Clary's ten in this one, and Tom's fourteen.
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"Morning, Clary," he called cheerfully. She gave him a rare smile as she came down her garden path. Ever since that day by the stream, he'd always been friendly and greeted her when their paths crossed, and he was now one of the small group of people who the girl actually liked.
"What's that?" he asked, looking at the covered basket she carried. "Food for your friends?"
She stared at him. "How did you find out about the cats? I always made sure no-one followed me."
He raised his eyebrows. "Cats? I meant the water sprites."
"Pox," she said, and scowled at him. "You better not tell anyone." She walked around him and began heading off down the street.
It took only a few moments for his longer legs to catch up to hers. "What cats?" he asked. "Will you show me? I just have to deliver this note to Master Woodward first, but his workshop is in this direction anyway."
"So long as you promise not to tell anyone."
He was used to girls' promises from his sisters. "Pinky promise," he told her, and held out his little finger. Half of her mouth curled up in one of her funny little smiles, and she looped her own little finger around his.
"Good," she said, satisfied, and released him. "It's actually a mother cat and her kittens." A scowl darkened her face again. "Mother said they were flea-ridden and wouldn't let me keep them."
"Where'd you get the food from?"
"The kitchen, when Mother and Cook weren't looking."
"You stole it?"
"Some of it was meant for me in the first place, so it wasn't really stealing. More like redissss - redistributing." Her eyes were wide and convincing, and he couldn't help but chuckle at her. "What?" she snapped, her tone becoming more defensive. "They need it more than we do, and it's all Mother's fault that they're not at our house anyway."
"Of course," he told her as they turned into the workshop. "You ought to rewrite Tortall's laws on redistributing."
She stuck her tongue out at him. "Maybe I will."
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Clary had been keeping the cats in the garden of an old abandoned house nearby. Tom could hear meowing before he'd even finished climbing the fence. Clary was already kneeling down in the dirt, patting the mother cat as she rubbed against her and purred. "Look Tom," she exclaimed. "Look how happy she is to see me!"
His smile broadened as four round little balls of fuzz came over to them through the overgrown grass. He guessed them to be about eight weeks old. "Is this all of them?" he asked.
Her face darkened as she looked over. "Yes. There was one more, but I found it dead last week."
He saw her chin tremble, and she was biting her lower lip hard to keep from crying. "I'm sorry, Clary," he told her. Looking around, he could see a small patch of freshly dug dirt on the other side of the garden. A piece of wood was stuck into the ground to mark it, with the word 'Kitten' scratched into it. He supposed she'd 'redistributed' that scrap of wood from her father's workshop. The sight of it was enough to tug at his heartstrings, and he made a quick decision. With winter coming on, they'd all freeze if they were left with no real home to go to. He couldn't bear the thought of another five graves beside this one, and he knew little Clary would be heartbroken if they all died.
"Clary, I know you think of them as your cats, but what do you think about me taking them home? They'd be fed more often, and they'd be in the warmth and safe. You could come and visit them whenever you want."
Her face lit up, and she jumped to her feet. "Tom, would you? Do you really mean it?"
"Of course," he replied. "It seems to me that they could do with a proper home, poor things." The next thing he knew, two small arms were thrown around his middle.
"Thank you, Tom!" She let go of him as quickly as she'd hugged him, taking a step back and looking embarrassed.
He laughed and ruffled her hair. "No worries. Let's see if we can get the kittens into your basket."
She glared at him again and made a show of neatening her hair while he laid out the food from the basket onto the ground. The cats were obviously all hungry, judging by the speed that the food disappeared at. In no time at all, Tom was lifting the small kittens into the basket, with Clary hovering to make sure that they were comfortable. The mother cat didn't like this handling of her kittens, and lashed out at Tom, leaving three parallel scratches down the back of his hand. Before Tom could even react, Clary had snatched the cat up.
She gave it a small shake, ignoring the claws that were now scratching at her. "What do you think you're doing, you looby?"she snapped at it. "Don't be so sarden ungrateful when we're trying to help you!" The cat's only answer was to hiss and scratch her again. Undeterred, the little girl hissed right back, and the cat quieted.
Tom laughed, the kittens all safely tucked into the basket over his arm. "You should be a Dog when you grow up," he told her. "If only because you seem to have a talent for terrifying cats."
She glared at him. "It's not my fault she was being such a looby."
"Of course not," he cheerfully replied. He grinned to himself as privately, he thought she'd be pretty good at terrifying Rats too.