Fall Of The Empire
Rating: T (for now.)
Disclaimer: I don't own this. If I did, the second season would have been out already, and I would be all over that like white on rice.
Author's Notes: I tried to make her speech impediment a lot more bearable. Also, things are longer, more events are explained, the whole spiel. Enjoy!
Please Note: You might read something in this chapter that may have you roll your eyes an leave a flame, a critique, a message - I dunno. Anything. Please understand that everything I've done is for a reason. Trust me on this, okay? Stick with it.
It will make sense.
Warnings: None. Her speech impediment ends this chapter, and I promise you she'll be much less painful to read next chapter. But if you woke up and had a hard time speaking and couldn't remember anything, you'd probably find yourself approaching the situation the same way.
Even in sleep, the pain the fire continued to wrack her body.
She stood there and she cried, wanting to escape from her nightmare. Golden-eyed demons held her in place, their hands burning shackles on her bare skin. They made her watch as more of their kind hunted down and killed shadowy images of herself. The demons laughed as she cried, watching helplessly as they painted the walls and floor red.
Please, no more.
She closed her eyes, wishing it would disappear. It was just a nightmare. She just had to wake up.
Fiery hands pawed at her, charring her arms and legs where they touched her. She fought, trying to break free of their hold — and finally succeeded. Her body lacked the strength to support itself, and she pitched forward, collapsing onto her knees.
She hit soft, pliable grass. Shadows danced on her skin, tracing the outlines of the demon's fiery hands. A gentle warmth washed over her, and she gave a low moan. Any amount of heat was unwanted. Using the last of her strength, she flipped herself over and laid on her back, gazing up.
She couldn't make out anything solid, except for distinct changes in light. Sighing, she closed her eyes as a pleasantly cold breeze washed over her, chasing away some of the heat.
She was roused from the depths of her misery as she felt a gentle pressure brush against her forehead. She flinched away from the contact, desiring nothing more than to rest in the darkness. The touch, however, refused to let her escape so easily, and it brushed against her skin again.
She opened her eyes, readying to tell anyone who was touching her — fire demons included — to please, please, just let her rest — and she blinked in surprise when the world came into focus. Muted sunshine filtered down through the canopy of a large, leafy tree, and another cool wind blew, rustling the leaves soothingly.
That feels so good, she thought, sighing as the wind chased away some of the fever.
A shadow fell over her, and she turned her attention to a new figure. A hand lifted and settled, sharp claws careful not to scratch her as he brushed matted hair away from her forehead. Happiness bubbled inside of her as she looked at a mane of shocking red hair. It fell in spiky strands around his face, lending him a slightly youthful, boyish look.
His lips quirked into a small smile.
At the sight of it, tears welled in her eyes, and she felt them dropping, sliding down the corners of her face. Inside of her, her happiness twisted, turning horribly bittersweet on her tongue.
I've been wanting this moment. . . For so long. You have no idea how much I've fought to get back to you.
She opened her mouth, wanting to tell him just that, but her voice was silent. She tried again, but, once more, nothing left her.
He brushed her tears from her eyes, and more than anything, she ached to wrap herself around him, hold him tightly, and sob for all she was worth.
He spoke.
And she understood him. . . and then she didn't. Her mind tried to grasp his words, what they meant, but it all slipped through her understanding. She tried harder, forcing her mind to concentrate — and the world around her jolted.
She felt herself falling, body sinking into the grass below her.
Don't leave me! Not yet!
Don't go!
She tried to cry out, to lift a hand up and grab onto him, but her body refused to move. It felt as though hefty weights had arranged themselves over every part of her body. Underneath her, the grass finally broke, sending her plunging into the dark.
She stared up into the sun-lit hole, a splash of red watching her fall down, down, down. She wanted to go back. It was her only wish. What she desired above all else.
The blackness swallowed up that bright spot of light, and then she was alone again, feverish and hot.
Awareness crept into her body in degrees. She regained the sense of sound first, and she heard the quiet crackling of a fire. Touch was the second sense to slowly filter its' way back. Underneath her, she felt the surfaces of something soft and cottony — a cot, if she had to guess. A few minutes passed as her body adjusted, and finally, she was able to crack open her eyes.
