The hisses of cicadas and twerps of songbirds carried softly through the morning air. Muarim had already been in Gallia for a little over a week, and his sleep cycle was adjusting to wake up earlier than he had. This particular morning he was collecting dried grasses to weave mats for the floor of his home. He could go and buy some, of course, but he was a practical laguz. He wouldn't bother spending money on something he could easily do himself.

As he combed through the thick brush searching for good lengths of grass, he heard a rustle. His ears perked to the sound, and he stood still. He took note of the scents in the air. He smelled a faint but distinct scent of cat.

"Lethe?"

A bolt of orange sprang out of the foliage and popped out in front of him. "I forget that you can smell and hear as well I can."

Muarim gathered the brush in his arms. "I need to. I don't know what you're planning to pull on me."

"Ha!" Lethe spat. "But it is true. I'm very cunning. I could be planning your demise by my claws right now." She looked at the dried grasses in Muarim's powerful arms, her eyes narrowed. "I hope you don't eat those."

Muarim was perplexed until he understood what she was talking about. "Oh, this. I'm gathering these to weave mats for my house."

"Why?" She asked in a domineering tone.

"The floor is dusty. It flies everywhere when I land there. I'm not very partial to dust."

"Well, it's stupid to waste time making them, if you need them so much. You can buy them in the marketplace."

"I don't want to spend money on something I can make myself. Besides that, I trust my own craftsmanship over that of a random merchant."

"Who cares? They're just mats!" Lethe looked incredulous.

Muarim looked her in the eye. "Would you hire a mercenary team to fight your battles for you?"

"Of course not."

"Well, same principle."

"That's not the same at all! Mats and battles are very different things."

"Mmm. That is so, but I still prefer to make my own." He sat beneath the shade of a creeping oak tree and began to weave. Lethe ascended the tree and rested on a branch above, arms hanging down, her tail end twitching. She watched carefully as Muarim deftly moved his fingers to-and-fro between the dry blades. He worked with such speed and precision that she was alarmed.

"How do you do that?"

"I've had a lot of practice," he answered dryly.

Lethe's observation lasted for half an hour before she became impatient.

"I'm bored."

"Mmm."

She dangled a hand in his face. "Quit wasting your time. There's a lot left I can show you in Gallia."

"That's ok, Lethe. I'm fine working the rest of the day."

Lethe became irritated. "You just arrive here and you spend the whole day playing with grass? What are you, a tiger or a cow?"

"You have no obligation to keep tabs on me, you know."

It was merely a matter of semantics, but it was the wrong thing to say. Lethe boiled.

"I spend my days trying to bring you into Gallian society, and you have the gall to tell me I'm unneeded!" She ranted with intensity, her claws digging deeply into the bark of the branch. "Ungrateful!" She vaulted from the tree and began to speed away, turning into her streamlined feline form.

"Lethe!" Muarim set down his weaving and bounded after her, his body giving way into the great gracefulness of a musclebound tiger, his coat as green as any emerald.

His long, powerful legs covered great distance, but Lethe's cat body was agile and quick. She easily dodged any obstacles in her way. No matter how many times he called her, she ignored him and continued to run. Muarim was frustrated. Why did she have to be so headstrong and irritable?

Suddenly, Lethe heard the sound of a deafening roar. Surprised, she stopped dead in her tracks. When she turned her head, she saw Muarim's giant, stately figure. Bold, bright stripes adorned his fur like a carefully painted bead. His mighty paws gripped the ground, and his tail flickered in agitation. Then, as if nothing had happened, he reverted form.

Lethe followed suit. Her boil of rage had been broken, and it started to simmer down.

Muarim cleared his throat. "Lethe. I'm sorry if what I said was offensive. I didn't mean that I don't appreciate what you're doing for me. You have helped me a lot, and I do appreciate it. I just wondered if maybe I was being a burden on you."

Lethe said nothing, a scowl upon her creamy face, arms folded.

"If you're still interested in showing me, I would like to see something new."

"Grr...fine. I'll show you the outer limits of the forest. But you better be ready to climb. There's a lot of climbing involved."

Muarim smiled. "I have no objections. I like a good climb."

His smile caught Lethe off guard. She felt a very queer feeling, as if she were suddenly very nervous. She shook her head, and it left.

"It's this way. You better keep up."

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Lethe didn't lie. There was a lot of climbing. And it was difficult work. Compared to Muarim, Lethe was tiny. She could slide between openings in branches he couldn't. Her skill and speed astounded him. She practically danced branch to bough, her tail and bells flitting behind. He had to push himself to keep up.

They were soon high in the canopies of the great trees. It was here that Lethe stopped and perched in the crook of the plant.

"This is the best place to catch tasty things. The fattest and biggest squirrels live here because they have nobody to disturb them."

