Storm couldn’t quite believe the humans had all gone out and abandoned him. Not that he cared – he was Storm of Odin who hunted lightning and ran with the thunder. Human company meant nothing to him – and anyway Jessie had said she’d be back soon. It pleased him that she was taking suitable care of his needs. And until she returned he had the whole house to himself, a silver bowl with food and one with water (not real silver, but you had to make allowances when you were dealing with humans). Also, a rug to chew on, and Jessie had left one of her sweaters over the back of a chair so he could pull it on to the floor and lie on it. What more could a young stormhound want?
But even the perfect situation can become tiresome if nothing changes, and soon Storm became restless, which was when he discovered that Jessie or her Dad had accidentally shut the door, trapping him in the room!
He pawed at the bottom of the door, growling at it to open, but it refused.
A flash of tabby fur appeared on the window sill outside.
A fine morning for hunting, Nutmeg said, sitting down to clean her whiskers. Storm barely heard her through the glass, but her smug expression was unmistakeable. I see you’re keeping your magic under control, she said. Well done. Most humans really don’t like to think there’s magic in the world.
Most humans, Storm repeated. You mean, some do?
One or two, maybe, the cat said, shrugging. I’ve never met one. You don’t need to worry – you’re safe here.
Safe? Impertinent cat. Open the window so I may hunt with you.
I don’t hunt with anyone. I am the cat who walks alone, Nutmeg said. That comes from a book, you know.
Do I look like I care? He didn’t need a cat to assist him. Storm turned back to consider the door. It was smooth on the inside and operated by a simple, straight handle, unfortunately at human height and therefore unreachable in his current state. He jumped at it anyway, growling in frustration as his paws just caught the end of it and slid off.
You’ll never open the door like that, the cat said.
I’m not listening to you.
Of course you’re not. I’m only a cat. Who cares that I’ve lived on this earth a mere fourteen years and seven months, while you fell out of the sky, what, last week? What could I possibly teach you? You should pay attention to how the humans do things, by the way. They’ve got stupid bodies, balancing along on two legs, but they’re always building tools to make up for it.
He didn’t need tools; he needed to be bigger, have more height. He was a stormhound, not a helpless puppy.
Watch this, cat. Storm turned and walked to the far side of the room, crouched down, tensed every muscle in his body and sprang.
His body still remembered how to fly, sort of. His paws left the ground. Storm gave a yip of triumph. He hit the door hard, kicking the handle down with his back paws.
That was when he discovered the door opened inward.
Storm bounced off the wood, turned what felt like at least five somersaults and crash-landed head-first on to the rug. He lay dazed, blinking away stars and making sure none of his limbs were broken. He didn’t look at the cat: he knew she’d be laughing. As if cats never fell off things.
He picked himself up and shook himself. Tools. Looking about, he saw one of those flappy things humans used for hiding from rain. The thicker end was flimsy but the other end had a hook. Storm carried it to the door and, after several tries, he hooked it over the door handle. The cat watched from the window sill with annoying interest.
Not bad, little disciple.
I am not your disciple. And I am not little!
Whatever. Nutmeg flicked her tail at the glass. I think the umbrella is breaking, by the way.
What’s an umbrella? The flimsy end of the rain-shelter tore, but he kept a good grip and pulled downward until the handle turned. The door creaked open. Storm dropped the broken rain-shelter and stood back, his tail wagging.
Better not let the humans find out you did that, Nutmeg advised through the window. Humans get funny about that sort of thing.
Much as he hated agreeing with a cat, the creature was probably right. Humans did seem to think they were the only ones who could do anything in this world. Storm returned the broken rain-shelter to its corner, then, giving himself a little shake, he padded out of the room to explore.
It was much more fun doing this without the humans hovering over him and moving him away from things, Storm discovered. Everything smelled too human, but that was easily fixed with a bit of scratching and rolling about.
There were plenty of soft places to sleep, especially upstairs. He lay down on all of them in turn to see which one he preferred, then he tried out a wooden rack of shoes by the front door. It wasn’t Storm’s fault that it broke when he jumped on it. Humans ought to build better furniture. They should build better shoes too, he thought, nosing through the pile. Not a single steel-armoured boot to try his teeth on.
After some taste-testing, he selected a furry cloth shoe that smelled of Jessie and he took it into the front room to chew on while he watched the street.
He still felt oddly empty. Guarding the house gave him something to do, but it wasn’t like home. No clamour of voices and armoured feet stamping over stone floors, no sudden clash of weapons, not even the crackle and spit of a fire. All was silent.
Occasionally someone walked by outside and Storm sat up to watch them but no one challenged him. Even the shouting Valkyrie-Lady from next door walked past with barely a glance at him.
Not so brave when you’re on your own, are you? Storm barked after her. She didn’t look back and he lay down with a sigh.
The morning passed. Storm was dozing quietly, the shredded remains of the shoe between his paws, when he heard whistling. Opening his eyes, he saw a man striding up the short path to the house, a large bag hanging from a strap over one shoulder.
Storm leaped up. A thief! Come to fill his sack with treasure while the humans were away. Thank Odin, Storm was here to stop him.
Storm kicked the bits of shoe aside and jumped at the window. I am Storm of Odin, temporary guardian of this dwelling. Leave your bag of treasure and flee my wrath before I smite you.
Stupid glass. It looked flimsy, but his claws didn’t even make a scratch on it. And outside, instead of running for his life, the thief paused, raised a hand in greeting and said some words Storm couldn’t make out for the sound of his own barking. He was pretty sure they included the word ‘puppy’.
Puppy? That’s it. Prepare yourself for battle.
The glass still wouldn’t break. Storm raced out of the room to the front door and flung himself against it, barking madly. His shadow filled the hallway. This was more like it. He was Storm of Odin, defender of the humans who lived here and no thief would get past him.
The metal flap in the door rattled and several objects fell through, one of them landing on Storm’s head. He shook it off and stamped on it.
‘Good dog,’ he heard the thief say, and then rapid footsteps, fading as the intruder retreated.
Victory!
Storm bayed in triumph. But the danger was not over yet. Thieves were tricksy creatures and the things that had come through the door might contain some deadly enchantment. Storm nosed through them. Floppy rectangles made of paper that crackled satisfyingly as he chewed. He couldn’t smell any magic on them, but you couldn’t be too careful.
After several minutes of hard work, Storm sat back and surveyed the remains of the things littered across the hall carpet. Much better. The humans ought to do something about that flap in the door – it was most unsafe.