Flickering firelight bounced on the walls around her, and she gave a low groan as she tried to duck away from it, loathing the addition of more heat. Her body already felt like a hotbed of coals.
Footsteps approached, and she craned her neck to see a shadowy blob approaching her. A moment later, and something wet and cold was laid on her forehead, and she shivered in relief. The person hovered over her, but she couldn't make out their features.
He spoke, but she didn't understand him. His words were a garbled mess.
I don't understand. What are you saying?
He spoke again, but his voice was nothing more than a low hum.
Something glinted on his face, and she peered closer, trying to see under the veil of shadows. From the light of the fire, she could make out two golden eyes.
Icy horror flooded through her as her dream came rushing back to her. She had to get up, get away from him. He was going to burn her with his hands, and she expected to see a flash of silver at any second. She tried to move, but her body responded sluggishly, some parts refusing to budge at all.
Clawed hands rested on her arms, halting her attempts at escape. She gave a pained cry as heat rushed through her body, and pain lanced through her. She could taste the bitter, coppery taste of fear on her tongue, and it spurred her to try harder. She battled against him, fighting to throw off his hold.
"Sunda, it's alright. I'll take over from here." A soothing voice said calmly, tone low and gentle.
Words.
Words she could understand.
The golden-eyed demon stepped away, releasing her. She laid there, breathing heavily, as someone else approached. She tilted her head back to look at him, but her vision was heavily blurred. She couldn't make out anything about him. A gentle, calloused hand pressed against her shoulder, coaxing her back down onto the cot.
She tried to understand why her fear began to abate, but she couldn't. As soon as her back hit the cot, exhaustion swamped through her and chased away rational thought.
She tried to speak, wanting to communicate with the friendly shadow, but her tongue was thick in her mouth. It felt as though someone had shoved cotton down her throat. She got the impression that the person above her was smiling, and was proven right as she heard a chuckle a second later.
"You have a tenacious spirit, child. But now is not the time for contention. Sleep. We will care for you. You must rest, and regain your strength."
As if a spell had been woven over her, her eyelids grew heavy and slipped shut.
The darkness that wound over her was more like a blanket instead of being all-encompassing. She was awake, but she wasn't — she was stuck in a strange twilight of lucidness and sleep.
The pain began to leave her body, leeching out into the nothingness, and she was relieved for it. Time passed as she laid in the dark, and she turned her attention to the sounds around her, enjoying the puzzle it posed to figure out what they were saying. It took some time, but eventually the garbled sounds became comprehensible words.
"Light another torch." One said.
"More bandages." Said another.
"The fever has finally broken." Said the oldest.
As if his words were magic, the blistering heat that had been creeping through her body dissipated entirely. She reveled in the absence of it, and she could literally feel her strength returning as the fever disappeared. She forfeited herself to sleep, glad to finally be rid of the pain and the fever.
Eventually, her consciousness roused, and she felt a presence. It was different — someone she'd never encountered before. The hazy shadow of fear began to grow, but the oldest voice remained nearby, and for some reason, that reassured her.
The new presence had heavy footsteps, and his voice was much more gruff and commanding than any she'd heard. They exchanged words, but she couldn't make out their conversation. She tried harder, focusing intently, and a moment later, she began to understand them.
". . . no record of this species in our libraries, my king. . . Yet, her arrival troubles me. In her, I sense much turbulence — but under this veil. . . I sense a great power."
What? What great power?
She drew a blank. She had no recollection of this power.
"Jaga, is this creature a threat to Thundera?"
The old voice - Jaga - spoke again, but his words were pitched too quietly for her to hear. Curiosity piqued, she listened harder, wanting to know what they were speaking about. But their conference had grown hushed and quiet.
A moment later, and they were silent. The heavy footsteps began to walk away.
Jaga's light footfalls grew closer to her bedside, and she heard him chuckle.
"I can see you will be a handful. However, now is not the time to wake, child. Sleep."
A hand laid over her eyes, and her lucidness vanished in an instant.
She felt better. So, so much better.
