Our mission: to find the runes and interpret their meaning. Something we could do taking our time and not overworking ourselves, meaning Tiger. Our commandant's eyes had lingered on Tiger for a few seconds in mild curiosity and doubtless, the lesson might have been a result.

My clanmates' eyes passed over Tiger briefly, just long enough to take in his stripes and tail, to wonder for an instant what had put him in such a predicament and why he didn't look like them. All Fey look alike to the species, one who looks different, like Tiger or me, is a rarity. We don't respond to oddballs the way humans do, with fear, more like wonder. We don't strive to be e pluribus Unum either. We color our hair and clothes; paint our nails, anything to manifest our individuality. Who would want to look and act and do just like everyone else?

You treat the creature like a child, Sorsha observed. I grinned a little. Yes, I did spoil Tiger, but what else could I do? He was trying hard, anyone with eyes could see that, but he still needed time. All things take time.

I know, I whispered back. But what can I do? Sorsha shrugged. We went silent and started to fall in where our wing commander stood. The tiny African Diamondridge passed her brown eyes at Tiger, who slumped down in his seat. So shy, so chibi-cute! Sorsha huffed on my shoulder.

What are runes? Tiger asked.

I shrugged, "Secret messages for only Fey eyes. Here, see if you can see them."

The air was hot and humid as I pushed Tiger XIII toward a grassy spot where the flutterbies gathered, a telltale sign that a message lay hidden. Avalon is a tropical island in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle, warm year-round and that means the wildlife rarely changes save for when the birds from up north choose to spend part of their winter vacation here. Tiger squealed in delight at the gleaming, soft yellow creatures. As soon as I approached the gathering, he reached his hand out and an insect landed on it and stayed there, even when he petted its delicate wings. It flew away unharmed.

"There," I said, pointing to the mossy granite stone, "can you see the shining silver letters?"

Tiger nodded, Yes, but I do not know what they mean.

I giggled, leaning over the chair and into his ear, "It says, 'You found me.' Here, I'll show you how to read them."

I leaned down and drew a runic sign in the rich soil at the base of the great stone. The sign looked like a two-flag, a straight pike with two flying, bent sticks facing the same direction. The Nordic rune for wisdom. As Tiger listened to my lesson, he began to want again.

Home, his feelings sang, home. You are home, his feelings also sang. He didn't know which, so muddled, so unclear. Delicately, I traced my clawtip across the back of his hand. I watched the silver lines burned painlessly into the back of Tiger's striped flesh. He gasped in astonishment as the chimera glamour faded into nothing more than a pile of glitter in the shape of a rune.

"Maybe one day you will find out," I muttered.