'll be the last one for a while."
Jaga knew more stories than the king knew historic battles, and Lion-O drank in every one. It was a sweet delight to see his face fix attentively on Jaga's words, eyes bright and sleepless as the adventures unfolded. Snarf sighed and listened as well, enjoying the adventures. Hey, no one could say they weren't cool to listen to, right? Better than the stupid stories the king told Tygra about lizards being conquered and whatnot.
But, as always, the story came to an end. The witch was vanquished, the hero married the brave and noble woman of his dreams, and it was time to tuck Lion-O in again. His face was quiet when Jaga tugged the covers over him and stroked his mane. "I'm really gonna miss you, Jaga. I love you," Lion-O mumbled. Jaga paused, and Snarf was deeply moved when the old cat lowered his head to kiss Lion-O's forehead.
"And I love you, Lion-O. Very much. That's why I have to go; to help make sure that you, and other cubs like you, are safe. The viper clan would not stop at the colonies. If they conquered them, Thundera would be the next place they went after. It is my duty to protect the crown, and I must perform it as best I can."
Lion-O nodded, fidgeting. "Can I have one more goodnight kiss?"
Jaga acquiesced, and Lion-O kissed his cheek. Then he giggled and rubbed his face. "Your whiskers are itchy!"
Snarf didn't see what kisses meant, really. Snarfs licked each other, but that helped groom fur along with providing warm comfort. Or nuzzling could help get rid of an itch, and clean the coat. A kiss just didn't do anything. Cats were strange, honestly.
Jaga bade them goodnight and left the room in silence, promising that he would be back as soon as he could be.
And Snarf waited for an hour to make sure Lion-O had fallen asleep before making his bid for freedom.
Snarf had never felt quite so much guilt before, but neither had his instincts ever told him what to do so strongly. He did not want the help of cats in finding his family; Snarfs were best left to their own affairs, and cats just didn't understand them. But he crept to his cushion and burrowed under it and placed the object he'd so meticulously hidden under it on the top of the cushion. A little goodbye, apologetic gift for Lion-O.
At any rate, Snarf left in the middle of the night. He had a better chance of getting out unhindered. He snuck out of Lion-O's room, meowing a faint farewell – the guards that had taken their posts ignored him utterly, assuming he was going outside to piddle – and wound his way to canal exit that was his ticket to freedom, every cough and footstep making him jump before he got outside and scurried across the courtyard. His heart pounded as he wriggled through the bars and landed in the water, swimming in the shallow water until he found another bank where he could climb up and get to the road outside the palace. It had been easy to skirt across the road and bound down the steps to the lower city.
Two hours later, he discovered that this had all been a very bad idea.
Apparently, when the old geezer said he needed to rest for two weeks, he meant two weeks. Snarf's legs ached and his muscles twitched, and the burns on his tail – unprotected from the dirty earthen paths of the city – were starting to sting. It had not occurred to him that the palace was in the more affluent part of the city, and that he would have to wander around until he could catch the smell of the middle class houses and shops to start to sniff around for the odor of Snarfs.
Apparently the slums were easy to wander into if one was not street savvy. They wound in spots and bubbles, sudden areas of poverty right beside where the richer dwelled. Probably because the wealthy had laborers and slaves, and not all of them wanted to bother giving their help adequate housing. Entire communities that worked for them seemed to swell like dirty villages near the richest houses. Apparently the smell didn't bother them as much as paying the help would have. Everything smelled weird and new and awkward in the dark, the odor of rodents and strange people distracting him.
Snarf had never been in the actual slums. The boys had been merchants' sons, ambling around the snootier part of town looking for amusement and trouble, and Mama had always kept the kits away from the slimy parts of Thundera. "Bad things happen there, my kits. Don't ever go there unless you've got no other option. And never trust anyone you meet there."
He finally came to a stop by a wooden stall, bare and empty of goods for the night and smelling of rot. Stars gleamed above him as he squatted between the filthy walls and sighed. What in the world was he going to do? If he couldn't find Mama and the kits, should he go back to the palace? Would they take him back? Did he really want to go back? Perhaps he ought to simply try to find his way to the slightly nicer part of the city to make a nest. Then he could search for his family during the day when he could see properly.
Something shuffled across the way in the street he had just vacated. Snarf hissed, fur lifting and making him look fierce and feral. He hoped. "Hey! You come out of there! I warn you, I'm not going quietly!"
Such a display would hopefully make the person scram. And if not, well, adrenaline was a wonderful thing when you had to sprint. But the street was silent but for the sound of small feet in the dirt of that bumpy, smelly street and the sloping overhangs. "Come on! I know you're there!"
