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Building continued apace in the following weeks, speeding up when felled logs came down from the mountain grasped in the claws of a flock of eagles. A promise was given, courtesy of Alpha, newly elected as our mixed pack leader, that the favour would be returned at a later time, promising bears and wolves to help build an eagle nest high upon the mountaintop, chosen for the fabulous view. We’ll all be sad to see the eagles move on, since friendships have been forged as our new town rises from the ashes of the old. Our feathered builders tend to keep away from Serpen, but he understands their serpent reluctance, all things considered. His niece is having none of it though, and she manages to convince a few to fly her around the valley, much to the consternation of her adopted nana, Yellfire.
It was Alpha who insisted on a free election, given all that had taken place, saying that if we were to be one pack, it couldn’t be run with wolf culture alone. Everyone, furred, feathered, scaled and big bummed agreed and we all voted for him anyway, with only one dissension: Alpha himself. He voted for Curt, who gave his brother a kick, told him to come to his senses and moaned about his hip for the rest of the day.
Alpha’s first decision was to reinstate an interspecies committee, who’ve done nothing but argue since. Such is democracy.
So here I sit by a roaring fire, perched on a log in front of the bones of the new mansion, drinking Mama Bear’s finest brew as the day’s building winds down. I’m not totally lazy; I have helped a little, but carpentry plays havoc with sciatica, so I’m on the ‘is that hanging straight’ mob instead, carting trays of nails where they’re needed.
Far more chalets pop up than before, since the snakes are building new houses, mainly because they intend to decorate the rooms in a fussy style lost on the wolves and bears, not to mention heat them to furnace temperatures.
A shriek draws my gaze skyward as Gulid soars overhead, playfully rustling feathers with his friend Revol. Broken Beak now spends all his days smiling and flapping with glee. I’m happy for him. I’ll even miss him, when he eventually leaves us.
Fidus and Decipa decided to move on a while back. There was too much murky water under the bridge and nobody felt comfortable with them around. Sometimes forgiveness isn’t always the same as reconciliation, but at least he had a reunion of sorts with his family. He told his mother he would contact her again one day, but not for a long while.
I don’t think the southern wolves will stay much longer. They miss their home as the days grow warmer and I don’t blame them. I worry that the war with the bears will reignite there, but Big Wolf has a formidable army and a magnificent heir in Primus. I don’t know for sure, but Dulcis thinks Adamo had a word with his friend, promising support from our bears if he needed it.
Yelena may be staying here, though. Sospa’s been nagging at her constantly, begging her partner in crime to stay and I think the old wolf’s resolve is crumbling. Talking of old wolves, Curt’s heading for me, weaving through the building site.
Chatter heralds the arrival of a bucktoothed gumwhat, sliding down the side of a tent and landing on the log beside me with a thump. Mr G reaches out two tiny paws in readiness.
“You’re getting too pudgy,” I tell him, holding up empty palms. He scowls at me and chatters furiously. “Alright, don’t lose your fur.” I rummage in my pocket and retrieve the biscuit I keep for such eventualities. He snatches it out of my fingers and merrily munches.
“Off you get,” says Curt, looking a tad flushed as he shoos the gumwhat away and carefully lowers himself beside me. The unstable log rocks in harmony with his grunt.
“Your hip hurt?” I enquire, offering him a sip of Mama’s brew, which he downs in one gulp. “Where did you get to? I saw the others give up on building ages ago.”
“Ah,” he says, with a conspiratorial air. “I’ll get to that. But first, you might like to know that I saw something interesting when I was up on that roof.”
“Oh yes?” I reply, without much interest. Multiple conversations on a theme of wall construction and the correct usage of a hammer have left me numb. “Should you be up there with your hip?”
“I’m not derelict,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. “As you well know.”
“Give over and tell me the news.” I sidle up closer to him anyway.
“A certain ram is heading down the valley.”
“Roger’s back?” I squeal, bouncing on the log with delight.
Curt delivers a theatrical sigh. “Bears, snakes, eagles, a gumwhat and now the frulking ram’s returned.”
“I still love you most, scruffbutt.”
