Beauty is...

[Emmaline Rosenthal]

Beauty is the purgation of superfluities.

-----------

~. 2nd day of Unumber. 6th hour. Year LVI. ~

[/b] came her weary, muffled voice as she wrapped herself in her well-used pelts and waddled across to open one of the double hinged windows above the cart's back door. "Papa?" A delicate head was thrust out into the brisk light of day, a pale gold and pink light upon the horizon telling her it was morning. Early morning. Too early a morning... She rubbed the top of her head as it began to throb. Stupid wall. A man, rosy of cheek and quick of smile lighted up to his granddaughter, nuzzling his bushy white beard against her own soft cheek.

"Oh, look here, my little duck. Ma canard!" The old man unlatched the rest of the door, lifting the petite one out into the cold. She shivered a little, but giggled as her teeth chattered.

"Ah! Dadji! Stop it!" The bristles tickled beneath her chin, but she couldn't get away as the strong arms of her grandfather wrapped around her little frame. She cried out again, the laughter she was emitting beginning to make her sides ache, "Papa!"

Over their way meandered a lean man, dark all over, with loving brown eyes and a face, though obviously young, so etched with age and emotion one could mistake him from afar as a man ten times his real age. He had an easy smile the lit his whole being as he watched his father-in-law and daughter wrestle and laugh. Yet he said nothing but, "Come, we've work to do."

And so the trio began to unpack and display, creating in a corner of the marketplace a home. The front of their cart opened to create an awning and a shelf. From the wooden awning hung a myriad of odd trinkets and bewitching objects, on the shelf lay strange sculptures and games. Rare herbs, spices, and medicines cluttered the drawers and shelves within, along with a small library of mysterious books. Anything one could desire, lay within the four wooden walls of this old buggy.

After all had been set, Emma took to tending a fire round back, where no one would much mind, singing a simple tune as she did.


((click the 'hold your own, know your name, go your own way' below to hear the song. It starts at :14.))

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[Alastair]

.Alastair.

Though he was, by right, on assignment at Elencastel, Alastair still ventured into the town every so often. Today was a cloudless young winter day, the sun bright and the sky an achingly bright and chill blue. It was early and the town still smelled of frost and dew and thawing earth, of whisps of morning chimney smoke and of breakfast foods. His step light and strong and his ears pricked forward, the burly grey tom cat padded through the village. Mr. Munroe the butcher bid him good morning as he walked past. Alastair mewed hello and continued on to the green where the villagers mingled and the few traveling merchants set up their booths to sell their wares.

This morning, he caught sight of a worn old cart, covered and filled with all matter of paraphernalia. There was a bearded man: older but bright eyed and still spry. A slender dark haired man was approaching the wagon. He was likely the older man's friend. As he watched, a young teenage girl poked her head out sleepily from the wagon and the white bearded man (undoubtedly her grandfather) teased her and mussed her hair. She was a pretty girl with bright blue eyes and a sweet laugh. The lanky man was likely her father. They couldn't be Gewin, of course: they were human in broad daylight. But Gewin weren't the only trouble that Benevolence could encounter. Surely, the wolf-folk of the woods were the valley's most prevalent problem but they were far from the only. Alastair took it upon himself to do his best to sniff out newcomers for trouble, and though he rarely found any, it didn't dissuade him from going through the motions.

He walked quietly, as most cats do, up to the trio, who were now unpacking. His paws made little prints in the dirt by the wagon and some road dust caught on his legs. He wrinkled his moist pink-grey nose, leaped up onto the driver's seat of the wagon, gave a polite mraow to its owners and proceeded to groom his forelegs and paws. Every so often, his alert golden eyes would cast a glance over them, with a gaze too intelligent to be thoroughly catlike.
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[Emmaline Rosenthal]

Beauty is the purgation of superfluities.

-----------

[/b] a deep voice, low and patient, caught her attention instead, and blue eyes broke from hazel.

"Yes, sir?" She answered, gazing up to see her father standing before her. He wore his good cap, and Emma quickly deduced he must be going into town.

"I shall be back soon, your grandfather and I have some business to attend to. Stay here." Emma nodded and watched her father walk away, slowly, but with purpose. Her eyes flicked back to the feline still lounging upon their cart. She sighed to herself... might as well.