He heard a faint giggle. "You look like a cotton ball."
A familiar face peeped out from behind the corner and Snarf's jaw dropped. "What…what are you doing here?"
Lion-O looked out of place as he huddled by the wall as if it were Jaga, a place of safety. Snarf glanced across the streets and slowly padded toward him, tail flicking in irritation. "You shouldn't be out here! It's dangerous! And how the heck did you follow me?"
Snarfs were very good at being quiet. And Lion-O hadn't been trained in the ways of hunting, had he? So how had he trailed him without Snarf noticing him? Lion-O's little smile turned down, blue eyes staring shyly at Snarf.
"I heard you say goodbye. The present was cool. But I wanted to help you find your mommy. Why'd you leave before we could help?" Lion-O voice was reproachful, and Snarf plopped onto his behind, finding the tip of his fuzzy tail interesting. The fur was starting to grow back.
"Snarfs are like that. Cats aren't generally very nice to Snarfs, and Jaga said you wouldn't be the one allowed to help me find Mama. It would've been some other people that didn't care." And Snarfs, while not overtly proud, did not accept aid from others if they didn't have to. He had no method of payment, even if he'd left something to remember him by.
Lion-O knelt in the dirt so Snarf didn't have to crane his neck to meet his gaze. "Oh. Yeah, I'm not supposed to be out here," he admitted. Snarf stiffened a little.
"How did you get out here?" he asked, suddenly realizing the danger of the situation. A Snarf on its own was not safe; a child and a Snarf was no better. And there were evil people who would kill either of them without guilt lurking in the dark.
"Same way you did. The bars were big enough for me." As small as he was, Snarf was not surprised. On his hind feet Snarf stood at about waist height to the cub. Lion-O's head went about to Jaga's thigh including his mane. For him to fit through the gaps would not have been hard. "Then I followed you. I thought you might not like me coming, so I hid."
"What were you thinking? It's very dangerous out here for a cub! Some bad person might have grabbed you! We're lost as it is!" Snarf shut his mouth and looked around, willing himself to calm down. It would do no good to panic, nor to frighten Lion-O. But the cub seemed calm enough, more curious than nervous. "Agh…we've gotta go back to the palace now. I'm sorry I left without saying anything, and I don't have a chance of finding Mama when it's so dark. Maybe we can backtrack using our scent. It shouldn't be gone yet." Snarf lifted his nose and sniffed, trying to distinguish the different odors.
Lion-O was looking around. "I've never been this far outside the walls before. I went with Jaga to the river once, but that's it. That's how I learned to swim; he taught me. It smells funny out here."
Tell me about it, Snarf thought. The faintest hint of himself and Lion-O wafted and drifted before his nose like a thread. "Come on, I think I found it. We need to head back now. Maybe if we hurry we can get back before anyone realizes we're gone." He paused. "How did you get past the guards? There were a couple in the halls that ignored me; how could you have gotten past them?"
"I went out the window. I saw you were going outside onto the steps so I just climbed down the wall." He showed Snarf his claws. "I'm a good climber."
Snarf's jaw dropped. True, the prince's window was not far from the ground – the king did not want him in a high room until he was older and could be trusted with a balcony – but that he had climbed down a story without being seen was a bit of a shock. "That's so…I don't even know. That was dangerous and dumb. And kind of impressive." The last part made Lion-O perk up as Snarf trotted forward. "Never do that again. Look, just stay close. We'll figure out how to get back in the room when we get inside the walls. If we get caught, we're in so much trouble."
For a few minutes there was silence. Lion-O kept close but didn't touch, examining the walls of the buildings and the dark, still windows that were little more than badly cut holes in the walls. "I didn't know the slums looked like this," he said softly, peeping into a lower window.
Snarf nipped at the hem of his shirt. He wore a dark cloak over it, but the paleness of his pajamas made Snarf nervous. "Don't look into peoples' houses, it's rude. And most of them aren't quite this bad from what I saw." Piles of trash littered the street, and even the occasion pile of bodily refuse. Good grief, at least bury it. That's what he did. The earth beneath their feet felt sludgy and cold, as if it were trod upon by many feet, most of them sweaty. Snarf wondered if jumping in the canal when he got back to clean off would be a bad idea.
He stopped. Lion-O nearly tripped over him. "What's wrong?"
"Sh!" Snarf hissed. His ears lifted, lashing his tail. Looking back along the way they'd come, Snarf felt uneasy. "I think…we're being followed."
"Really? By who?" Lion-O's voice was soft and his pupils large, taking in the vacant, broken little street. Snarf shook his head.