She opened her eyes, blinking as she adjusted to the light. A stone ceiling stretched above her, woven through with symbols she didn't understand. She tilted her head, examining the room, and discovered it was made entirely of gray stone. Torches were set along the wall and jutted from the floor, casting a bright, cheery light to the room. She wanted to see more, to finally learn where and what she was.
Just her luck, she spotted a small, oval mirror propped up on the floor, a modest stand holding it up.
Her arms shook as she pushed herself upright, but she was pleased to find that the exhaustion in her muscles had vanished, and there was no agonizing pain.
She glanced down, and saw she was wearing a simple white gown that had ties on the side. Something to allow the garment to be removed easily, she guessed. She frowned as she idly picked at one of the ties, and turned her attention back to the room.
Strange runes had been carved into the walls, but what they meant, she didn't know. She had a strong notion they carried a weighted meaning, a hidden power of some kind, but she wasn't entirely sure. That same hunch told her that they were friendly, and not to be feared. . .
Amusement made her lips twist into a wry smile.
There she was, inside of a stone room used for rituals of some kind, laying on a cot, but she wasn't afraid.
Why?
Confusion nagged at her, and she bit the inside of her cheek, trying to get a grip. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, searching for the memories. Surely, they had to have some kind of clue.
She remembered stumbling through the streets, wracked with agony, and crying. She knew she'd been trying to recall her past, and at the same time, she'd been obeying some driving need inside of her. . .
But it was gone now.
All of it.
Icy fingers wrapped around her heart and twisted her stomach into knots. She couldn't remember anything. The mass of memories she'd been trying to reach were completely gone. They weren't in a swirling mist in her head, taunting her. They were. . . completely. . . gone.
Tears welled in her eyes, and a sob threatened to bubble up from her throat. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears before they could fall.
"It's quite alright, child. There is no need for you to cry."
She knew that old voice.
She scrubbed at her eyes and looked up. Jaga stood in the doorway to the room, a patient smile on his face.
He was a cat, she noticed. A very old, withered cat. He had a beard hanging from his face, and a walking stick held loosely in his hand. The clothes he wore were modest, but rang with hints of royalty. The longer she looked at him, the more she got the impression that he was much stronger than his appearances led her to believe.
"Whatever danger that plagued you is now gone. You are safe here. I am Jaga - I have been tending to you while you were asleep."
She looked up at him, trying to decipher what he was saying. She didn't even remember coming to the stone room. She just remembered the shadowy figure and golden eyes. . . Mentally, she shook her head. Going over the confusing memories would prove fruitless.
". . . safe here?" She echoed.
She jumped at the sound of her own voice. It was hoarse and raspy to the point of being nearly incomprehensible. She rubbed her throat, an ache already developing. I haven't spoken in a long while. She opened her mouth to speak again but no other words came to her. Like her memories, her speech had fled her.
She bit her lip, her eyes watering again.
Jaga, however, seemed more than pleased. He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she accepted it readily. If she couldn't be steady in the turmoil of the present moment, she'd let somebody else hold her together for a while.
"Yes, you are. Now, can you tell me what your name is? What you can remember?"
"Remember. . ."
She tried. She really did try.
But there was nothing.
She had no name, she had no memories. She only really recalled abruptly coming into her body as she walked through the streets, broken and bruised. Her eyes dropped to the floor, and her heart sank in her chest. Frustration coiled in her, tight and heavy, like a lead weight in her stomach. More tears misted in her eyes, and she resisted the urge to scrub at them.
God, how weak am I?
It took her completely by surprise when a soft handkerchief rubbed at one eye, and then the other. Jaga smiled serenely, tucking the small square of fabric into his robe before he addressed her again.
"There is nothing wrong with how you must be feeling. It's alright to cry - bottling your emotions inside you would prove disastrous. It would only be a matter of time before it turned bitter and poisonous. You must have a beautiful smile, child, it would be a shame not to see it."
She felt her face flush. Heat blossomed on her cheeks, and she quickly dropped her head, not wanting the cat to see her blush. Jaga gave a small laugh, and patted her shoulder.
