It’s late afternoon as the two of us leave the building and head out on our hunting trip.

  “So, a nice bit of fresh venison tonight sound good to you?” I ask her.

  ‘I get the liver,’ I am assertively informed

  Stepping carefully over a broken branch, I nod my head.

  “I find deer liver too rich for me. I prefer lamb.”

  Memories of a steaming homemade hotpot, the flavour of mutton enhanced with the addition of lamb liver, cause me to salivate. My reminiscence is disturbed by Misty’s snort.

  ‘It’s a dinkus, or did you not pay attention to the kitten?’

  I just chuckle at her. “Forgive me, oh wise and powerful teacher.”

  She stops, sits down, and, glancing up at me with a look exclusively assigned to cats, proceeds to start washing herself.

  I chuckle and hold up my hands in surrender.

  “Alright, I’m sorry, lass,” I crouch and stroke her head just the way she loves best.

  “Am I forgiven?”

  I get another of her looks.

  ‘Come,’ is her terse reply, then she stands and continues on to the next clump of trees.

  The area around here reminds me of the English countryside. Now we are moving down the valley, the rougher terrain has been replaced with a broad valley between rolling hills, dotted with meadows amidst copses both large and small. The grass is lush and scattered with small flowers. Now and then, my herbalism skill draws me to a herb or other useful plant. The most common is still feldspar, but I also find and am able to identify some others. The most prominent is Dewberry Moss, which I spot growing near a small tributary stream.

  Dewberry Moss: Medicinal Plant. Grows in damp caves and near running water and waterfalls. Apply to burns and stings for near-instant relief and rapid skin regeneration.

  I had also found and gathered some more silverbloom.

  “I’m becoming quite the plant collector,” I say to Misty.

  ‘They can’t run away when you hunt them,’ is her amused reply.

  ‘Damn cat really doesn’t think much of me as a hunter.’ I grump.

  We continue on in this way, slowly meandering in the direction Naomi had told us. Misty pauses at a small tussock of grass and looks at me.

  “What?” I ask her.

  Her answer is to look at the ground near her feet and then back up at me.

  ‘Why does this remind me of my damn driving test?’ I puzzle about what she wants of me.

  ‘No mate, it’s worse. In a driving test, they at least tell you what to do next.’

  She isn’t giving me any clues, just staring at me with those damned eyes judging me.

  I crouch down and look at the area near her. Finally giving up, I sigh and start to stand.

  ‘Look at the grass stems, see how they are broken,’ she says, her voice sounding frustrated. ‘And smell them. The scent of dinkus is on them.’

  “Hey, not fair! My nose isn’t like yours.”

  ‘Then train it better or get better with looking,’ she quips back.

  I get back and study the clump of grass carefully. To me, it smells of, well, grass. But I can just about see what she means by the broken stems.

  ‘She has a big advantage being down low all the time,’ I think.

  Her ears twitch forwards.

  ‘Talk like me, prey is close,’ she instructs me.

  ‘OK, Misty, which way?’ and I quietly unsling my bow.

  ‘Follow, stay quiet.’

  I had noticed before how, when she gets into a hunt, her words get less and her tone terser. Misty was shifting gear; the hunt was on. Staying low, we creep forward. Ahead is a small stand of scraggly trees, which we make our way through, Misty leading on silent paws. Me doing my best to emulate her stealth.

  I am not as good as her and get regular glances back, letting me know this. After a slow approach, we are crouching behind some low shrubs. Across the field, a small group of dinkus are grazing.

  ‘Watch them,’ Misty instructs me. ‘See, one has its head up looking around, sniffing the air.’

  I nod, afraid to speak, even in my head, lest I spook them.

  ‘Remain here, I go. If they flee, I pounce.’

  ‘Gotcha,’ I acknowledge in a mental whisper.

  ‘I signal, you shoot. Let us hunt.’

  I withdraw an arrow from my quiver and inspect it as Misty vanishes from sight. Quietly, I run the feathers—I think I recall Elara calling them fletching, but at this moment I’m not sure—through my lips, damping them slightly.

