Weeks passed. The famous siege of Notre Dame ignighted when the people of Paris up against Frollo and his guards. The great cathedral stood in a sea unrest as the common man fought to protect the right of Sanctuary. Molten lead spewed from the gargoyle's mouths, lighting the night sky and smoldering the old oppression.
When the siege ended, Claude Frollo was no more. Both townspeople and gypsies alike were free to live without fear.
Meanwhile on the Isle...
Deep in the wooded thicket, a den fashioned from branches and leaves stood camouflaged against the foliage. It was here Anatefka and her pack lived. Every night she snuggled up against the warm furry hides of the dogs. Her Demone snoozing under her arm. But that night sleep would not come easilly. Though the world outside the den was chilly, Anatefka was bathed in sweat. Nausea gripped her body as she tried to find a restful position. It took all her strength to keep her rancid supper from leaving it's resting place.
As her temperature rose, Anatefka's mind played games with her reality. She knew there was nothing her feral family could do for her. If she stayed on the Isle she would die.
Her nails digging into the dirt, she rose to her feet. Her legs felt as wobbly as newborn colt's. The poor girl couldn't get to the river bank without stumbling.
Not having the energy to swim, Anatefka simply drifted on a piece of flotsam. Her makeshift vessel promptly dumped off at Isle de la Cite. In her fevered induced haze Antefka crawled aimlessly through the streets not caring if she was seen. But the sight of the cathedral caused a memory to emerge from the murk.
The strange man in the tower...
Calling on all her strength, Anatefka dragged her raw body to Notre Dame. With a sickly growl she collapsed on the stone steps of the giant church. The cool breeze against her sweat brought a grain of relief as she fell into a coma-like sleep.
That next morning, Anatefka awoke with a pounding headache. But to her surprise, She was not outside on the cold pavement where she fell. With bleary eyes she took in her cozy sorroundings. A tiny room with stone walls and a solitary window. Her bed was a simple straw matress on the floor with wool blankets.
Suddenly she felt something furry rub up against her leg. It was Demone. The wild dog must have followed her inside.
Where ever "inside" was.
From the floor above she heard the faint sound of fluttering pigeons. The belltower! The domain of the being that spared her the scraps.
By her blanket was a basket containing a bottle of water, pieces of bread and a container of broth. Anatefka made short work of the bread. Ignoring the spoon she simply dumped out the broth and lapped it up from the floor. After sparing some for Demone she went to investigate her surroundings.
Through the bright sunbeams, Anatefka watched as the form of Quasimodo climbed up a giant bell. With a mighty tug, the great metal dome began to sway.
"GONG!"
A deafening peel rang out through the tower. The floor vibratting under the terrific pressure from the sound.
Clutching her ears Anatefka yielded to the bell and backed away to the little room. When the great peels ceased she continued her search of the tower.
Ascending the ropes and wooden pilings, she made it to the top where the hunchback perched. But instead of approaching him with growls, a soft yipping noise fluttered from her lips. In the language of her packmates, it was a sign of respect.
Now Quasimodo had no fear about touching her. With his large hand he stroked the side of her face. Anatefka returned his affection by rubbing her head against the hunchback's palm.
After nearly an hour of petting the animal-child Quasimodo went to his work table. It held a crude but lovely model of the city, including the cathedral, houses and even little wooden people. Meticuosly the bellringer carved one of Annatefka and another of Demone.
With great care he placed the two models in the cathedral where a small figurine of himself was.