"In any case, nothing worthwhile is give to a cat instantly. If it is important, it will come back in time. Now, get dressed, and I'll see about getting you something to eat and drink. You've been in this room for over five days now."
So long? It had felt like the blink of an eye.
Jaga shifted, producing a small bundle of fabric she hadn't noticed before, and placed it on her lap. It looked fairly standard - a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of pants, both of which were black in color. She unfolded the garments, studying them, and noticed Jaga began to walk to the archway.
"I'll be right at the end of the hallway. Take as long as you need."
Then he was gone, leaving her alone again.
Okay. Let's get dressed.
She regarded the small mirror in the room, and couldn't resist the idea of using it.
She peered down at the floor. The prospect of walking daunted her, but the chance to finally learn where she was was too much to pass up. Sliding her shaking body over the cot, she gently tested her feet on the floor. She was pleased to find the stone was warm, and now that her feet were healed up, it didn't hurt her in the slightest. She shifted her other foot on the floor and stood, praying she'd be able to hold up her weight. A slight tremor reverberated through her muscles, but she remained solid otherwise.
She walked slowly over to the mirror, and finally stood in front of it.
She was thin. A little too thin. Her bones stood out against her skin, and it didn't look pretty. It looked incredibly disgusting and unhealthy. She was glad to see that she was completely free of bandages, so she could see her bare skin. All of her was free of the filth she'd been covered in.
Pink scars wound up the entirety of her body, covering nearly every inch. She bit her lip, hating them all. Her hand shook as she stretched out and touched the mirror, unable to believe what she was seeing.
Her body was covered in war.
What. . . what about the rest of me?
Her hands were shaking so hard, she could barely get the ties undone. Impatiently, she cursed as she fumbled — but finally, finally, the covering dropped. She was wearing something resembling a bra and underwear, but for the very first time in her life, she got a good, long look at herself.
And she was horrified.
Cuts, slashes, and holes lined every part of her body. Jagged lines, neat and precises lines. . .
What the hell did I do? Some of these. . . I should have died.
It had to be a testament of her strength. . . right?
And that was when she noticed them. Thin, neat little lines. They marked the inside and outside of her thighs, and although she could only see about twenty or thirty of them collectively, she knew there were a lot more that were unaccounted for. She gripped the edge of the mirror for support, knowing exactly what those were.
A bitter smile tugged at her lips, and she struggled to suppress an equally bitter laugh.
No. Apparently I wasn't strong at all.
She stared at them, and the world around her faded as a still image lighted up her vision. Like a video, it resumed playing, as if waiting for her to notice it.
She held a knife in her hand, something used in war, she knew. It was well-treated, sharpened and cleaned on a daily basis — sometimes hourly, if she was bored. A finger traced the edge of it, pressing hard, and then drew away. A bead of blood welled in the shallow cut, and she watched as it trickled down her finger.
Satisfied, she rolled her leg over and pressed the—
"N-No!" She stuttered.
The sound of her voice brought her out of her memory, and she blinked, staring at herself in the mirror.
Was that. . . I was just. . .
She stared at herself, at her wide, shocked eyes, and her pale face.
No. No, I will not be that way again.
Angrily, she snatched up the clothing Jaga had given her and put it on, glad for the long sleeves and pants. They must have seen her scars — she was momentarily touched by their caring. The clothes fit her, something she was grateful for, and she was incredibly pleased to see that they covered every inch of the scars.
She looked at herself again, pleased with what she saw. Sky-blue eyes stared back at her, bright and clear. Long white hair fell in messy strands around her face, before ending at her waist. She brushed some it out of her face, irritated with it. She took a couple more moments to try and tame her hair, but gave up with an aggravated sigh.
Abandoning the task, she folded up the discarded white gown and placed it on the cot before she turned and left the room.
At her hands, her hands were shaking, and she'd be lying if she tried to say it was from excitement or anticipation.
Jaga, true to his word, was waiting for her at the end of the hallway. As she drew nearer, he didn't say anything about how long it had taken her to get ready. Once she drew even with him, he gestured for her to follow, and she fell into step beside him. He walked slowly, so she could keep up, something she was thankful for. She felt weak, and her muscles aching, as though she hadn't used them in a very long time.