She stayed perfectly still for a moment, her eyes keenly fixed on a point Muarim couldn't determine. Then, with a strike that rivaled the speed of a swordmaster, Lethe's claws shot out and grasped a large brown squirrel. With a quick flick of the wrist, it was dead, neck cracked in two. She tied her prize to her belt.

"This will make a good snack later," she chortled. "There's plenty to be found here. Let's split up and see what we can catch."

"I'll give it a try. I'm not as nimble as you are, though, so no guarantees." Muarim steadied himself on the branch and climbed to another tree. He sat there, patiently, scanning limbs for any sign of movement. Lethe bounded off to other trees farther away.

A few times he came close to claiming the life of the little furry creatures, but it seemed his hands were more suited for crushing than catching. Finally, he managed to get one of the rodents in his grips. It was a small thing, but still worth keeping. He was getting very absorbed in the game when he heard a yowl.

Alarmed, he scrambled to where to sound was uttered. Lethe was crumpled over in the crook of a tree, clutching her right paw. Blood was dripping down the sides of her leather gauntlet, and she hissed with pain. A large steel hook was looped through her hand. Shaking, she tried to pull the enclosed metal from her flesh.

"Don't do that! You'll hurt yourself!" Muarim grabbed her slender, bloodied arm in his massive hand.

Lethe hissed in pain. "Let go of me!" Her left hand struck out, claws raking into his cheek. Three thin red lines grew where her claws had touched him. Muarim didn't flinch. He grabbed her other arm, unyielding to her scrabbling.

"Lethe, you have to calm down. I can't help you if you keep trying to hit me."

With a growl, she let down her struggle, still trembling with energy. His still, steady hand held her arm aloft. A claw on his other hand sliced through the leather glove, rending it in two pieces. With deft fingers, he bent the barb off of the hook, casting it away. Gently, he loosened the metal from her flesh, slipping it out the way it came in. He unraveled a strip of black cloth from around his arm, wiping the blood from her skin. He then wrapped the wound tightly, tying the makeshift bandage in place. He let her arm free from his grasp, and Lethe drew it near to her, examining and cradling the pained appendage.

"If you would have just ripped the hook out, you could have caused a lot of damage to your hand, muscles and all. It was pretty deeply set. Where did the hook come from? I've never seen one so sharp."

"Wretched trappers." Lethe grumbled. "Laguz too lazy to catch their own meat, resorting to beorc methods." Her eyes met Muarim's. Blood was rolling down his cheek from the wild scratch she had given him.

"You're bleeding."

Muarim instinctively moved his hand to his wound, then noticed the dark liquid that had rubbed off. "So I am."

Lethe leaned towards him on her good hand, and pulled a cloth from her scabbard where her dagger was wrapped. She touched it to his face, beneath his glowing amber eye. "It's my fault. I...shouldn't have lashed out like that." Her voice became soft.

"Don't worry about it. It's barely a scratch."

Neither of them had noticed how close they were, sitting side by side in the craggy brown tree. Lethe blotted the last of the blood from his face.

He smiled.

And he noticed that she was smiling back. And it wasn't a smile of sarcasm, or grin of malicious intent, but a content, peaceful smile. It was almost as if Lethe had been inverted. She looked so happy...

Abruptly, the moment ended. Their eyes shied away from each other, as if it had been chance that their gazes had met before.

"It's getting late. We should probably go back." Lethe's tone of voice was terribly flat, and almost dreary.

Muarim nodded in agreement. "Your hand, is it..."

"It will be fine. It pains me, but not more than a laguz can bear."

By the time they returned to the path where they usually met, the moon had begun to shine its milky rays on the cool of the forest. They said their goodbyes, and Lethe turned to the way she needed to travel to go to her own resting place. She was walking when she heard Muarim.

"Lethe?"

She turned. "Yes?"

"If you aren't busy tomorrow...I would appreciate your help in finding me some things in the marketplace."

The tease of a smile emerged on her lips. "No, I'm not busy. Let's meet here midmorn. Don't sleep in, or else."

"Good night, then."

"Good night."

When Muarim returned to his dwelling, his chest was pounding, recalling the dizzying line of events that had occurred during the day.

Lethe.

That fiery spritz of a cat, all flame and bold ambition. Stormy and strong, irate and irritable, her smooth, slender figure clad in greens and gold. Her whip of a tail cracking the air. The slide of her claws against the earth. And her savage violet eyes...

He realized how fond he was of this Lethe. And yet, he had seen another Lethe tonight, and she teased his curiosity without mercy. Was it possible for fire and flame and ember to be gentle? Or was it merely a creation of his mind? He himself was confused at the boldness which had bade him to see her again the next day. His mind still a maelstrom of confusion, he finally drifted into a deep cadence of slumber.