Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Snowstreak trots cheerfully along the eastern border, following the path of the bounding river. Ice is crusted, sharp and silvery, along each bank; but thin enough the water still runs clear, in its deepest parts.
The day is bitterly cold, but Snowstreak hardly feels the chillâ it is such a pleasure just to run, and feel her muscles moving smoothly underneath her pelt.
She pauses, where the river bends around a jutting rock, and rubs her cheeks against the stone, huffing with pleasure at the renewed Sedgeclan-Scent she leaves behind. Ours, she thinks, and her purr comes out a steam, in that awful cold.
Butâ it isnât just Sedgeclan sheâs smelling.
Snowstreakâs pelt prickles, uneasy. Cats, for certain. And no one that sheâs met before. Her leg twinges; shaky, suddenly, and weak, though the injury has long since healed.
She could run, now- she should run- but if there really are rogues, trespassing on the territoryâŠ
Snowstreak takes a breath, cold air catching in her throat. âIs someone there?â
Her voice hangs there, a solitary thing in the wide, white spread of the tundra.
And thenâ a mewling, high and plaintive; and the very distinctive sound of one cat hushing another.
âIf someone is there, I donât want to fight!â Snowstreak starts forward again, heart still racing . âBut I can! Iâm a Sedgeclan warrior- I mean, a warrior of Sedgeclan- andââ she trails off, not certain how to finish the sentence. She wouldnât have known what that meant- a warrior- before Coniferstar.
Anyway, whoever it is doesnât answer; even the mewling has gone quiet. But the smell of strange cats is stronger, now, and Snowstreak follows it, her tail quivering. A warrior of Sedgeclanâ and that means she has to defend it.
âPlease,â comes the answer, soft, and stops Snowstreak mid-stride. âI donât want a fight, either. Justâ donât come any closer.â
The days are short, and very dim, this time of year; the sun, never very high, sends long, dragging shadows out across the tundra, like the marks left by some massive claw. Snowstreak squints into one of these, her eyes straining against the snow-blue shade.
âOh,â she says. A scrap of ginger furâ and ten bright eyes, shining back at her from the dark. âThere are kits with you.â
The strange she-cat does not respond.
Snowstreak sits, and wraps her tail around her paws. Coniferstar had said something, about this. Some Warrior thing, once.
âI guess,â she says, âyou donât have any reason to believe me? Butâ if those are kits with you, thenâ I really promise I wonât fight you. Itâs myâ uh, duty, to protect them.â
âYour duty?â The stranger says; a molly, with a young, uncertain voice.
Snowstreak nods. She can see, now, as her eyes adjust, a young, ginger molly, and four kits tucked behind her; big enough to be eating whole prey, their eyes fixed on her wide and curious.
âIâm a warrior,â she says, again. âWeâre supposed to protect all kits. Andâ elders, too, I think. But there arenât any here.â
âOh.â The stranger studies her, a moment. âWellâ we can protect ourselves. I can protect them.â
âBut you must be hungry? Hang onââ Snowstreak half-turns, and then looks back. âI mean, wait there. Iâll be right back.â
She dashes off, and returns a moment later with some prey sheâd caught, and stashed, earlier that day; a little ground-squirrel, still fat despite the season.
The molly, to her relief, is still there, when she returns.
The kits start to squabble, again, at the smell of blood; even the mollyâs eyes gleam, as Snowstreak jogs back into view.
âHere.â She drops the squirrel on the ground between them, and paces back a step, to give them space. âIt must be hard, hunting for that many kits. You can have this.â
There is a pause; the molly watches her, fear warring with a naked, open want.
âOh,â one of her kittens says, his voice high and piping. âCanât we, mama? Canât we please?â
Snowstreak nods encouragement; takes another step away, not wanting to crowd them.
After a moment, the molly shuts her eyes. âAlright,â she says, âof course. Thank youâ go eat.â
The four kittens scramble up, at once, and dash towards the squirrel. They must be a few moons old, already, lanky with their growthspurtsâ but thin, where their fluffy, kittish pelts are starting to give way to adult fur. She can see their hips, and shoulderblades, bones too-stark as they bend to share their meal.
