The Redemption of Althalus by David Eddings Page B

original nature—Emerald was an affectionate creature who always wanted to be in close physical contact with him. He slept on the thickly furred bison robes on the stone bed, and she always snuggled up to him, purring contentedly. Right at first he didn’t care for that, so he made a practice of covering himself with his wool cloak and holding it tightly around his neck. Emerald would sit quite calmly at the foot of the bed watching him. Then, as he started to drift off to sleep and his grip relaxed, she would silently creep up the bed until she was just behind his head. Then she would skillfully touch her cold, wet nose to the back of his neck, and Althalus would automatically flinch away from that surprising touch. That was all she needed to burrow down under the cloak, and she would settle down against his back and purr. Her purring was really very soothing, so he didn’t mind having her there. She seemed to get a great deal of entertainment out of the game, though, so Althalus continued to clench his cloak up around his neck so that she could surprise him in the same way each time they slept. It didn’t really cost him anything, and as long as it amused her . . .
    She had one habit, though, that he really wished she’d get over. Every so often, Emerald seemed to develop an overpowering urge to bathe his face—usually when he was sound asleep. His eyes would suddenly pop open, and he’d realize that she had her paws firmly wrapped halfway around his head to hold him in place while she licked him from chin to forehead with her rough, wet tongue. He tried to jerk away from her the first few times, but as soon as he started to move, she’d flex her paws slightly, and her claws would come out. He got the point almost immediately. He didn’t really care for those impromptu baths, but he learned to endure them. There are always adjustments to be made when two creatures set up housekeeping together, and aside from a few bad habits, Emerald wasn’t really all that hard to get along with.
    Although the permanent night that blanketed the far north had taken away anything he could really call “day,” Althalus was fairly sure that the routine they followed probably coincided rather closely with the rising and setting of the sun farther to the south. He had no real reason for that belief and no way to verify it, but it seemed to him that it made more sense to think of it that way.
    His “days” were spent at the table with the Book open before him and with Emerald seated beside the Book, watching. Their conversations were largely limited to his pointing at an unfamiliar symbol and asking, “What’s this one mean?” She would tell him, and he’d stumble along until he came to another unintelligible picture. The parchment sheets were loose inside the white leather box, and Emerald became very upset if he got them back in the wrong order. “It doesn’t make any sense if you mix them up like that,” she’d scold him.
    “A lot of it doesn’t make sense anyway.”
    “Put them back the way you found them.”
    “All right, all right. Don’t tie your tail in a knot.” That remark always seemed to trigger one of their little mock tussles. Emerald would lay her ears back, crouch low over her front paws with her bottom raised up and swinging back and forth ominously while her tail swished. Then she’d leap on his hand and mouth it. She’d never extend her claws, and though she growled terribly, she never actually bit him.
    His best response to that was to take his other hand and thoroughly stir up her fur. She seemed to
hate
that, since it took her quite a while to comb everything back in place with her tongue.
    Since Emerald was a cat—at least for right now—she had a keen sense of smell. She insisted that Althalus should wash frequently—every time he turned around, it seemed. A large tiled tub filled with steaming water would quite suddenly appear near their bed, and after the first few times, Althalus would