"Don't know. Put your hood on and don't let them see your face. They can't know you're a lion."
"Why?"
Snarf gnashed his teeth. "They just can't. Bad people would kidnap you and try to get your dad to do something in order to get you back. Like in the stories Jaga tells you, like the one with the prince of the birds. Remember?" Lion-O obediently put the hood up.
"What do we do?" he asked. Snarf nudged his side.
"Keep walking. If you hear something, don't turn around. If you hear them right behind you, run for it. Don't worry about me, they won't care about a Snarf. Don't stop, no matter what."
"But what if they hurt you-?"
"Just run. I'll be okay." Snarf could hardly believe what was coming out of his mouth. Perhaps there was something to that bizarre rhyme about Snarfs and adventure after all. He kept his ears pricked forward, listening intently as they wandered down the street.
From the alley up ahead, a shape emerged like ink from a broken bottle. Snarf nearly yowled in surprise. "Hello there," they said. The voice was feminine, smooth, pretty. Snarf hated it instantly. He was gratified to feel that Lion-O too tensed. "What is a little boy like you doing out here? It's a little late to walk your pet, isn't it?"
Everything about Snarf was screaming, "Bad! Bad! Don't go near her!" The feeling was like spiky ash, chunks of charcoal. It was utterly unlike being around Lion-O, which always had this feeling of…warm fuzziness. Or Jaga, who had this misty, friendly quality about him. This woman – some form of weasel, apparently – was tall, and though she stood with an unaggressive stance, there was something dangerous about her claws and pointed nose. She smiled; she had long orange hair and amber eyes, and she might have been quite pretty if her teeth hadn't been so jagged.
She paced toward them and her clothing jingled. Under her tunic and breeches seemed to be metal, and Snarf wondered if they were knives or coins making the noise. "What's the matter, kitten? Cat got your tongue?" She laughed. "Are you lost? Maybe I can help."
"Don't trust her. She's evil. Tell her you were running an errand for your dad and that he expects you back in a minute." Lion-O blinked and opened his mouth uncertainly. "I know it's not true. But I think telling a fib is okay here."
"I'm fine. I had to go get a letter for my dad. He told me to be back really quick." It sounded reasonable, but the woman smirked; Snarf knew she hadn't bought it. Lion-O could not inject the ring of truth into a lie. He was a horrible liar. But this woman was not; he could smell the deceit on her like grease. Snarf flicked his tail, and wondered if he could climb high enough up her tunic to claw at her eyes.
"You know, it's bad to lie. Little boys who lie get into big trouble." She stopped a few steps away, and he could see that her body fur was brown and her underbelly creamy white. Her grin was frighteningly gentle.
"So do ladies who lie." Lion-O suddenly sounded quieter, backing away a little. Snarf moved with him.
"Oh! How cruel. How have I lied?" She looked hurt. "I'm just being friendly."
Lion-O nodded, and his eyes gleamed like cold mirrors from beneath the hood. "Exactly. You're acting nice. But you're not. That's a lie just the same as saying something not true. Jaga told me."
"'Jaga?' Who is that?" She only asked so she could distract him, but Lion-O – though tenderhearted – was nobody's fool. Perhaps he had some Snarf sense of his own; he too seemed to sense the ill intent. He didn't answer, and Snarf bared his teeth at the woman.
Something behind them moved and Lion-O yelped. "Hey! Lemme go!"
Snarf whirled around and saw that another weasel had grabbed Lion-O around the middle and pinned his arms. This one was darker in color than the woman but he was taller, if just as skinny. He growled when Lion-O bit his paw, smacking the cub. "Shut up."
Snarf's fur felt electric. Looking back, he decided that madness took him for about thirty seconds.
He screamed a Snarf scream and hurled himself at the weasel, clawing his way up his side until he reached his shoulder, shimmying when the crook tried to knock him off. Snarfs are not strong, and they are not the best of fighters, but they have claws and instinctively know how to use them.
Lion-O fell from the man's grip as he howled, clapping his paws instead to his eyes. Snarf flung himself off the weasel's shoulders, barreling toward Lion-O, ignoring the pains in his legs and bruises.
"Go! Go! I told you to run!" Now that Snarf was with him Lion-O obeyed, ignoring the snarls of the male weasel.
The woman blocked them, lithe and lean. She smiled again and Snarf was the one howling when she kicked him in the face. The impact sent him flying back, into the dirt, and his bruises seemed to explode all over again in a new pulse of pain. Lion-O stopped, speechless.
