"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty," Katica called, standing at the edge of the pale blue field of sky grass. In her hand she held the end of a piece of string. At the other end, resting a dozen feet into the field, lay a stinky piece of fish head she had scavenged from the beach. Her deep blue eyes scanned the edge of the forest, searching for movement in the shadows between the mighty trees. "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty," she repeated.

"What do you think you're doing?!" She jumped clean off the ground as a heavy hand landed on her shoulder.

"Nothing, Mr. Barker," she said, dropping the string and turning to face her stern neighbor. "I was just - just -"

"Just calling the kittians again?" His bushy white eyebrows knitted together in a frown. "How many times must you be told? Kittians are dangerous. Do you really need to see the scars again?" He held out one thin, pale arm, showing her the dark, knotted ridges of flesh running back and forth from his wrist to his elbow. Katica swallowed hard.

"I - I just want to see one, sir. I'm being careful."

"So was I," Mr. Barker replied, reaching down and grabbing her string. "I was one of the first colonists to settle this land. I helped clear the trees and build the houses, plow the fields and dig the wells, long before you were born." He was reeling in her fish head as he spoke. "I helped catch the kittians, helped turn them into 'pets'. It was my friend, Saul, who discovered that collars made from faerie mice skins could tame the creatures. We failed to realize that if the collars were removed, the kittians would revert to their wild state. Not until it was too late, did we discover that. One day, the collar came off and Saul was killed." He finished pulling in the string, spun the fish head in the air, then let it fly out over the field and disappear into the forest.

"But, sir -" Katica started. Mr. Barker cut her off with a sharp wave of his hand.

"No, young Katica, no 'buts'. Your mother was like a daughter to me. I promised her I'd watch out for you. Now stay in the village. Play with your schoolmates and hope that you never see a kittian in the wild, because it will probably be the last thing you do." With a sigh, Katica headed for the village center, scuffing her feet in the dust as she went.

Her 'schoolmates', Kyle and Keith, were twelve, boys and twins, and had absolutely no use for her. They were tearing through the dirt streets chasing Mrs. Harrison's chickens. Ambrica also went to school with them, sometimes. She was nine and always sick with something. Her mother wouldn't let her play, but today she was sitting in a little chair just outside her front door, working away in her thick notebook. What she was doing, Katica didn't have a clue, but she never went anywhere without that book and a pencil.

Katica sat down on the edge of the big, communal well and stared down into the darkness, catching just the faintest glimmer of light on the water. In a couple more hours, the sun would be high and the well would glow like a pool of molten gold. Katica has spent many a long day staring down into those cool, watery depths. There really wasn't much else to do.

"You won't find a kittian in the well." Katica glanced up, not the least surprised to see Leo Namir standing on the other side of the well from her. He was sixteen, two years older than her, with spiky, white-blonde hair.

"Hey, Leo, slumming again, are you? Is that a new cloak?" He raised his chin slightly, his green eyes narrowing before he gave her a thin smile.

"I came down to show you what my father got for me on his trip to the southern continent."

"And why would I want to see what your - " She fell silent as a slinky golden feline leaped up onto the edge of the well, his slitted eyes glittering like emeralds. Around his neck was a braided leather collar with a silver medallion dangling at his throat. "He brought you another kittian?" Katica asked, trying to sound bored even as her eyes devoured every inch of that lean, muscular body: the tiny paws, the slender tail, the almosd-shaped eyes and big, straight ears.

"He's a Golden Mau," Leo said. "The only one within a hundred miles. His name's Arriow."

"Arriau," the kittian corrected. He walked around the rim of the well toward her, his paws making no sound on the smooth stones. "Dhau rr'a eam errisst?"

"What did he say?" Katica asked before she could stop herself. She wasn't supposed to be interested in Leo's new toys.

"He asked who you were," Leo told her, then to Arriau he said, "Lea'au rr'a mhal'irras au'en, Katica." Arriau stopped just out of her reach and looked her over from head to foot, the blinked slowly and turned away.

"Au rr'a dhsst'mrrau," Arriau said with a flirt of his tail. He leaped down from the well and began walking up the road that led to the Namir Estate. Leo shrugged.

"He's hungry. Again. I'll see you later?"

"If you insist," Katica said, rolling her eyes. Leo opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something more, then closed it and headed up the road after his kittian. Katica watched him go, his fancy, embroidered cloak rippling behind him in the crisp morning breeze. What a show-off. Katica picked a small stone up off the ground and dropped it into the well, waiting for the distant splash before standing up and heading for home.

"Like I care about his stupid new pets," Katica muttered under her breath. "Why is he always bothering me? He doesn't annoy anyone else in the village, showing off how great and rich and powerful his father is. I don't -- Oh!" Her surprised squeak was silenced as a large hand clamped over her mouth. She was lifted off her feet and dragged backward into the alley between the trading post and the smithery. Heart pounding in her ears, Katica kicked and squirmed, trying to fight free. She bit down on the hand covering her mouth.

"Ungh," grunted a man's voice. He let go of her and she hit the ground hard, stumbling across the alley and crashing into the backside of the smithery. Shoving herself away from the rough-hewn stone wall, she made a dash for the street. A hand snagged her by the arm and jerked her back, shoving her up against the wall of the trading post. She opened her mouth to scream, but the sudden cold weight of a blade against her throat strangled the sound before she could make it. Hardly daring to breathe, she looked up into the face of her attacker.

His face was dark with blood. Did I do that? Katica wondered. No, she couldn’t have, the blood was mostly dry, that almost black, sticky kind of blood. His nose was thin, but crooked, like it had been broken several times, and his skin was dark and lined like old leather. Pale blue eyes watched her like chips of ice, cold and hard. His hair was dark and lank, hanging in greasy clumps down past his collar.

“What - what do you want?” Katica whispered. The man drew the knife back from her throat.

“Be quiet,” he told her, his voice rough and scratchy. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He glanced up and down the alley, then slipped the knife into the leather sheath hanging at his hip.

“Who are you?” Katica asked.

“It’s not important,” he replied, “now listen carefully. There are people after me - after something I have, and it’s very important that they don’t get it, understand?”

“No, not all,” Katica said. “Who’s after you?”

“No time,” the man said, reaching into his filthy leather coat and pulling something out of an inside pocket. He thrust it into her hands. “Take care of this. P’rrrah will help you.” Katica glanced down at her hands. It was a small item wrapped in a grubby piece of cloth.

“What - ?” She looked up to see the man already hurrying away down the alley. “Wait, what is this? And who’s P’rrrah?” He didn’t answer, didn’t look back, just turned the corner and disappeared.