But I wrote this today.
“There’s something…” Bran muttered, staring into the forest. “I see shadows, but ahead of them…”
“A cat!” Kessa yelped from her tree. “It’s a hearth-cat! The poor thing! Tolor—“
“We cannot help it,” the cleric cut in. “Guard yourself, Kessa.”
Flame counted dogs and bet herself a guilder that streak of black and white would outlive them all. It only had to reach Bran, after all, and its pursuers would forget its existence. Eight demon-dogs.
No bath, Flame pointed out to the Lady. No bath, no wine—hers was in the tree with Ryahled—and no appropriate man. Not my time, she prayed.
The cat faltered, a dog closed the gap. A bow sang, the dog yelped and stumbled. Damn, Ryahled hadn’t killed it? The cat bounded ahead.
“He’s going to make it!” Kessa whooped. Her bow twanged, to no effect. “It dodged! It dodged me!”
“Come on, kitty…” Bran muttered. Flame shook her head, waved her brand to keep it flaming. Damn, if—
The streak tore past Bran and up Flame’s leg. She thrust her brand at the dog behind it, cursing dog fangs and kitten claws. The dog fell, an arrow in its throat and Bran’s sword in its gut.
Yay me!