three Bane watch expectantly—but the dreaded panther fails to appear.
“You’re certain it comes, Keera?” Veloc whispers quietly to his sister.
Keera lifts her shoulders in confusion. “Ordinarily, I would say that the fire might be keeping him away—but this cat was close enough to both smell and see the flames, yet he continued to venture nearer …”
“Likely it’s deciding what order to eat us in,” Heldo-Bah hisses, clutching his sheathed throwing knives with moist hands. “But I’ll—”
Keera raises her hand; and then a resonant growl can be heard outside the hemisphere of light created by the fire below. “At last,” Keera whispers, allowing a small smile. “You almost made me look a fool, cat …”
The panther rumbles; but it is a confused sound, neither aggression, nor pain, nor any other noise that so experienced a tracker as Keera can understand. Her smile quickly reverts to an aspect of consternation.
And then he appears: his great paws of the darkest gold padding against the Earth of the clearing, the panther enters † the light of the camp. He is young, but large (well over five hundred pounds) with short tufts of hair about the neck and shoulders. ‡ The dark spots and stripes on his nine-foot body are pronounced, giving the animal a distinctly masculine coat. This is significant: the Moon faith teaches that uniformity and richness of color in a panther’s coat are signs of divine favor, and certainly of mature (and usually feminine) wisdom. Though lacking such, this animal yet displays evident power in his long, thick muscles—which makes his interest in the diminutive foragers more mysterious, for he could easily take down a stag or wild horse, or even one of Lord Baster-kin’s shag cattle, any one of which would be a better meal than a human.
As the newcomer circles the camp, he shies, yet does not run, from the fire, which would ordinarily keep the majestic beast at a safe distance: but this male has an apparent purpose that emboldens him. With each step, his thick muscles cause the rich, iridescent fur to ripple ever more splendidly in the firelight, as though he is attempting to intimidate a rival or display his power for a mate. Yet Keera is right about the complexity of the panther’s behavior: for the amber eyes are glazed with passion, and, along with the quick panting of the tongue and mouth, they create an impression of consternation that belies the purposeful body.
“What is it, cat?” Keera says softly. “What agitates you so?”
As if in reply, another form slowly enters the light of the fire: two feet taller than even Veloc, it is a young woman, her seemingly flawless body moving easily inside a black silk robe edged in red velvet. †† Visible through slits up the sides of the garment are long, beautifully formed thighs and calves, the movements of which mirror those of the panther’s four legs, as he paces on the opposite side of the fire. Sheets of black hair fall to the woman’s waist, and her eyes—which glitter an alluring green in the torchlight, a green the color of the best emeralds the Bane have been known to bring out of Davon Wood—are fixed on the amber orbs of the panther, which already betray some sort of enthrallment.
“A woman of the Tall,” Keera whispers. “In Davon Wood!”
“And one of rare form,” Veloc adds with approval, his gaze lustful. “She’s no farmer or fisherman’s wife, and no whore, either.” But then Veloc’s attention turns from the woman’s flesh to her raiment; and his stare becomes quizzical. “But—her robe. Heldo-Bah, am I mistaken, or—”
Heldo-Bah shows the black gap in his vicious teeth. “You are not.”
Keera looks at the gown. “What is it that he is so correct about?”
Heldo-Bah’s whisper takes on a killing tone, without either increasing in volume or losing its air of delight. “She is one of the Wives of Kafra.”
“A Wife of Kafra!” Keera nearly slips from her branch with
“You’re certain it comes, Keera?” Veloc whispers quietly to his sister.
Keera lifts her shoulders in confusion. “Ordinarily, I would say that the fire might be keeping him away—but this cat was close enough to both smell and see the flames, yet he continued to venture nearer …”
“Likely it’s deciding what order to eat us in,” Heldo-Bah hisses, clutching his sheathed throwing knives with moist hands. “But I’ll—”
Keera raises her hand; and then a resonant growl can be heard outside the hemisphere of light created by the fire below. “At last,” Keera whispers, allowing a small smile. “You almost made me look a fool, cat …”
The panther rumbles; but it is a confused sound, neither aggression, nor pain, nor any other noise that so experienced a tracker as Keera can understand. Her smile quickly reverts to an aspect of consternation.
And then he appears: his great paws of the darkest gold padding against the Earth of the clearing, the panther enters † the light of the camp. He is young, but large (well over five hundred pounds) with short tufts of hair about the neck and shoulders. ‡ The dark spots and stripes on his nine-foot body are pronounced, giving the animal a distinctly masculine coat. This is significant: the Moon faith teaches that uniformity and richness of color in a panther’s coat are signs of divine favor, and certainly of mature (and usually feminine) wisdom. Though lacking such, this animal yet displays evident power in his long, thick muscles—which makes his interest in the diminutive foragers more mysterious, for he could easily take down a stag or wild horse, or even one of Lord Baster-kin’s shag cattle, any one of which would be a better meal than a human.
As the newcomer circles the camp, he shies, yet does not run, from the fire, which would ordinarily keep the majestic beast at a safe distance: but this male has an apparent purpose that emboldens him. With each step, his thick muscles cause the rich, iridescent fur to ripple ever more splendidly in the firelight, as though he is attempting to intimidate a rival or display his power for a mate. Yet Keera is right about the complexity of the panther’s behavior: for the amber eyes are glazed with passion, and, along with the quick panting of the tongue and mouth, they create an impression of consternation that belies the purposeful body.
“What is it, cat?” Keera says softly. “What agitates you so?”
As if in reply, another form slowly enters the light of the fire: two feet taller than even Veloc, it is a young woman, her seemingly flawless body moving easily inside a black silk robe edged in red velvet. †† Visible through slits up the sides of the garment are long, beautifully formed thighs and calves, the movements of which mirror those of the panther’s four legs, as he paces on the opposite side of the fire. Sheets of black hair fall to the woman’s waist, and her eyes—which glitter an alluring green in the torchlight, a green the color of the best emeralds the Bane have been known to bring out of Davon Wood—are fixed on the amber orbs of the panther, which already betray some sort of enthrallment.
“A woman of the Tall,” Keera whispers. “In Davon Wood!”
“And one of rare form,” Veloc adds with approval, his gaze lustful. “She’s no farmer or fisherman’s wife, and no whore, either.” But then Veloc’s attention turns from the woman’s flesh to her raiment; and his stare becomes quizzical. “But—her robe. Heldo-Bah, am I mistaken, or—”
Heldo-Bah shows the black gap in his vicious teeth. “You are not.”
Keera looks at the gown. “What is it that he is so correct about?”
Heldo-Bah’s whisper takes on a killing tone, without either increasing in volume or losing its air of delight. “She is one of the Wives of Kafra.”
“A Wife of Kafra!” Keera nearly slips from her branch with
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