  ‘Why did you do that?’

  I pause, not actually sure. ‘I think I saw Robin Hood doing it in some movie or other.’

  ‘Great job, Del. You suck a fucking feather ‘cos some bloody Hollywood goon thought it looked cool.’

  ‘Pay attention!’ Misty’s voice snaps at me. ‘Be ready.’

  I push the point of the slightly damp arrow into the ground at my side and draw a fresh one, which I quickly nock. Looking down the shaft length, I wait for the order to fire.

  I feel Misty, readying her pounce.

  ‘I just know her butt is twitching right now.’ I laugh quietly to myself.

  ‘Now.’

  On her short, sharp command, I draw the string and loose my arrow. As it flies, the dinkus on watch turns and senses something. A snort. The group startles and, with incredible agility, surges into action, simultaneously leaping in whatever direction they faced before spinning to run away from me. My arrow scores a hit, low down in the flank of one of the creatures.

  The hit is not in a vital area. It’s not enough.

  A huge ginger cat sails through the air, landing on the back of the dinkus I wounded. In a move I had only before seen in a documentary, her teeth clamp on the animal's throat and bring it down in a cloud of dust and scattered grass.

  In a thunder of hooves, the rest of the herd rapidly disappears.

  I sit by a tree, the carcass hanging by its legs to let the blood drain, following the instructions Elara had drummed into me before we left.

  Misty lounges on a low branch nearby, her sleek form highlighted by the slowly setting sun. She’s been watching me for a while now, her tail flicking in what I’ve come to recognise as barely contained disapproval.

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  “Something on your mind, Misty?” I ask, breaking the silence.

  ‘Oh, only the usual existential dread about being tethered to a subpar hunter,’ she responds, her voice clear and laced with mockery in my head.

  “Hey, no fair, Misty. When did you get to swallow a dictionary?”

  She stretches, her claws glinting in the sunlight.

  ‘I put plenty of points into intelligence, Del. Maybe you should try the same.’

  Before I can come back with more of my witty repartee, she continues her assessment of our hunting trip.

  ‘Really, Del, you’d think by now you’d have mastered the basics. It’s almost endearing how bad you are at this.’

  I chuckle, getting up to check the dinkus and taking out my knife. “I’ll take that as constructive criticism.”

  ‘It’s not,’ she retorts, leaping down from the branch with effortless grace. She pads over, tail high, and sits just out of reach.

  ‘Let’s talk about our recent hunt, shall we?’

  “Oh, do we have to?” I groan, testing the sharpness of the knife against my thumb.

  ‘Yes, we do.’ Her tone is mock-serious, though her whiskers twitch in amusement. ‘What exactly was your plan when you scared that herd of dinkus halfway to the next continent? Was it a performance art piece? Some abstract commentary on human futility?’

  “I shot at them,” I say defensively. “And I hit one.”

  ‘Barely.’ Her mental laugh is rich and melodious. ‘On our approach, you stomped through the underbrush like a drunken troll! I think even the worms were fleeing for their lives.’

  I roll my eyes. “Not all of us have the advantage of being perfectly silent, oh great Huntress of the Wilds.”

  ‘It’s not my fault you walk like your legs are made of broken cartwheels,’ she quips, settling into a loaf position and curling her tail around her paws. ‘You know, Del, there’s a reason your kind invented farming. Stick to that. It’s less embarrassing for everyone.’

  I shake my head, unable to keep the grin off my face. “Alright, oh wise one, what’s your advice, then? How should I improve?”

  She cocks her head, her green eyes gleaming.

  ‘Step one: stop being human. It’s a definite handicap. Step two: grow a tail. Balancing without one is just sad. And step three—’ she pauses for dramatic effect ‘—stop smelling like fear and desperation.’

  I laugh despite myself. “You’re ruthless, you know that?”

  ‘It’s a gift,’ she says, preening one paw with exaggerated care. ‘But in all seriousness, Del, hunting isn’t about brute force. It’s about patience. Precision. Timing. It’s about becoming one with the environment, not tripping over it.’