"Hello there." She called gently, smiling cautiously. Her eyes, however, remained unflinchinly locked on its. His? Yes, his. He must be a male. One could tell simply from his body language, his aura. "Would you... like to come sit?" she inquired, feeling a bit silly for speaking to a cat in so friendly a manner, but then, there was nobody else to speak to. She patted the ground next to her, indicating an invitation.


[/sub][/ul]

[Alastair]

.Alastair.

The girl started a fire with practiced ease, her delicate hands arranging the kindling until it satisfied her and nurturing the little fire into a readily crackling blaze. She had not noticed his presence and he watched her quietly as she took a blanket to ward off the winter morning's chill and sat by her fire. Her father, now wearing a cap, addressed her as Emmaline. Pretty name for a pretty maid. He thought to himself as he watched the lean man head towards the rest of town. Alastair had deduced that they so far seemed harmless, which was good. As much as he was hankering for some action, he didn't particularly want to run a father, grandfather, and young girl out of town. She noticed him and was quietly surprised, but that was not unusual to him. Most strangers were a bit thrown off by the intensity of the village cats: of course they had no idea that they were possessed of human souls.

Lately he'd been spending his afternoons and evenings at Elencastel and his mornings in the town. It seemed to be a routine that worked well, even though it was extra work for him. He had thought he would never want to leave Elencastel - peace and quiet and solitude were things he usually craved in town, but he found that he couldn't get away from the fact that Benevolence was home. It was familiar territory and while he did find Elencastel a welcome sanctuary, sometimes he would come into town just to see how the place did - and did not - change. Most of the villagers were the same. Little changed there. But there were sometimes strangers; outsiders passing through and that was different. Things always changed, even if it was only in the slightest way. And Alastair noticed.

So lost was he in his thoughts, it took him a moment to register that the girl's invitation had been to him. He paused in the final strokes of cleaning his last sullied paw, looking a bit comical for a moment with his large amber eyes fixed upon hers, a grey furred paw up to his whiskered face and pink tongue sticking out. Well that was new: most travelers didn't talk to the Guardians as though they could understand them. Usually they spoke in high pitched cooing voices or in short sentences, as one might speak to an infant. He supposed this was how they spoke to other cats and they didn't know any better, but still, it irked them. Often times he found it inspired in him the desire to send them a sentence or two and scare the hell out of them. He always resisted: his disciplined upbringing never failed him in that regard. But here was a young maid, addressing him as she would a human man. Perhaps this was because she was of a young age, almost a woman in figure, but still half a child in mind. The young were always more inclined towards flights of fancy, they connected more easily to animals and the earth. Society had not yet taught them to shut it out.

No matter, for here she was, speaking to him. Offering him a place by the fire. Though he was hardly cold, thanks to his thick winter coat, he thought that the warmth of the flames would still be preferable to the little drafts of cool breeze that reached him on the wagon seat. He dropped the paw down in an instant, stately again and bounded effortlessly down to the girl's side, where he sat tall and straight, his tail wrapped in a distinguished manner about his paws. He was a big cat with dusty grey fur, broad shoulders and arresting hazel eyes. The muscle beneath his fur was visible when he moved and several small, thin scars crossed his back and beneath his shoulders to his chest, but did not diminish the air of stoic and solitary distinction about him. He glanced up at her, looked her in the eye and gave a throaty rrrow of thanks.
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[Emmaline Rosenthal]

Beauty is the purgation of superfluities.

-----------

[/b] She mumbled, more to herself than to her new found companion. Then she addressed him, though her pale eyes remained transfixed on the blaze. "I wish I always landed on my feet," a slow smile gradually made it's way onto her features, "And had nine lives."

Nine lives to live to the fullest! Oh, how wonderful that would be. She was ready for a new life right now. She wanted something.. Something more than this dull buggy. She wanted to go places and see things. Meet new people, people that weren't suspicious of her profession and family. She was tired of these villages.

Her gaze was back to the feline's. "Do you have nine lives?" She stared for a beat, as if waiting for a response, then rolled her eyes and sighed a bit huffily. "Oh, nevermind. You can't understand me." She laid her chin back onto her knees, rubbing her eye with the back of her hand. What she really wished was for some more sleep. Or some food. And possibly to stop asking cats about their personal lives. She contemplated her sanity for a moment, then concluded that it was no less frayed then usual. Road living does that to a girl.

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[Alastair]

.Alastair.

[/font]

"I wish I was a cat. I wish I always landed on my feet. And had nine lives."