"Snarf! You mean lady!" To Snarf's horror Lion-O doubled back and jumped on the woman's shoulders, hissing and biting at her ears. She screeched, bowing in a quick motion, hurling Lion-O over her head. But the cub held on grimly, and it was not until the other weasel had recovered enough to hurry over and pry him off that she could free herself. Snarf got to his feet, squealing fit to raise the dead. The woman spotted him and pounced, grabbing his head in one paw and all but smothering him.
"Snarf! Let him go you-!"
Lion-O was silenced and Snarf's fury was replaced with terror. The street was deserted but for them, and if nobody had heard him screaming, there was no telling what these freaks would do.
"Well. More trouble than I was expecting." The male had a scratchy voice, and his eyes were a dark green. Lion-O squirmed in his grip, trying to bite the paw that covered his mouth again, and Snarf was hot and angry all over again, clawing at the woman's arm. Blood followed his claws, but even though she flinched and was steadily looking more and more like a scratching post, she tightened her grip.
"But not more trouble than they're worth. The cloak looks like fine cloth. And cat's been scarce since the guards started getting agitated about Atrox's death. No idea what this thing is, but extra meat is always welcome in the market."
"Black market. Whatever that is won't be acceptable in Thundera's saintly, law-abiding stalls. But I know a few wolves from the laboring sector who'd pay through the nose for fresh cat meat, if we can ship it outside the walls." Snarf stopped struggling and stared. Lion-O's eyes were huge over the gritty paw.
…No way. They wouldn't. A Snarf, okay. Everybody treats Snarfs like trash. But…a kid? A cub? Lion-O?
Revulsion – pure hatred – choked him, and Snarf dragged his claws as deeply into the flesh of the woman's arm as he could, ripping through a vein. Surprised – he'd been slack with shock – she yelped, letting go of him. Snarf tumbled to the ground and bawled as loud as his tiny lungs would let him as he lunged for the male weasel, clawing with the intent of cutting up as much flesh as he could.
But the weasel made a sound in his throat, a sort of, "Huck!" noise, and his arms released Lion-O. The cub hit the ground and he sat there, too stunned and scared to move. Snarf backed up hastily to yank at his sleeve, but at the sight of what was behind the weasel, he too froze.
It was tall and broad and wearing loose, dark clothing that covered every part of him, even his paws. A wooden mask concealed his face; it was smooth and carved to fit over the figure's long snout. The weasel crumpled before him, and though Lion-O hopefully didn't know it, Snarf sensed he was stone dead. The man glanced down at Lion-O, and his eyes were beady and dark from behind the eyeholes of the mask. The bottom of the mask was bloody, and Snarf realized with a sick lurch in his stomach that the figure had bitten the weasel in the neck and broken it between his jaws and sharp teeth.
He smelled weird. Unlike anything Snarf had ever smelled before.
The female weasel gasped and turned to flee. The man slung himself after her in a peculiar, rocking gait, faster than Snarf would have expected from such a heavily-muscled being. He made to grab her but she kicked out, striking him in the mouth. He snarled and snapped at her, and Snarf smelled blood when his teeth ripped her flesh. She screamed in pain and he let go when she swung her other leg up to kick him again, and Snarf saw black, curving claws from under his gloves. Watching her flee, the man hissed like kettle as he nursed his jaw.
"Are you hurt?" It was a shock to hear him speak. His voice was low, pleasant, and had a faintly foreign lilt, as if Thunderan were not his first language. It was like smoke and some kind of dark candy. His jaw flashed beneath the mask.
"No…you got them before they hurt me." Lion-O looked at Snarf, who stood as if he had been electrified. "Are you okay, Snarf?"
"Yeah. Fine." The figure paced heavily back toward them, and Snarf took in the muscular body with apprehension. His arms were thick and his feet wide, and that peculiar scent of his was driving Snarf crazy. He couldn't identify it.
Nor could he identify any hidden malice. Whoever this person was, he was not like those weasels. "That is good. Where were you going?"
Lion-O paused, and peered up at the man from under his hood. "…I think I can trust you," he said soberly. "I was going to the wall around the palace. I, uh, live by it." Truth, technically. The man laughed, and it was rich and a little ironic.
"You are a bit of a way from it. What were you doing out?" Lion-O shuffled his feet and glanced at Snarf. "Ah. Following a Snarf. Dangerous. Imps of adventure will lead you into all sorts of trouble."
Snarf's ears perked up. Did this guy know about Snarfs? If he did, could he help him find Mama? "Can you understand me?" he asked hopefully. The man looked down at him.