They emerged from the hallway and entered another peppered with open archways leading into rooms just like the one she'd been occupying. Jaga guided her forward and led them both into an open space where more cats were gathered. She couldn't help but stare in wonder at them.
Some were dressed in white cloaks, and others were not. Some were locked in combat, swords and staffs and hands parrying off each other, others were running an obstacle course, and more still were bent over old scrolls and books. Some of the cats looked up at her, curiosity flashing through their eyes.
She felt uncomfortable with the attention. She bit the inside corner of her lip and continued walking behind Jaga. The air had a slightly stifling quality to it, tinged with suspicion.
"We are the clerics of Thundera," Jaga spoke, drawing her attention, "I take prospective cats into my fold and teach them to unlock their potential. We all serve King Claudus, the current Lord of Thundera — and the ThunderCats."
She paid attention, absolutely ravenous. None of it was ringing any bells, but she wanted more. He'd only whet her appetite for more information. I may not know anything about myself, but I can remember this.
I don't have to be that girl with the knife.
She decided in that moment. She'd make new memories to replace the lost ones. Jaga looked amused at her expression, and she wandered back into the present. Need to stop getting sidetracked.
"Later, child, I promise I will tell you more later. For now, let us get you something to eat."
Jaga steered her over to another long room, set aside for a mess hall. There, on a wooden table, laid a plate filled with food.
"Eat, and then we will continue to talk."
She nodded and sat down, and he left the room. For the briefest of moments, she was gripped by the fear of being alone, but she forcibly pushed it aside. Jaga said she was safe. So far, he had given her no reason to doubt him. She cast a weary eye to the archway, remembering the curious eyes that had stared at her, but shook her head and looked at the food.
She just had to be patient and eat, and then she'd be able to learn more from Jaga again.
When she took a bite, she found it was bland. It was kind of mushy and had a dull sweet flavor, so she guessed it to be some kind of fruit, maybe. Still, it was good, and as soon as she ate the first bit, her appetite came alive with a ferocious jolt. She began to inhale it — fruit, bland mush, she didn't care. It was delicious, whatever it was.
"Glad to see you have an appetite."
She looked to the entrance of the mess hall, and there, leaning against the doorway, stood another cat. He wasn't wearing one of the white cloaks, so she got to examine him. Lines and spots dotted his body, which was tawny in color, and a slightly spiky copper-colored mane brushed the tips of his pointed ears.
His eyes were warm, friendly, and golden, matching the rest of his coloration.
she briefly remembered the fiery demons and their golden eyes, and a flash of fear wove through her. Her heart skipped a beat.
She watched him intently as he separated from the door frame and invited himself to sit opposite of her. She stared at him cautiously, afraid of his intentions.
He leaned forward onto his elbows and looked at her, eyes crinkling at he smiled.
"I'm Sunda — one of the clerics here, in case you haven't guessed. Do you remember me?"
Her fear abated slowly as she listened to him. His tone was amiable, and everything about his body language told her that he bore no ill will towards her. Regardless, her curiosity was piqued. Did he know something about her?
She shook her head.
"Figured. You looked pretty bad when I first saw you. I was the one that found you in the streets. I was also one of the lead healers tending to you."
Oh. . . so you don't know anything about me, then.
Her expression dropped, and across from her, Sunda looked surprised.
"Hey, no need to look so glum about it. I'm not that bad of a hero, am I?"
She wasn't really sure how she should react to that. Luckily, he seemed to enjoy doing most of the talking, as he leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head and let loose an airy sigh.
"I guess I must be, if you can't even remember me saving you. So, anyway. What are you, exactly?"
She looked at him. She opened her mouth, but sound was still absent.
The silence stretched on, and Sunda cracked open his eyes and studied her.
". . . Do you know what you are?"
She struggled to find a way to communicate, and finally settled on giving him a shrug.
Sunda took a moment to absorb that, and then leaned forward, arms falling back on the tabletop.
"Can you not speak?"
She shook her head again.