He twitched his ears out to the side a little and glanced up at her almost pityingly. Maybe it would be good to be another cat, a normal cat in a normal village. But to be a Guardian? No, he would not wish that upon anybody, despite the fact that it was a life he loved dearly. He knew that fighting and killing and constant vigilance was not for everyone. It would drive some mad. While he loved his strength and his speed, it was hell living in two worlds at once, forced to hide your true identity. He thought he would rather be a cat or a human but not both as he was. He was a creature stuck in a forbidden twilight zone; some gray area of fog and shadow and uncertainty, made all the more difficult by the age old war in which nothing was constant but death. In truth, he would rather be a cat. He did not much like his human form. She spoke again and he realized he had been gazing into the fire, which had arrested his gaze for a short while.
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"Do you have nine lives? Oh, nevermind, you can't understand me."

She said, the frustration in her voice making him turn his head and if he could have laughed he would have. As it were, his amber eyes danced with a sort of laughter. He was not allowed to speak to her, though purely for shock value, at the moment, he dearly wished to. Are you quite sure, Miss Emmaline? He would say and watch her start. But the Elders would hear of it somehow and his amusement wasn't worth punishment. The only thing he might risk the wrath of the Elders' for was his mission, the mission all Guardians were assigned. To protect the humans within Benevolence. Alastair was no rebel - he was not one to flaunt the law. He believed firmly that laws were good things and order was essential. He also believed that laws should be for good as well as order: if a law did more harm than good then it had no place existing. The laws he felt most pointless in that regard were the ones forbidding Guardians to reveal themselves in any way to humans. They could not shift in the presence of a human nor speak to them. Then again... Alastair thought, Not all communication is speech... From where he sat, sphinx-like at the girl's side, he glanced up at her, his expression bemused and looked her straight in the eye. There was no mistaking this eye contact for serendipitous feline curiosity. This look was direct and unwavering from the stoic grey to the sky eyed young woman beside him.
[/size]

[Emmaline Rosenthal]

Beauty is the purgation of superfluities.

-----------

[/i] she wondered. She imagined it would be a hard life if she were wild. But then, she was rather wild now, wasn't she. She migrated just as animals did, lived off the land. Yes, she concluded that a wild cat would be a much better choice than a domestic one, even if domestic meant constant love, shelter, and food.

She snapped the twig between her fingers and threw it into the fire. As she sat there, watching the wood shrivel and disappear, she began to feel the strange sensation of being watched, as if tiny spider were crawling up her shoulder. Blue eyes peered sideways, catching the intense gaze of the cat beside her. Whoa..

It was unsettling, to see such a live, intelligent pair of eyes boring into her own. She felt her stomach drop a little and brow furrowed. This cat was odd. He looked at her as if he.. as if he were...

Her head shot around, shattering her inferences and notions for the moment, as a shuffling came from the opposite side of the fire. She squinted through the flames as a shadowed shape began to take form. "Excuse me?" She called, instinctively and without knowing her own movements, scooted herself closer to the sandy gray feline that sat beside her.

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[Finley]

Finley had been up in the towers the previous night, occasionally pawing at the face of Erick Bell to keep the poor human awake. Being the only son of John Bell and having four sisters -- especially sisters such as they were -- took a toll on the man. Finley had been born just a year after Erick, and so they had been kittens together. Err... well, okay, one had been a kitten. In adulthood, Fin often accompanied Erick on his nights in the watch towers.

Just at the break of dawn, he had seen Alastair making his way out of the woods. Well, he had smelled him more than saw him -- the older tom cat had a way of remaining unseen and unheard. After the sun had risen just enough that he had felt his skin ache under his fur, tightening as if locking him into his current form, he had leapt down the ladder onto the shoulder of the retreating human man and then to the ground, hurrying off toward the village. Alastair had left after Samhain to much accolade and worry from the other Guardians, but Finley had known that he would be fine. He respected and liked the older tom more than just about anyone in the valley; he was eager to see him again, even if the conversation was never quite lively.

He leapt from a wagon to a barrel top to the lower thatching of a roof, picking his way after Alastair's scent, until finally slipping down to the ground at the western village edge and approaching. He could see the large grey tom over the glare of the fire, keeping company with what smelled like a human female. He slipping silently into the ring of light the fire cast, his mismatched eyes peering with an intense, wary scrutiny at the young girl, though he continued to pad to Alastair's side and sit beside him.