"I presume he is trying to speak to me. I apologize little creature, but I do not have the purity necessary to understand your speech. It has been a long time since I had such love in my heart." In spite of this disappointment, Snarf was strangely pleased; the man talked to him like a person. "I take it this cub understands you?"
Lion-O nodded. With some interest the figure knelt and looked at Lion-O's face. "That is rare. Even children do…not…"
The friendliness abated. The dark eyes were suddenly black, and he straightened, taking a few steps back. "You are a lion?"
Lion-O looked at Snarf who uneasily edged toward him. "Well…yeah."
"Lions are of royal blood. There are only two male lions in this city."
There was tenseness to his body now, and Snarf hissed softly.
"You say you live by the palace wall. Do you mean within it?" Lion-O had started to shake, and he took a step back. The being followed him, and Snarf – knowing it was foolhardy – snarled up at the muscular, angry figure.
"You back off! I don't know what your problem is, but I'll be darned if I'm gonna let you hurt Lion-O!" The figure stopped, examining him as he spoke. The blackness in his eyes faded a little back to a deep brown.
"It defends you. You must be very loving." The voice was quiet again, and again brought to mind dark candy. As if he were uncertain of something the man sighed through his nostrils and glanced upwards, scratching one arm. "Why me? I cannot be discovered…"
Lion-O huddled by an empty stall, staring at his rescuer with appraising eyes. "Are you…are you gonna kill me?" he whispered. "Because if you are, leave Snarf alone, please. He's gotta find his mommy."
The plea struck Snarf in the heart. His eyes felt wet; Snarfs do not cry very often, but when they do the sound is said to bring physical pain to the hearer. It was an old story, and right then he didn't care if it were true or not. His muscles grew taut and he yowled more fiercely.
But if the man had been uncertain before, he was tender now. "Bah…I will not kill you. You have put me in a predicament, I grant you. But I am not like those vermin; I will not kill a child." He snorted at the weasel still crumpled in the street. "Come. I will show you the way back. But you must be quiet, and if anyone speaks to you in the street, do not answer."
Lion-O looked at the proffered paw hesitantly. Glancing at the weasel, he asked, "Is he…dead?"
"I had no choice but to kill him. He would have killed you both and sold the meat in the most sordid of markets that even the guards fear to tread. It was attack or let him murder you." Lion-O shivered.
"He was a bad guy." Even so, pity made Lion-O bury his mouth in his cloak, looking like some form of turtle for a moment. "What about the lady? Why'd you let her run away?"
Snarf did not know what to do. The man seemed friendly again, but who knew if he would become angry once more? If Lion-O took his paw, this person could drag him anywhere as powerful as he was. But there was a sense of trust around him – not so great as there was around Lion-O, but it was not so different. Even if he had just seemed so frightening…
"I cannot run fast for long. But she will not get far. My bite will see to that. Only the finest physicians in the world could save her now, and she has no means to get to one." Lion-O looked confused, staring up at the black, curled claws, longer than his middle finger. "My bite is very dangerous," the man explained at last, gently. "My teeth are filthy by nature, and to be bitten by one of my kind is a certain death by infection." He sighed. "Not to mention it will soon be evident that I am within the city…"
"What…what are you?" The figure did not reply, merely holding out his paw again. Other than the curled claws, there was nothing poking from the gloves that either Lion-O or Snarf could see.
Finally, he said, "I am the only person who can see you home safely, Prince Lion-O. I guarantee you will find no others in this place kindly to your plight." Lion-O looked around as if to check if he was correct, but returned his gaze to the man.
"Jaga says I shouldn't talk to strangers." He sounded uncertain.
"You have been talking to one for the past several minutes." The person looked around and said, "I have no interest in harming you. Does the beast trust me?"
Snarf meowed his opinion and Lion-O voiced it. "He thinks you're nice, but he doesn't know for sure. How'd you know my name?"
"Very little in life is certain. And as I said, there are only two male lions in the city. The king is one and his son is the other. Since you are a cub, I am to assume you are the son." There was no hint of mockery in the voice, and Lion-O grinned.
"You talk kind of like Jaga." He put his paw in the man's, and Snarf watched the claws tuck carefully around the soft paw. "You know my name. What's yours?"
The man tilted his head and Snarf stepped close to Lion-O's feet. The scent was driving him mad, and he simply hadn't ever smelled a cat like this. "That is my business I am afraid. Come. I must take you to my abode. I can take you home from there by a route I know well. But I will offer you my word that no harm will come to you or Snarf, as you call him."
Snarf's heart hammered as he followed the slow, swaying gait of the stranger. He sensed no lies, but the mark of a good liar was to seem as if he spoke truth. He would watch this person, and the killing teeth he claimed he had. And if he tried to hurt Lion-O, Snarf would fight tooth and claw. And then he realized what a grievous error he'd made.