"Well. You certainly look interesting, don't you."
She stole glances at the archway, discomfort and awkwardness rising. It was a terribly one-sided conversation, and she felt bad for it.
". . . I'm betting you're getting tired of sitting here listening to me jabber on, since you keep looking at the door. I'm guessing you want to find Jaga again, huh?"
She nodded her head with enthusiasm, desperately wanting to escape the conversation. Sunda seemed nice enough, but without speech skills, she thought it was unfair. She was worried he would feel insulted, but luckily, he laughed as he got to his feet.
"Come on, I'll take you to him. I just couldn't resist talking to you alone."
She eagerly followed suit, leaving a nearly-devoured plate of food behind. Sunda walked her through the cleric hall and towards a heavy wooden door. There, Jaga stood with another cat, speaking with him.
Upon noticing her and Sunda, he dismissed the cleric and turned to face them.
"Ah, I see you've met Sunda."
"More like I met her. . . She doesn't talk much."
Would if I could, she thought sourly.
"She will in time, Sunda. Patience is a virtue essential to the cleric's core values."
Sunda, she noticed, gained an entirely new stance. He straightened, and clasped an arm in front of his heart in a closed fist.
"I understand, Jaga."
Jaga nodded at Sunda, and then placed his hand on the small of her back and began to walk her to the wooden door.
"Come, there is something I wish to show you."
He pushed it open, and sunshine streamed in, nearly blinding her. She stepped out into the sun's rays into what appeared to be a garden — and nearly gasped at the sight of it. It was breathtaking. Beautiful, exotic flowers, shrubs, and trees were blossoming, scenting the air with a variety of perfumes.
"Thundera." She said, trying the word, rolling it off on her tongue.
She was eager to learn these words. She wanted to learn every word possible. Next to her, Jaga smiled.
"A small part of our city," He corrected, "These are the cleric's private gardens. Here, my clerics and I grow most herbs we need to make medicinal supplies. We have learned to harness magic — but sometimes, nature can heal a body much better than any spell can."
She reached out and touched the soft pink petals of some unknown flower, mulling over what Jaga was telling her.
He led her deeper into the garden, and she hastened to catch up to him, eyes flickering rapidly to take in the sights around her.
"The room you were in was designed to strengthen our magic, and your body's ability to heal itself."
Before them, a stone balcony stretched with a high railing. She picked up her pace and latched onto the balcony, hands resting on sun-warmed stone. Her eyes went wide at the sight that greeted her, and a view even more beautiful than the garden stretched in front of her.
"Thundera," Jaga said, "Houses many of the ThunderCats. There are a plethora of cities and species in Third Earth, but none have a city quite like ours."
The city below her was beyond words. It sprawled along, dotted with buildings and tents and huts and statues. Thundera was guarded by a cliffside, she discovered, and a sizable stone wall. Jaga joined her side a moment later, staring out at the city with a fondness she didn't quite understand. She looked beyond the cleric at a large rock temple, shaped like a ferocious cat sitting on its haunches, just waiting to spring up and attack any who threatened it.
"The palace," Jaga informed her, following her gaze, "There resides King Claudus, and the royal family. It will not be long before you are introduced to them. Come along now, back to the cleric hall. We've set up a room for you. You've only just awoken, it would be unwise to push yourself now. I just thought you might like a breath of fresh air."
She was incredibly reluctant to leave, as the sight of Thundera caused something to stir in her chest. A tickle started in the back of her mind, and she turned, grabbing the edge of Jaga's cloak. He turned around to look at her.
"Is something wrong?"
"ThunderCat." She said, the words a horrendous struggle to achieve.
He nodded.
"Hu. . . man." She said. More words, more speech came to her, "I am a human." Each word was pronounced carefully, and she willed herself to not stutter through them.
It was a victory. She grinned, unable to help herself, and Jagas eyes clouded in thought.
"I have never heard of this 'human' species before. . . a mystery for me to consult our libraries about tonight. Come along now."
She let him lead her away from the balcony and back to the cleric hall. She peeked over her shoulder at the vast city of Thundera, populated by the intriguing race of the ThunderCats, and allowed herself a small smile.