His white chin rose as he stared at her, eyes flicking over her face. He liked her scent. He liked her face. She reminded him a bit of a young bird, for her bones were so small and her features delicate, but she had the flighty, sing-song way of those delectable creatures. He turned his face slowly to look at Alastair, giving a slight, too-human nod of the head and closing his eyes slowly before opening them again. To humans, squinting one's eyes was considered a sign of anger. To cats, it was a gesture of respect and trust.

[Alastair]

.Alastair.

[/font]
The woodsmoke had made it difficult to detect, but Alastair caught the familiar scent of a Guardian about half a minute before the young tom came in sight around the other side of the fire. He was nearly twenty years the striped young cat's senior and since the youth's father, Cullen, had died, Alastair had been the one to introduce the young Guardian to the more rigorous sparring and training. The kind that was removed of kittenhood roughhousing in that it often left behind more than bruises. He was the closest Alastair had yet come to having a son. As the lean young feline took a seat beside him, his fluid motions taut with young muscle and utterly familiar, the older tom couldn't help but notice the interest in his furred companion's face as he studied the slight young maid who had made the fire. He glanced back and forth from one to the other with a calculating and totally un-catlike precision. Well, he's of the age to notice a pretty young girl, I suppose. Alastair told himself. He had never understood romance in the slightest and had but the vaguest concept of the mechanics of mutual attraction. Appreciation of the female form, now that he understood as well as any tom cat but harboring more than a fleeting interest in a female was something he'd yet to experience. It wasn't the norm and he was quite aware of that, but didn't care much either. He could firmly and truthfully say he wasn't of an unusual persuasion and that was enough for him: he didn't particularly care if it was enough for others. But if his young charge could be normal in that way, more power to him.

+Morning, Fin.+

He sent as the lithe tom half shut his bi-colored eyes and nodded in deference to Alastair. The burly grey didn't expect a response. Fin rarely spoke, which was just fine by him. He liked the quiet strength and dedication the young cat displayed: he was a truly promising prospect. What few words he said to the steady young tom were acknowledged both wordlessly and thoroughly, which left the veteran Guardian with no complaints. Couldn't ask for a better companion.

Movement from Miss Emmaline drew his attention away from Fin. She scooted closer to him as the new cat arrived and Alastair flicked out his tail, wrapping it comfortingly about her wrist to let her know that young Finley was no trouble and good company.
[/size]

[Emmaline Rosenthal]

Beauty is the purgation of superfluities.

-----------

[/i] Emma was careful not display upon her features the bewilderment she felt but honestly, she'd only been in this village half an hour at most and already two cats had decided to make her acquaintance. Her gaze searched the newest member of the party curiously as it- another he, actually- meandered (uninvited she might add, had manners been of any importance to her) around the fire. Where on earth were they all coming from? And why did they all seem so very civilized? This one, bi-colored eyes stoic and calm, seemed to have an air of indifference about him, as a brooding young boy might. He was broad and striped and.. what was the word? Handsome.

She instantly shoved that fleeting thought right out of her head. God, it was a cat! An animal and nothing more. She even felt a little ashamed of herself. That was not a normal thing to think and certainly not moral.

Just then a soft bracelet of fur brushed her slim wrist. The affectionate touch startled her and she instantly retracted her hand, clasping it with the opposite. It was more than unsettling now, it was a bit frightening. These were not the average pair of creatures. These were something more. There was a small part of her; a voice in the back of her head that shouted "run." But the rest of her, the part much more influential, was extremely curious. Blue eyes darted to the sky for a moment, dark curls falling gently about her slim figure, then with a quick intake of breath she suggested quickly,

"Music.. hmm. Shall we have some music?" She cleared her throat and with only a glance to the interesting beasts beside her, began to sing. Music always soothed, it was always something one could refer to when emotions ran to high. What better way to express yourself than through song. The tune was different than before, melancholy and low. The notes came quickly, but sustained in haunting turns enough for her light vibrato to suspend the phrases. It was a comfort to her. As she paused in between her lyrics, her gaze slipped over to her companions.

((click below again for the song.))[/sub][/ul]

[Finley]

Finley seemed to smile a thin, feline smirk, and his head sunk down slightly on his shoulders as he peered at the older tom. He had heard that Alastair had been starting to come around in the daytime, but he hadn't seen him himself until now. Everyone was curious about what he had been up to; the usual flood of questions, generally involving fishing for heroic stories about taking on a pack of Gewin all on his own. If he had done so, Fin knew he wouldn't feel the need to tell the tale. Alastair had been there when Finley had injured his eye, after all, and neither of them had put the others out of their misery with the story of how. It had been quite a fight, actually, but talking about it neither burnished nor tarnished the memory.