âThereâs more prey back at our camp,â Snowstreak says, looking at their mother. âWe donât always have enoughâ but everyone always gets a share. Andâ theyâd eat first. Every day. Thatâs the rule.â
âThe rule,â the stranger echoes. Her muscles are bunched up, visibly, beneath her pelt; ready to spring to her kittens' side, at a momentâs notice. But she hasnât yet. Surely that was an alright sign? âYou said you were⊠a warrior? I donât understand.â
âI didnât either,â Snowstreak says. âAt first. Coniferstar- he leads us- he explained it all. Itâs⊠cats living together. By a code. We look after one another. Weââ
She doesnât want to mention starclan, yet; the spirits of the dead, the prophecy that had led their leader to this place. To her. To save her life. She knows how it'll sound.
But there is want, shining in the strangerâs eyes. She swallows, and looks down at her kittens eatingâ with none of the usual kittish squabbling. Only a silent, ravenous focusâ Snowstreak wonders when theyâd eaten last.
She says, âI know it sounds strange. It did to us, too. Butâ Coniferstar says, the⊠it sounds better when he talks about it. But thatâ hardship. Um, the tundra. Because itâs hardâ it makes us strong. He saysâ after every frost, a thaw. Andâ thatâs what⊠we are. I think. The thaw.â
âThe thaw,â the stranger says, and looks up to meet Snowstreakâs eyes. âAnd you believe that?â
Snowstreak holds the mollyâs gaze. âI do. He saved my lifeâ my mate and I. Justâ let us show you. You can go, if you donât like it. But I really think itâsâ I think itâs something special.â
The kits have taken the squirrel mostly to pieces; quick as owls, at their meal, barely even chewing. One of them- a bright, white-spotted ginger- drops a last, red scrap at his motherâs paws. âYou should eat too, mama,â he says, and Snowstreak sees the hunger in the mollyâs eyes, as well; sees the rippling of her spine, as she bends her head to snap up the piece of prey.
âThank you, Mure.â She eats more slowly than her kits; as if trying to stretch the meagre mouthful out. To make it last. When sheâs finished, she licks the blood fastidiously from around her mouth; not leaving a single drop.
And then she looks up, to meet Snowstreakâs eyes.
And says, at last, âalright.â
Loner Wormturn joins the clan with her kits.
Wormturn- Female - 39 moons
Former Loner
Loyal
Keen Eye
Cats talk, low, in the camp outside her den. Their voices rise and fall, half-audible under the sounds of wind, and distant waves; the nighttime calling of the owls.
Wormturn is saying, âBoss took him, I know he didââ
And Harebolt comes all-the-way awake with a jolt.
She pushes her way out of the medicine den. All of the other cats of Sedgeclan- even the kittens- are already awake.
âIf it was,â Coniferstar says, âthen we can find him. Weâre not so few, now. Weâllââ
âFind who?â Snowstreak, Coniferstar, and Wormturn all turn to face her. Harebolt resists the inexplicable urge to blanch. âNotâ Boss?â
âPinekit,â Wormturn says, distraught.
âPineââ Hareboltâs eyes snap to the kittens.
Oh. Notâ everyone in the clan is here without her. Three of Wormturnâs kitsâ speckled Saltkit, ginger Murekit, and pale, broad-shouldered Timberkit- are huddled, blinking, just outside the nursery.
But the darkest ginger kittenâ the little tom, with bright, rich amber eyesâŠ
Hareboltâs hackles bristle. âWhat would Boss want with a kitten?â
âA kit,â Snowstreak corrects, softly, and Wormturn says,
âTheyâre his,â her voice a low and wretched thing.
Harebolt stares at her. âYouâreââ
âWhatâs important,â Coniferstar says, his voice cutting and clear, âis finding our missing kit. Wormturn can explain the situation after heâs home. Safe.â
Harebolt dips her head. Of courseâ heâs right.
âWeâll have one warrior with each groupâ Snowstreak, you take Wormturn. Go south.â Coniferstar looks at Harebolt. âYou and I will head north. Our groups will sweep towards each other to the east. I can't imagine heâs gone up the cliffs.â
Snowstreak straightens, importantly. âYes, Coniferstar.â She glances to Wormturn.Â
Wormturn, after a moment, nods. She fixes her gaze on her kittens. âSaltkit. Timberkit, Murekit. Babiesâ stay in camp. Promise you'll stay here until weâre back.â
âI want to help.â Murekitâs voice is still a high, kittenish treble, though heâs starting to look like a real cat; lanky with recent growth. âMaââ
âNo.â Coniferstar shakes his head, firm. âThis is one of the rules that comes with being a clan cat. You will stay in camp- safe- and let the Warriors handle their duties.â His tone brooks no argument.