ThunderCats and humans. . . what other things will I learn about in this city?
Time passed remarkably quickly after that day.
Her routine rarely changed. Each day, she would wake up, eat, and then spend a vast majority of her time with Jaga, pouring over old textbooks and scrolls. He taught her vocabulary, and how to read Thunderian, and like a dry sponge, she just soaked it all into herself. It would take quite a while before she was fluent in writing their language, but she was determined to take up the challenge.
When she wasn't with Jaga, she was with Sunda. He had taken it upon himself to be her personal bodyguard, friend, and guide — and she really didn't mind. She would watch in wonder as he practiced spell casting, and was completely blown away with his sparring abilities. The clerics were all top-notch, she'd learned, and Jaga had worked long and hard to perfect them and make them a force to be reckoned with.
Sometimes, Sunda even allowed her to help him study. . . not that she was of much help. He'd laughed at her on the first day, crowing, "It's like a kitten trying to read one of our epics!"
She really didn't mind the jab. Sunda was friendly — safe. She readily clung to anything remotely amiable and kind to her, because she was terrified of being alone. Most of the other clerics seemed to have warmed to her presence, and she was even on sociable terms with a few of them, but the rest of the Cats regarded her with a hazy sort of caution.
She'd be lying if she said that it didn't bother her. She was so different than the Cats — than all of the other creatures she'd read about in Third Earth.
She was a human. . . and so far, she'd been the first of her kind in all of their recorded history.
Their too-long, open, examining stares and whispered words made her feel like an outcast. Like some kind of freak. Some days she wished she was a Cat, just so she didn't have to deal with being so different.
"Hey. You're looking at the wall." Sunda said, flicking a finger on her cheek.
She jumped slightly in shock. She;'d been so lost in her thoughts, her eyes had strayed far from the open book on the table.
If it's any consolation, she thought, at least Sunda doesn't look at me like I'm a freak.
She was seated beside the leopard, a small pile of books scattered around them. Sunda had taken a keen liking to her since the first day she'd appeared in Thundera, something she was eternally grateful for. He was something of an anchor for her to hold onto. . . Still, some days she wondered why he acted like there was nothing different about her.
But she was too afraid to ask, dreading that the answer might be because she was so different.
Her pleasant mood turned sour in a heartbeat, and she stared at the book before her idly, playing with the pages.
I can't remember my past, I have no idea how I got here, people think I'm a freak. . . and I have a speech impediment.
Lucky, lucky me.
Reading was easy. Speaking. . . speaking was difficult.
She had a tendency to repeat the words of others around her, and after consulting Jaga about her problem, he'd simply informed her that the issue lied within herself.
"Only you can overcome this barrier you've placed before you."
She honestly thought the old cat was lying to her, because she'd been trying so hard the past few days to overcome her speech problem. . .
"Wow. There must be something really interesting about that wall." Sunda said, dragging her back to the present.
She snapped herself out of her thoughts and looked at the cleric, an apologetic smile on her face. Sunda gave her an exasperated grin in return, golden eyes glittering in the sunlight.
"I thought you were helping me study."
". . . study." She agreed, and turned back to the books.
Sunda continued to stare at her, and she looked back at him, book forgotten on the table in front of her.
"You need a name," He announced, "We can't just say, 'hey, human!' all the time, you know."
A name?
. . . She hadn't even thought about a name.
"An excellent proposition, Sunda," Jaga said, voice appearing from behind her.
She turned, seeing the old cleric standing above the both of them.
"It seems, young human," he continued, "that you have been without a name for far too long. I have also come to inform you that you will be properly introduced to King Claudus tomorrow. One cannot go before a king without a name."
She was absolutely certain the color drained from her face.
Nervousness coiled in her gut. Oh. Oh dear.
She didn't have a name — couldn't remember one. "Human" had been her unofficial designation in her time there. . . and now she had to go before the king.
Sunda chuckled at the look on her face, and she shot him a small frown. Jaga gestured to the simple doors leading out to the gardens.
"Take some time, child, and think. Do not choose a name rashly."