The posture of gentle teasing said that he knew that Alastair would be swarmed once the others found him -- get ready, it said, belied by his smirk. He straightened then, squaring his shoulders back and letting his eyes flick to the girl as she pulled away from the comforting offer of a tale. It was rather amusing how these outsiders found them unnerving.

Fin glanced down, nonchalantly pawing a twig into the flames and watching it crackle. His ears pricked as she spoke, and his head whipped around, eyes wide with surprise. Music? Had she just asked him to play? It made no sense! As she started to sing, he let out a sigh. She was talking about herself... and what a lovely voice she had. His eyes drifted closed and he began to sway. As beautiful as the song was, he wished he could add to it -- he thought of his violin, tucked neatly into a hallow tree in the outer edge of the forest.

Quietly, as if not wanting to be heard, he began to purr, still swaying to the music. When the song came to a gentle close he opened his eyes, looking first upon the girl with shining eyes and then upon Alastair with chagrin. With a small jerk of his head he indicated her, his gaze questioning. What did Alastair know about her?

[Alastair]

.Alastair.

[/font]
Their behavior was unnerving her; he could tell by the way she withdrew her wrist from his tail before bracing her hand on the ground again. He wasn't insulted in the least. Alastair knew from experience that the Guardians of Benevolence tended to unsettle strangers. Some were curious, others frightened. Never having seen a normal feline, he could not say why, but from human reaction he assumed that a regular cat was not so human in its reactions. That made perfect sense, since most cats were cats. Unlike the Guardians, which were creatures halfway human. In his opinion, he did not see why sentience in cats should be cause for alarm: one would think that being able to communicate with a fellow creature of the earth would be welcome. Clearly, this was not the case for most. Whether or not this girl would be one of the curious ones or not remained to be seen. He knew before she drew away that she was unsure of him - of Finley. When the only sign had been her cornflower eyes, moving just restlessly enough for him to notice. A small sign? Perhaps, but then, Alastair was an observant sort. He registered her interest, her frustration, confusion, wariness, fascination almost as quickly as she did. Just as he had read the slight tilting of young Fin's head, his ears, the shifting of his toes at the mention of music. That whelp and his violin. Alastair thought fondly as he watched the dancing fire. While the Council did not approve of young Guardian Finley's musical hobby, Alastair most certainly did. Over the years he had done his best; sometimes failing, but more often succeeding, at covering up his somber young charge's untoward passion for musicianship. He had even listened to Finey's playing and, in his opinion, the lad showed more talent for playing the little string instrument than he did for fighting. And the kid was a damn solid fighter. Alastair liked the tabby tom's music and it was likely that he had listened in on practice sessions in the woods more often than Fin was aware of.

Emmaline had begun to sing, her sweet alto with its fine timbre birdsong on the morning air. The girl's voice smoothed itself around the contours of the beautifully melancholy song handsomely. Alastair closed his eyes, letting the warmth from the small steady blaze soothe away the morning's chill. Sliding a paw over, he pressed it softly against Emmaline's forearm in reassurance and approval. He knew that Finley, despite the fact that the young cat had said nothing at all and done naught but gesture towards the girl, was curious about the newcomers. So he let a short and to the point sending float between them without opening his golden eyes.

+She travels with her grandfather and father. Roving traders of a sort. No scent of Gewin. I've read nothing dark from them.+
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[Emmaline Rosenthal]

Beauty is the purgation of superfluities.

-----------

[/b] She whispered, waving a hand in the draft's direction. Their horse, a giantess of sorts, was loosely tethered to the caravan as she always was when she wasn't pulling it. But, it seemed, she was ready for attention to be paid to her. As she made clear by pounding her dinner plate sized hoofs into the dirt. Emma rolled her eyes, then addressed her companions. "Please excuse my beast, she has very little tolerance for when I chat with others." There was sarcasm in her tone, yet she felt the truth within the statement. Gretchen, though sweet as could be, was a beast. And these two 'others', as she had so eloquently put it.. Well, they were certainly not.
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[Finley]

Finley's eyes flickered to Alastair's paw on her arm and twitched his ears in amused surprise. Trust Alastair to take a liking to a soft-spoken young maid. Those were his favourites, Fin knew -- the pretty little ones with hushed voices and sweet dispositions. Two of the Miss Bell's, Miss Doyle, and Miss Ayre when she wasn't in a frantic state; as hardened as Alastair had become, there was a hardly acknowledged soft spot to be found in these flimsy, whimsical creatures. Ah, women. His heart nearly froze when she looked over, locking eyes with him. He got quickly to his feet, ignoring the horse and the reaction she had caused.