Murekit ducks his head, with a quick, âyes, Coniferstar,â and herds his littermates back towards the nursery.
Coniferstar nods. âQuickly, now,â he says.Â
And all the cats of Sedgeclan scatter out, into the dark, to search for their missing kit.
Snowstreak hops lightly down the rocky slope. Her paws are tougher, these days, with daily patrolling; Wormturn minces her steps, a little, following, though doesnât make any noise of complaint.
âWeâll find him,â Snowstreak says, encouragingly. âI know itâs all still⊠new, for you, butââ
âNoââ Wormturn lifts her head, sniffing at the wind. âI know. I just hope we donât find Boss with him.â
Snowstreak eyes her, as the molly picks up her feet again, trotting purposefully for the border. The wind ruffles up her ginger fur, a fiery mane bristling, for just a moment, up around her face.Â
âHeâs⊠their father?â Snowstreak ventures. âI knew him. I meanâ we did. Me and Harebolt. I neverâŠâ
âYou wouldnât have seen me. I wasn't in his⊠group. Justâ he. Ah, visited me. On the sideâ There is a brief, unpleasant pause. âBut I knew about you two. Streak, right? He wasâ angry. When you left.â
That bare statement hangs, heavy, between them. He was angry.
Yes. He would have been angry. He was an angry cat; it's why she and Harebolt had left, all those moons ago.
Snowstreak looks at Wormturn. Her breath mists in the cold, drawing up a fog between them.
âI⊠know how he was,â she says, after a moment. âWhen he was angry. My legâ that was him.â
Wormturn looks, as if by reflex, at the nasty scar just-visible through Snowstreakâs Highdark coat. âI thought so. Iâdâ heard he killed you. Itâs why I wasnât sure.â She looks away again, scanning the dark, empty land. âThatâs when I leftâ when you⊠well, not died. But. I didn't want to raise the little ones around someone like that.â
Snowstreak nods, a warmth kindling in her chest, despite the bitter cold. âYou won't have to.â She veers sideways, bumping Wormturnâs shoulder with her own. âWeâll find Pinekit. Thisâ I think this is what being in a clan is all about.â
Wormturn swallows, but her shoulders square. âRight,â she says, and picks up the pace.
Harebolt pauses by a desiccated, woody trunk; the spine of some old shrub, flayed bare by the season. She sniffs around the base, carefully, but detects no kitten-scent over the sterile, frigid winter air.
She looks up at Coniferstar; shakes her head.
He huffs, and leads them wordlessly further north, his easy lope eating up the distance.
In the bleak, colourless expanse of the winter tundra, his black coat shines with undertones of blues, rich-dark like ravenâs wings.
Harebolt looks away, straining her eyes out into the night, instead. âBoss's cats come out this way, sometimes,â she says, recognizing the place. âBut they mostly went south inâ uh, Highdark. Like birds.â
âYes,â Coniferstar says. âThis is the place where they attacked Snowstreak, is it not? If they have taken Pinekitââ
âSnowstreak told you that?â
âNo,â Coniferstar says, and thenâ hesitates, just briefly. âThat isâ I saw it.â
Harebolt stops, dead, turning to stare at him.
Conifer stops, too, after a pace, seeming to realise sheâs not following.Â
âYou saw us? Fighting? And you didn'tââ
And Snowstreak had so nearly died. Could have been saved so much pain. Harebolt smells, strong as if itâs there before her, the rotting stink of the infected wound. âYouââ
âNo!â Is Coniferstarâs tail slightly bushed? âHareboltâ of course not. Starclan showed me. Thatâ it's how I knew to find you. I've told you this.â
ââRight.â
Coniferstar makes to start walking againâ Harebolt doesnât.
âConiferstar,â she says.
He looks at herâ really looks. His eyes, that glacial blue, cut into hers.
âStarclan. Whatâ when they talk to you. Whatâs it like.â She sees, in some hazy space between memory and life, a big, black tomcat, looking on them sadly, in the dark.
Coniferstar tilts his head. âI donât think now is really the time.â
âPlease,â Harebolt saysâ and hears, a voice from moons ago, Rookpaw say, heâs lying to you.Â
There is a pause; the winter night is still, and dark, around them, silver-wide.