  “Easy for you to say,” I mutter. “You’ve got claws, fangs, and now a shapeshifting ability to boot.”

  ‘True,’ she agrees smugly, sitting up straighter. ‘And speaking of which, have you noticed how effortlessly I’ve mastered it? Just imagine—one moment, I’m your adorable, perfectly-proportioned feline companion; the next, I’m a ginger panther, a killing machine. I mean, it’s almost unfair to the rest of the animal kingdom.’

  “Yes, you’ve mentioned that once or twice,” I say dryly. “Though I do recall someone falling into that stream when she tried it on the way up here.”

  Her ears twitch in irritation.

  ‘That was a calculated test of the environment,’ she says haughtily. ‘And it’s not my fault water is wet. That’s a design flaw.’

  “Of course,” I say, biting back a laugh. “How silly of me.”

  ‘The real question,’ she continues, ignoring my tone, ‘is why you, with all your so-called adaptability, can’t seem to shoot a single dinkus.’

  I throw up my hands. “Because they’re fast, alright? And I’m... not.”

  ‘Fast? You think that’s the issue?’ She lets out a mental sigh. ‘Del, even if you were blessed with cheetah legs, you’d still find a way to trip over yourself. It’s about instinct, not speed.’

  “And I suppose you’d like to teach me?” With a single slash, I open the belly of the dinkus and step back as its innards fall out.

  ‘Oh, absolutely.’ She stands, stretching lazily. ‘Lesson one: stop thinking like a human.’

  “I don’t suppose you could elaborate on that?”

  ‘Gladly,’ she says, her tail swishing. ‘Humans overthink everything. You plan, you strategise, you hesitate. A good hunter doesn’t think; they act. When I see a mouse, do you think I sit there debating the ethics of eating it?’

  “No,” I admit. “But I also don’t imagine you write poetry about it afterward.”

  ‘Exactly. Focus on the now, Del. The moment. Let go of that buzzing chaos in your head and trust your senses. Well, the ones you haven’t dulled with bad food and even worse ale.’

  I snort. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  ‘You’re welcome,’ she says sweetly. Then, with a glint in her eye, she adds, ‘But don’t worry, you have one redeeming quality.’

  “Oh? And what’s that?”

  ‘You have me,’ she says, her tone dripping with mock magnanimity. ‘And honestly, it’s a miracle you’ve survived this long without me. Truly, you should consider building a shrine.’

  “A shrine? For you?” I laugh. “What would I offer? Catnip and warm blankets?”

  ‘Throw in some fresh fish, and we might be onto something,’ she says, her purr rumbling in my mind. ‘But really, Del, don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re not the worst companion I could’ve been saddled with.’

  “That’s high praise,” I say with a grin. “Coming from you.”

  She pads closer, her eyes softening slightly.

  ‘You’re stubborn, hopelessly clumsy, and your aim is questionable at best, but you’re loyal. And you listen—most of the time. That counts for something.’

  “Thanks, Misty,” I say quietly.

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ she replies, her voice softer now. ‘But if you could try not to scare off the prey next time, I’d appreciate it.’

  “I’ll do my best,” I promise, reaching out to scratch behind her ears.

  She leans into my hand, purring softly. Then, as if remembering herself, she pulls away and flicks her tail.

  ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an important prowl to attend to. Try not to embarrass yourself while I’m gone.’

  “I’ll do my best,” I call after her as she slinks into the shadows, her mental voice lingering in my mind.

  ‘Make sure to keep the liver for me,’ she continues.

  ‘And Del? If you’re going to make a fool of yourself, at least make it entertaining.’

  With that, she’s gone, leaving me to finish cleaning the deer. I save the skinning for when I get back, grinning to myself and grateful for the infuriating, brilliant creature who’s become my closest ally.

  I quickly untie the dinkus and sling it over my shoulder, grab up my other bits and then join Misty as we head back to join the others at Myrrith’s shrine.