Fin flipped his tale slowly back and forth, a bit agitated, beginning to pad aimlessly around the fire and sniff in the direction of the cart. Two male humans from somewhere other than the village -- their smell, as well as the girl's, was all over of the place. And horse, of course. Dust... old parchment... dried flowers. It was a pleasant smell, one that spoke of a wildness refined.

Fin made his way back around the fire and to Alastair, who he bumped with his side, arching slightly as he did so. His eyes flicked briefly over the girl again, avoiding her eyes, before he set off once more for the open valley. He would be able to keep an eye on her from a distance... purely for curiosity's sake, of course.

[Alastair]

.Alastair.

[/font]
Normally, it would have rustled Alastair's feathers to notice anyone's amusement at a kind gesture he made. Just because I like my peace and quiet doesn't mean I have no heart, he had groused on more than one occasion. But he always followed that up with, Just because I have a heart, doesn't mean I have to wear it on my sleeve either. But he was aware enough of Fin's instinctual interest in the young woman for the teasing look from the younger tom to lose its barb. His theory was confirmed when the young Guardian's dual toned eyes met with Miss Emmaline's and he froze. Alastair could hear the faint sound of Fin's heart ratchet up a bit at the locked gaze and now it was the burly grey tom's turn to grin as much as a cat possibly could (which was mostly in the eyes). He tried not to laugh, as it was not often that a lady caught Finley's fancy. He could laugh because, really, the young Finley was much like himself.

If the tabby's twitching tail was any indication, he wasn't sure what he was feeling nor was he certain of how to deal with it. As his young friend brushed past him, the thickset Guardian jostled him back slightly, meeting the offset green and blue with his own amber eyes, sharp and bright and knowing. He had a feeling that Fin wouldn't go far; the lad was too interested in the maid to go running off. No, he'd probably be down the meadows, keeping a weather eye out from there because he didn't know how to deal with the pretty young thing up close. Alastair felt for the boy. He'd have done the same: the only reason he could handle Miss Emmaline was because the girl was young enough to be his daughter. While she was certainly of the age to begin courting, even if it were years before she married, she was a young woman. But while some maids of her age exuded and exploited an allure that was beyond their years, this girl did not. She was like a summer flower in the morning, saving its full bloom for the afternoon sun, knowing better than to unfurl the full splendor of her petals for the ghosty colors of dawn. Looking up at the pretty bluebell eyed maiden, he thought that this Miss Emmaline reminded him somewhat of Miss Elizabeth Bell and her olive skinned childhood friend Rossana Doyle. Both were quiet ladies, sweet and beautiful despite being as different as daisies and sunflowers. Miss Bess was quiet and confident, Miss Rosie a solitary dreamer. At first glance, Miss Emmaline seemed to have all of these qualities, and after a life of watching many of the villagers of Benevolence grow from babes in arms to working adults and many travelers pass through, he was a fairly accurate judge of character.
[/size]

[Emmaline Rosenthal]

Beauty is the purgation of superfluities.

-----------

[/b] She said, moving to tend to the fire once more. She ruffled her heavy skirt back and lugged a log from her dwindling pile onto the pit, releasing a burst of glowing little sparks into the damp air. She ran the back of her hand under her nose and sniffed in quite unladylike a manner, then set a hand a on her hip. "For it's quite rude to house a guest without asking their name." Bored with her place by the fire, she joined Gretchen at her post, rubbing her hand, looking smaller than usual compared to the horse's giant head, over her overgrown hair. Gretchen was not much to look at, never had been. She was bought from a farmer who had no need for her any more and so neglected her, some twenty odd years ago. Nobody knew her age or where she had originally come from, but the shaggy-maned honey-eyed mare was just what a traveling salesman needed. And Emma's grandfather is nothing if not a sucker for an animal in distress.

She tilted her head to the side, resting it on Gretchen's cheek, her expression dubious. "That is, if you have a name."
[/sub][/ul]

[Alastair]

.Alastair.