“Yes, well, I love you too. Which you now know, portals and all.”
He rummages in his pocket and produces something with a distinctly weird, intermittent sparkle, as though he’s managed to reach into the night sky and catch a star. Holding the item between thumb and forefinger, he thrusts it into my face, such that I go cross eyed in order to bring it into focus, whereupon it reveals itself as a ring.
“A ring,” is my genius pronouncement.
“Not just any ring,” says Curt, whipping it away from my eager fingers. “A magic one.”
“I’m sure it is,” I reply, with all the patronising sincerity I can muster.
“No, not I love you so much sicky magic,” Curt insists, mock gagging. “The real sort.”
“As in the DreamWay?” I ask, shoving rising panic back down.
“As in Kit, the mad mage cat. Before he left, he grabbed a pebble, waved his paws over it and said something like, ‘meow, meow, gembly rockbum.’ There was a big bang and a cloud of sparks and when it cleared, he was running into the distance and this was in my hand. I’ve been carving it, keeping it out of your sight.”
“Let me see.” I try snatching for it, but he keeps lifting it out of my reach. “I want it.”
“What, this?” he waves it in circles around my face. “Say please.”
“Please.”
“I’m not convinced.”
“Pretty please.”
“Nope.”
“Wings!” I holler.
“Alright,” says Curt, pretending horror. “You don’t play fair.” He leans forwards and presses his lips to mine. Tongues galore later, I’ve almost forgotten about the ring. Almost.
“Ring,” I breathe, leaning back. The log rocks with my movement.
He slips the ring on my finger and I stare at it in wonder. A ring of smooth sparkling gemstone, tiny galaxies rotating within, carries my wolf’s head in profile.
“It’s glorious,” I tell him. “I love it.”
“I love you, Edith.”
“I love you too, Alpha Curtus. You’ll always be... Kit!”
Over his shoulder, a sabre tooth tigerlion trots into view, head held high. I leap up and the log rolls backwards, leaving Curt on his back, legs in the air, my empty cup sitting upside down on his chest. I grab beneath his arms and roll him back upright, at great personal cost to my sciatica, before sprinting over to the smirking cat.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” I cry, wrapping my arms around his neck and squeezing with all my strength.
“Yes, yes. Snuggle dee dum. Watch the teeth,” wheezes Kit, rubbing an ear against my head.
“Kit, Kit, Kit, Kit, Kit,” shrieks Sospa in the highest note in human auditory range, hurtling through the half built chalets and flinging herself at him so hard, she lands draped across his back. Beetus bounces close on her heels, launches at the cat and swings on his tail, bleating merrily.
Every species of man and beast converge on us from all over the town whilst Curt rocks back and forth on the log to lever himself upright. Alpha arrives at his side and the brothers exchange identical longsuffering sighs.
“I’m glad you’ve returned,” says Serpen, jogging up to the cat. “I never truly got to thank you for saving Sospa and myself from the vortex.”
“Hmmm,” Kit replies, barely smothering a grin. “I did it for the tiny Storyteller, not you, empire maker.” His wandering gaze lands on Mr G, now lounging on a newly built roof. “Is that my snack?” he asks, licking his lips.
“I wouldn’t,” says Yelena, wandering over. “It’s the human’s pet. She’ll punch you in the throat.”
“Too right,” I reply, giving her a side glance and catching her grinning at Sospa.
“I thought you’d gone. Had a nice run, did you?” Curt asks Kit.
“I did, thank you kindly,” is the cat’s uncharacteristically polite response. “Oh look, a nice warm tent.”
And with that, he yawns and pads into one of the bears’ remaining tents. A light yelp of shock emerges from within, followed by Mama Bear’s voice announcing, “Oh, well then.”
A glance inside reveals a giant purring cat, half encircling the central fire, lying on his back, paws stretched out, eyes closed in warm ecstasy. Mr G bounces past my grasping fingers and scrambles up onto the cat’s tummy, padding around until he’s comfortable. Kit lifts his head, opens an eye to peer at the intruder, mentally shrugs and goes back to sleep.