…He'd known the kid a week and he was attached to him. Curse his Snarf-y nature.
"Is this where you live? Is that a chair? It's carved funny. Why are the windows boarded up? This rug is pretty; did you make it?"
Lion-O's shy fear had abated, and Snarf sighed and covered his eyes with a paw; when excited, Lion-O babbled nonstop. It was sort of adorable, but it seemed to make the figure uneasy. He was likely not used to such chatter, for the room smelled lonely and dirty. No others lived here.
It was a small building he had brought them to, attached to an old, fancy building. It had probably been home to a household's indentured servants once before the nobles moved away and let it fall into disrepair. It had two floors but was thick and run down, the bricks strong and tarnished. As Lion-O had observed, the windows were clumsily boarded and the whole place just seemed dark and uncomfortable. If there had been light and blankets it might have been cozy. The door had creaked when it opened, and Snarf was disconcerted to note that the man locked it after them.
"No, the rug was here when I arrived. Yes, that is a chair. I carved it. And the windows are boarded to keep people out. They do not know I live here, a fact which I would appreciate remaining unchanged." Lion-O was looking over the chair, which was admittedly shaped for a large, tall person. The man watched him in curiosity, as if he had never seen a cub before, and Snarf dogged Lion-O's heels, sniffing everything in an attempt to identify the stranger. He had not removed his mask and his eyes were the only things Snarf could see in the absolute dark of the room. They were dark and glittered in the tiny holes.
Lion-O brushed against the man's side. "Are you gonna take your mask off?"
"No. I only entered my home so I could take you the safest route I know." He pointed toward the ramshackle steps in the corner. "We exit through a gap in the roof and I will carry you over the rooftops. It is how I get around this part of town."
"Wow. Why don't you just walk everywhere? That'd be easier." Lion-O was still looking at the mask, peering under it and holding on to the stranger's claws.
"It is not in my best interests to be seen." Snarf didn't like that Lion-O so trustingly held the cloth-covered paw of this stranger, and he nudged insistently at Lion-O's calf. The claws scared him. "Come, up the stairs. Be careful of splinters."
Lion-O hopped up the stairs, occasionally scrambling on all fours when he started to trip. The stranger watched with amusement, permitting Snarf to climb up after the cub. Snarf's legs ached as he bounded, but the prospect of getting back to palace – which was safe if nothing else – made him move faster. "What can I call you? Since you don't want to tell me your name," Lion-O said, waiting at the top of the stairs for him.
The person sighed through his nose. "You never cease questioning, do you?"
"Jaga says the same thing. So…?"
The second floor was as barren as the first, and there were no windows here either. Only a spot in the ceiling that looked like it had a thin, thatched covering over it. The man was tall enough to slide it aside and open the way to the stars and night. "You do not need to call me anything. After I take you home, I daresay we will not meet again." He knelt and flicked his head, gesturing for Lion-O and Snarf to get on his back. "Hold tight to my shoulders and I will take you over the roofs."
Lion-O clambered carefully onto his back but stopped and hopped off. "Your skin is so weird! Are you sick?"
"That's rude!" Snarf hissed; he didn't want to make the man angry.
"No. That is simply how my skin is." He seemed patient, but there was something very cautious about his tone now.
"Don't you have any fur?" Lion-O asked, peering up at the mask as Snarf tried to get him to stop asking questions by tugging on his paw.
"No."
"So you're bald?"
Snarf groaned, but the man laughed. "You might say that."
Lion-O lowered his gaze to the man's paw, observing the curled black claws. "I've never seen a cat with such long claws. And you smell different from a cat."
The laugh was cut short. "That is enough questions. Come, on my back." Lion-O meekly returned to the man's back and Snarf perched atop one of the man's shoulders. They felt almost pebbly under his toes and the black fabric.
And then they were up through the hole and standing atop the roof, the wide feet – covered by cloth except for claws that matched those on the man's paws – finding purchase and beginning to run. This roof was uneven and poor, making it easy for the claws to dig in and push forward. "Wow!" Lion-O said, lowering his voice just in time. "It's like flying!"
Snarf just clung to the man's shoulder and tried not to scream when he cleared a gap between the roof of one house and the rather nicer one of another, lunging over the space between them. "Be very quiet. I do not want anyone to know of us."
He darted along in silence, and Snarf noticed that he ran with a gait that made little noise. Buildings and windows sped by, lights from lanterns and clotheslines. It was a swift change into the affluent apartments; there was clean brick and finer curtains, and the roofs were harder to run on, slick and made of shingles. There were a few people in the streets below, but none of them looked up, and they traveled in secrecy.