[/font]
It was his turn to look surprised. Even the most discerning of travelers did not ask him for his name. He blinked his large hazel eyes and twitched the tip of his tail and his whiskers as he looked up at the pretty girl. Without really thinking about it he gave a half nod of acquiescence, musing to himself. Yes, it would be nice if you knew my name. And young Finley's. Then again, there was no way he could tell her. All he could do was hope that one of the she learned it from one of the villagers. He didn't particularly want her to try and name him herself. He had a good name and he liked his name and wasn't about to try and learn to answer to another one just for her sake. As sweet of a girl as she seemed to be, he just would not do that.

The smoky colored tom cat leveled his gaze, staring pointedly at her, hoping she would understand that yes, he did have a name. Truly, he regretted that he couldn't tell her what it was. But as ludicrous as the law that prevented him from doing so was, this was hardly the occasion to break it. So he simply sat tall, his tail flicking back and forth like a small snake and his amber-gold eyes knowing, as they always were.
[/size]

[Emmaline Rosenthal]

Beauty is the purgation of superfluities.

-----------

[/i]. She wasn't entirely sure what she had been expecting.. or thinking of when she asked the animal its name. She was being silly, utterly silly.

"Emma." She turned, giggling softly still, to see her father walking gruffly into camp. His tone was one of gentle skepticism, with an underbelly of a loving fondness for his beautiful daughter who was laughing so prettily in front of his eyes.

"You're back! That was rather quick."

"Yes, well-"

"Oh, Papa, meet my new friend!" Two dark heads turned to match a cat's golden eyes. Emma beamed with pride. At least the feline she had befriended was strong and intelligent, with a comforting paw. William raised a dubious eyebrow, seemingly unsure of what to do by the way he was shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He finally concluded with nodding his head once, exchanging a warning glance with Emma, then heaving himself into the cart.

Emmaline watched the red door swing back and forth for a moment from where it had nearly been unhinged in her father's haste to relieve himself of his awkward situation. Then she sighed a little and danced back to the fireside, leaning onto her knees and bowing her head as if speaking to a confidant.

"That is my father. He's really not the most talkative type, but he's a good man. Very good with woodwork." She lowered her voice and continued, her eyes wide with the information she was now conveying, "Do you know, he was only nineteen when he and my mother had me? And she only seventeen."
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[Alastair]

.Alastair.

[/font]
The breeze carried the scent of man to him, not one of the villagers or he would have recognized it, towards them. His ears flicked to attention and he twisted lithely about to spot whoever was approaching, only to find that it was the slightly built man with the dark eyes: Miss Emmaline's father. Despite his rough voice and stern countenance, the grey tom cat's discerning eyes did not miss the warmth behind the tired eyes. The warm was, the Guardian thought, undoubtedly for his pretty daughter and Alastair sensed a kindred spirit in the human man for he knew that if he had a daughter he would doubtless be the same way. Still gruff, still stoic on the outside, but at heart an utter fool for her. It was the way he had noted his own grandfather had felt for his mother the one time they had met and supposed it was natural and could not be helped.


"Do you know, he was only nineteen when he and my mother had me? And she only seventeen."

It did not take long for Alastair to do the math and realize that Emmaline's father was a few years younger than himself. What suprised him was the pang of envy he felt for the other man, in having a beautiful daughter. Even if his wife did not seem to be present, the man had a family in his pretty Miss Emmaline. What caught the burly cat so off guard was not the desire for family: he missed his brother still, but instead the longing for something else he could not quite place his finger on. He had never wanted anything but his brother back and that he knew to be impossible, so sensible Alastair put that out of mind.

He stood as the man approached, placing his forepaws on Emmaline's lap to raise himself up slightly. For some reason, he wanted to get a better look at this man who he sensed was somehow like himself. Though he did not know why or how, he had taken one look at Emmaline's father's sad eyes and recognized something of himself in them, some of his loss and some of his weariness. Instinctually, he wanted to see, to understand and he raised himself up as much as he possibly could in his four pawed body, surveying the man with his alert amber eyes.

[Emmaline Rosenthal]

Beauty is the purgation of superfluities.

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[/b] She stood, brushing herself off. She thought a moment, then added, "You should come visit more often. I like you." She smiled, then shrugged. Why did she continue to speak to this cat as if he knew what she was saying?

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