Sethy was sitting with her eyes closed on a flat stone by the riverbed. In this setting she seemed like a slip of paper, her thick hair tossed hither and thither by the wind that could easily bear her away, her paleness set off in the angry grey mist. She wore little but a nightdress and seemed completely oblivious to the swelling of the banks that would soon swallow her— But when I seized her, to pull her away, her eyes snapped open, and I was repelled by a wave of sound that pushed back both me and the river. I felt myself fall in soggy gravel and winced as my elbows were cut open. I swore and felt my arms, but when I looked up, Sethy was towering over me. If anyone were to ask me what my greatest fear was right then, I would say it was that someday I would wake up, and my devil of a friend would be taller than me. For her blue eyes seemed to burn in that wet haze, and her bony frame, once serene, was illuminated by a flash of lightning. Thankfully, she recognised me, and the ice in her gaze melted as she extended a frail hand. “Terribly sorry!” she exclaimed as I pulled myself up. Now that I was back to being more than a head taller than her, I found her large doll eyes and feral attire less frightening. “Thou interrupted my musings.” “It was me, I thought thou were going to drown. Again.” I felt like an idiot. Sethy is a druid by all rights, so she was probably just practising enchanting motions. It struck me that she truly had grown: before she wouldn’t have been stable on the edge of a swollen river. She smiled, and I felt more at ease. I ignored my cut arms, and asked, “Thou knowest the religion of thy people, yes?” “...Yes, I should say that I study the Drew way.” “And thou knowest the gods?” “Aye.” “Oh, jo!” I nodded, “So I was wondering, does thou believe in fate?” She was silent for a moment. Then she crossed her arms and started walking beside me. “Fate? As in, the gods choosing our paths for us?” “I do not know. The gods, or the great universe— anyone.” “No,” she said certainly, “I believe in choosing my own path.” Her answer was so firm and authoritative that I grinned at her. “So if, what is its name, Donn came down to this realm and told thee to go to the jungle, wouldst thou go?” “The jungle?” she gave me a skeptical blue squint, “Well, I would certainly want to know why Donn wants me to go to the jungle of all places. But I would go anyway, because I am curious about the jungle. There’s all sorts of fascinating things in the jungle, you know. Monkeys and maned wolves and jaguars—” “Jo, jo, I know,” I interrupted, “But if Donn tells thee to go to the jungle, and thou goest, art thou not obeying fate?” “Certainly not,” Sethy huffed, “To begin with, thou misunderstandest the way of the cats. Donn does not command us to do anything, we don’t have to do anything anyone says.” “Not even the gods?” “We are gods.”
“The world is not fair! If du wishest to be a damned tespyan who— who peddles common Shakespeares verses while riding about in a caravan, I cannot stop thee. But with a Katze! I am in enough trouble simply being in the same boat as one of them! I already thought thee mad, shdeshi! But if thou art seen even carrying this creature in the streets, if some dog were to stroll the shore now and see it in our boat, they will lock thee up! In an asylum or else in the chateau! Please, shdeshi, please, think! Tell me now, Erin: has there ever been a Katze und Goshey in one boat, one temple, on one stage?” Sethy looked furious, but I cut her off before she could pronounce a deadly fate upon my brother. “She is my best friend.” “Has there ever been a dog and cat who called themselves ‘friends’?” “There must have been,” the little white cat insisted, “Somewhere, long ago and now. We are not born with hatred in our hearts. There must have been friends like us.” “Thou art being unfair to Sethy on her birthday,” I snapped at Velvel, “Even if there has never been peace between cats and dogs, that is no reason to behave like a coward! I happen to like this creature, and she likes me!” Velvel gave the little white cat an odd sort of black look, one that might have been disgust or embarrassment. “No offense, but why?” “I ought to kill you for that,” Sethy growled.
Someone’s coming,” I warned. “Go home, dog!” Erin pouted and shuffled cautiously backward. “My name is Erin, I said.” “I know. Go home, Erin. Good-night.” “Good-night,” the pup answered and turned away, only to turn and look back at me. “When, tomorrow?” I sighed and covered my face with a paw, one ear turned to where I could hear Oholah stalking closer. “Noon, tomorrow. Good-night!” “Good-night, Shasta.” I groaned again. Of course, I had told her my name was Shasta, like the hero from The Horse and His Boy. “Wait,” I whispered. “Sethy.” The dog frowned up at me. “What?” “My name is Sethy. Good-night!” “Good-night, Sethy!” Erin was still not moving. “Good-night!” I waved a paw, insistently shooing her away. “Good-night!” “Good-night!” Erin finally seemed to get the hint and started to run away to a more hidden distance. “Good-night!”
Some of my favorite exchanges between these two