The man never stopped. The palace wall loomed sharply before them and Snarf nearly screeched when he leapt from one building straight to the ground before it. But he landed well, claws clicking a little. "The guards will not come here. It is too far from the entrances." He breathed hard from his run, and knelt so Lion-O could climb down.
"Are you okay? Did you run too much?" he asked. Snarf squirmed; he could see the canal. It was right there, water bubbling as if greeting them. Why did Lion-O have to have an even Snarfier nature than he?
"I ran too fast. Not too much. And it is cold, which makes me tired." The man sighed, still crouching. Snarf thought it a very mild night, but the man exhaled on his shaking paws. "Can you get back inside now?"
Lion-O didn't answer. He was squinting at the bottom of the mask. Then, without asking, he lifted his paw and brushed his fingers over the man's chin. He flinched and the man hissed – not a cat hiss.
It sounded draconic, like steam. The bottom of Snarf's stomach seemed to drop out.
This close and in the moonlight, it was obvious that this was no cat. The shadows of the slums had concealed him, but now Snarf could see his lower jaw cast into sharp relief. It looked…scaly.
Lizard. Some kind of lizard. He wanted to yowl but his throat closed in terror. Everyone knew the stories about lizards, even Snarfs living in the alleyways. The cats warred with them, and they were all barbarians. Whether that sentiment was simply propaganda or not, Snarf knew that any lizard in Thundera that was not chained to a wall or in a prison cell was dangerous.
Lion-O gazed at the man who was still crouched in the street and then looked down at the claws. In response the clawed paws twitched, as if debating on whether or not to slice into the cub to keep him from screaming. But Lion-O showed no sign of disgust or panic. "You're a lizard?" Innocent curiosity made the tense moment suddenly soften, and the man cocked his head.
"Yes." Lion-O reached up to touch his chin again and Snarf saw an artery in the lizard's neck throb. It was a soft motion, and so was the little tug to remove the wooden mask.
Beneath it the lizard did look like the common picture of a dragon. He had a snout of medium length, flared nostrils and sharp teeth when he opened his mouth in surprise. His eyes were dark, and unlike a cat's eye, they did not have whites but rather blackness. Snarf now understood why his eyes had seemed so small and dark; from behind the mask he hadn't been able to see anything but his irises.
"I've never met a lizard before." Lion-O's matter-of-fact tone was once more a balm to the terror. "You look like the dragon in my storybook."
The man eyed him, and Snarf was suddenly scared of his claws again. This guy had broken the neck of a full-grown weasel; it would be so easy for him to do the same to Lion-O, tiny and helpless as they both were. There was no way he'd let them live now, not when they knew what he was, would he? A lizard running free rampant in the city?
The lizard sighed out his nose. "Of all the people on Third Earth, why did the Maker of All decide I had to find you? I have no time for this…"
Lion-O had no reply to this statement, letting his palm touch the tip of the lizard's nose. "Wow. It's all bumpy and scaly. Does your skin ever itch?" he asked.
"Little prince, I do not think you understand. I am a lizard. Has not the king told you stories of horror about lizards?" Lion-O shrugged.
"Nope. He tells them to Tygra sometimes for history lessons. He doesn't tell me stories, though. He's always busy when I go to bed." He tilted his head. "How come your nose is so long? Does it help you smell better? And do you ever get itchy?"
The lizard was vexed, obviously. "Well, it…I do not know how well cats smell, so I have no idea if my senses are keener. And of course I itch sometimes, everyone does. But you…agh." He buried his face in one clawed paw after looking around to make absolutely certain that there were no guards. The walls were so great – not to mention generally unassailable – that there would not be someone along for a while, Snarf knew. But that didn't mean that some peasant or noble out at night couldn't see them. "Look. I cannot be discovered, Prince Lion-O. You have put me in a very hard place. By all rights I should not let you return home. I am here for an important reason, and if you tell anyone of me, or where I live…"
Lion-O stopped examining his nose and instead glanced at the wall. "What are you doing in Thundera? You're not doing anything bad, are you?"
"That depends on your definitions of 'bad.' And I cannot tell you. But neither can I kill you. I would be the lowest scum to kill a child, and I should not like to see what judgment awaits the soul who commits such a deed." He sighed violently. "Swear to me that you will not speak of me to anyone and I will leave. Return to your home and forget you ever saw me. If all goes well I will be out of Thundera within two months."
Lion-O looked at Snarf. "What do you think, Snarf?"