She got to her feet, and Sunda followed suit. He donned his cloak, the garment quickly swallowing up his frame, and secured his headpiece a second after. He clipped the customary face mask in place as they walked — his outfit signified he was part of the elite group of clerics that guarded the king.
Sunda had told her that he'd worked for years to earn his place in the Guardians of the Crown, and he wouldn't give it up for anything in the world.
The leopard opened the door for her, and she stepped through into the gardens. Jaga had assigned several clerics to act as bodyguards and escorts for her, but Sunda was, by far, her favorite. She walked through shrubs decorated with flowers in various colors. She already felt overwhelmed enough as it was.
The task of picking out a name for herself? Of overcoming her speech hindrance? Of learning her past?
Of meeting the king?
Sunda trailed along behind her at a respectful distance, as though understanding she needed some space to think this through on her own. She trailed her hands over the petals of exotic flora, and allowed herself a small measure of peace. It's all a bit much to handle at once, isn't it?
She heard rustling, indicative of someone else being in the garden with her, and looked up, finding a large tree. Its' leaves rustled in the wind, and dying sunshine filtered through its canopy. . . and a shocking mane of red hair stood underneath it all.
He stared at her, and she stared back.
Her dream flashed through her mind, and she was gripped with a strong sense of familiarity. A bittersweet feeling made her heart ache, but she continued to readily study the ThunderCat before her. Absently, she wondered if a part of her was somehow prophetic. A red-haired ThunderCat was standing under a tree.
She wasn't laying on the grass, though, and he wasn't hovering over her, brushing her tears away. In fact, he looked quite surprised to see her. He drew closer,a puzzled smile on his face.
"Wow! A Wood Forger, in Thundera?" He exclaimed, blue eyes bright with curiosity. They were all the more striking as they were framed by spiky red hair.
"Human." She replied, recovering from her shock.
"You're a. . . human? That's. . . I've never heard of that before. And I've heard a lot of strange stuff." He sounded wistful as he said it, and she could tell there was more to his words that he let on.
"Strange stuff?" She echoed.
"Yeah, I've kind of got this hobby. . ."
She decided that she liked him in that moment. His face was bright, open, and inviting, and his demeanor seemed to be entirely amiable. . . And for once, somebody was looking at her like she was normal.
"Look, never mind about that. I'm Lion-O. You must be the person we're receiving tomorrow, right?" He asked.
She was confused, but Jaga's words came back to her.
He must be part of the royal family!
She was currently in the presence of a prince. She didn't know what to do — the honorary customs. Should she bow, or try to do anything to honor his title? She stood there, shell-shocked and worried that she'd just disrespected him. What should I do? Oh, god, I've messed this up, oh no. . .
A clawed hand stretched out to her, and she stared down at it. She blinked, confused and lost at the gesture.
"You. . . you shake it." He offered, sounding just as bemused as she felt.
"Shake it?"
"Uh, yeah. You know. . . handshake? Do Wood Forgers not shake hands?"
She stared blankly at him.
"Handshake?"
At this, puzzlement wrinkled over his face, "Is something wrong? You're just echoing everything I'm saying."
He dropped his arm back down to his side.
Her eyes widened, and she felt a chord strike within her. That word. It was perfect! She didn't consider herself poetic by any means, but it just fit. She grinned, suddenly giddy.
"Echo."
"Yeah, echo. Like when you train a crowot* to talk. It gets—"
"My name! My name is Echo!"
Lion-O looked at her, lost, but she. . . Echo was beside herself.
It fit her perfectly. Her strange speech impediment (that she'd get over, even if it killed her), and how her mind was hollow and empty. . . like an echo.
"That's a strange name."
The entirety of myself can be described as 'strange.'
Echo grinned at him, and lifted a hand and held it out in the air. Lion-O looked at her for a moment, as if trying to decipher her intentions, but a smile came to life on his face, and he stuck his hand into her own.
"I guess life's no fun unless you find strange things once in a while."
For the first time since she'd woken up, Echo finally felt as though she'd found her bearings.
*Crowot = crow + parrot.
Sunda is a sunda clouded leopard, just in case anyone's curious.