The kid wanted his opinion? Snarf's tail flicked uneasily. "I don't think he's lying. I don't smell a lie on him. But I just want to get inside where it's safe. Just say you'll do it and forget it."
Lion-O frowned. "But…can I tell Jaga when he comes back?"
"No, "Snarf began to say, but the lizard beat him to it, snarling.
"No! You must not speak of me to anyone!" His claws clenched Lion-O's arms, and for the first time fear entered Lion-O's eyes.
"Wh-What'll you do?"
Snarf stared at the lizard's face; could he claw through that tough flesh? Could he reach the dark eyes or sensitive, twitching nostrils with enough cuts to distract him so Lion-O could find a guard? Heck, could a rookie guard stop this thing? He was big, and he had killing teeth if he could be believed. But at the scared way Lion-O quivered – an awful, tiny shaking of his shoulders and lower lip – the black eyes slowly melted.
"…Please." The claws were suddenly tender, and Snarf was weirdly reminded of Mama licking his face when he was frightened as the lizard released Lion-O's right shoulder to touch his mane. "I am not here to harm anyone. My particular kind of lizard has less hostility to the feline kingdom than you might think. But I have something important to do, and the only people who will be harmed are those who have hurt the innocent. I would not lie – my word is my bond. The imp knows I speak no lie. But you must tell no one of me. Even this Jaga you speak of."
"But I can't lie to him," Lion-O protested softly. "Jaga's my friend. He's like my grandpa."
"Then do not lie to him; simply do not speak of me. Forget me." The lizard stood up and began to back away. "Please. It is for innocent lives I ask, not my own. Go home." He paused. "How did you…? No, do not tell me. I do not want to know."
And then he was gone, down the stairs leading to the street, and if Snarf listened intently he thought he could hear claws tick-ticking against the shingles of the roofs.
Lion-O stared after him. "Snarf?"
"Yeah?"
"…He was a good guy." He stated this, and Snarf tried to collect his thoughts.
"Okay. Well, let's not talk about him. We need to get inside and sneak back into your room. We'll be in tons of trouble if we get caught."
The idea of getting chewed out was positively hilarious when he thought of what could have happened to them. The fact that a lizard was apparently loose in Thundera didn't matter; they were alive and as soon as they got inside the wall, they were safe. He tugged at the hem of Lion-O's cloak. "C'mon. Before anyone sees."
"I wish I knew his name. He was…nice." Lion-O followed Snarf, sliding along the bank of the canal until he climbed into the hole in the wall and wriggled with a little difficulty through the squares of iron bars. Snarf followed him with more ease and they both made it into the courtyard, dripping wet. And Snarf immediately set about forgetting the lizard as best he could.
Getting back to the room proved to be easy and a haze. Snarf's energy was spent after his fight and repeated bursts of terror, so he was barely conscious when Lion-O picked him up and headed back to his room. Too tired to try climbing up the way he'd come, Lion-O encountered a guard and said that he'd gone to find Snarf who had fallen in the canal, which was basically true. Amazingly, Snarf didn't think any of the guards would have noticed the waif of a cub if he hadn't opened his mouth. The guard had been confused, and was even more bewildered when he escorted the cub back to his room and the guard there had no idea the prince had left.
"The…the last one didn't mention that he was gone. I've been here an hour!"
Lion-O was sleepy and obviously unharmed – if peculiarly dirty and sopping – so neither of them wanted to question him. But somehow Snarf got the idea that they weren't going to be able to sneak out again very easily, as they two discussed in heated tones how to double the guard, and that if their oversight were discovered they were more likely to be hanged than fired.
Lion-O climbed into bed, holding Snarf as if he were a teddy – Doofle lay alone at the foot of the bed – and went to sleep immediately, Snarf doing the same.
His last thought of the night was simply, 'This kid's going to drive me crazy. Wait a little longer, Mama.'
Both slept peacefully until that morning, when the maid who came in screamed her head off. Snarf slowly sat up; they weren't that smelly, and they were dry now. But she merely pointed at Snarf's bed, taken up by the little gift he'd left and forgotten about, and shrieked again, sprinting back out of the room.
Lion-O peered over the edge of his bed at the chubby dead briar mouse Snarf had so thoughtfully caught. He and Snarf exchanged a look. "Well…I thought it was cool."
Snarf shook his head. "There's no pleasing some people."
1 – 'Osbert' was the original Snarf's real name. Figured I'd toss that in for kicks.
2 - The Nai featured in one of the Marvel ThunderCats comics years ago, I believe. They were a pacifist, ocean-dwelling race.