âHave you seen something?â Coniferstarâs voice is very soft. His pupils are huge and black, ringed by hair-thin iris; so bright itâs nearly white, in the light of the full moon.Â
Harebolt tries to read the expression on his face. âI donât know.â
There is another little silence.Â
Coniferstar says, âThen⊠Starclan cats. They look just as they did in life. Sometimes with stars, caught in their pelts. Butâ Hareboltââ
âHe was after you,â Harebolt blurts. âI did see him. Iâ Rookpaw. He saidââ
âBut,â Coniferstars voice rises, drowning hers. âNot all the cats we see are good. Thereâ Starclan is not the only territory, after life.â
On the point of interrupting him, Hareboltâs mouth snaps shut again. âWhat?â
âYouâŠâ Coniferstar sighs. âPerhaps I should have told you earlier. I hadnât realised⊠that the Dark Forest may be trying to reach you.â
âThe Dark Forest,â Harebolt echoes. âHowâ what? How do you knowââ
âYou donât.â Coniferstar shakes his head. âYou can never know, for certain.â The energy comes back into his eyes; as if heâs hit upon a good idea. The fur on his tail smooths down, again; his shoulders relax. âBut if you have another visionâ come to me. We can make sense of it, together. Puzzle out whatâs true, and⊠what isnât.â
ââof course,â Harebolt says, unease turning in her stomach.
âGood.â Coniferstar sighs, as if with relief, and bumps his head against hers. âIâm very glad you told me about this. I would hateâ oh, Harebolt, above all things I would hate if the Dark Forest twisted your mind, because I failed to warn you of them.â
âMe too,â Harebolt says, glad heâs too close to read her face. âIfâ I was getting lied to. I wouldn't like that, either.â
Coniferstar pulls back, at last, eyes glowing. âIâm glad,â he says, again, and shakes himself. âLetâs find Pinekit. Iâm sure that together, we wonât have any trouble.â
âPinekit!â
Snowstreak swivels, at Wormturnâs voiceâ loud, in the still dawn.
Their search has stretched on very long, the sky shading into hazy, muddy greys; a fog rising as the earth begins to warm.
Itâs hard to make out much, in the mist; the uncertain light.
Except the trees, beyond their southern border; dark outlines, looming.
And a small, flame-bright shape, growing larger as it weaves between the trunks.
âMama!â The shape calls, voice high.
âPinekit!â Wormturn takes a step towards himâ Snowstreak stops her, bodily.
âWe don't go south,â she says. Where they touch, she can feel Wormturn trembling. âItâsâ forbidden, Wormturn. Itâs not allowed.â
And anyway, Pinekit is still moving towards them, faster the closer he gets, as if the sight of his mother is lending him new strength.
Wormturn doesnât try to move, again, but strains towards him, leaning forward on her paws. Her eyes are hungry, watching him.
His shape resolves out of the mist just moments before he barrels into Wormturnâs chest, gangly with adolescenceâ but his pelt, fluffed up in alarm, looking soft as a kitâs.
âMama,â he says, again.
Snowstreak steps back, giving the two space.
Wormturn licks the top of her kitâs head, her eyes squeezing shut with joy. A purr rumbles in her chest. âPinekit,â she says, achingly soft. âAre you okay, baby? Is your papa around? He didnât hurt you?â
Pinekit shakes his head; his amber eyes shine huge; confused. âWhy would papa be here?â
Wormturn looks down at him. âPinekitâ why else would you leave camp? He didnât come to get you?â
âNo, mama. I justâŠâ he looks back, towards the dark woods, looming through the fog. âI couldn't sleep, was all, and the others are always sleeping, all the time, and I thoughtââ
âKits aren't allowed to leave the camp,â Snowstreak says. She follows Pinekitâs gaze, back south towards the forest.
Trees make black cutouts in the fog; the startling line where they begin, like fur bristling up beside a nasty scar. Forbidden territory.Â
The others say something; Snowstreak doesnât quite hear them, somehow.
She shuts her eyes. In the dark space inside her head, she sees a young, black tom; hardly older than Pinekit, now. Heâs splayed out, in her memory, beside the thunderpath. A snowflake, drifting, melts on his glassy, open eye; he does not blink to clear it.
Dead.Â
Young, and dead, when she and Coniferstar find him, on his aborted crossing from the south. Frost glitters on his pooling blood. His body lies mangledâ twisted, like a piece of prey toyed with by a kittypet. His mouth is open, redâ his teeth are bared. Heâ
âSnowstreak?â Wormturn says.
Snowstreak shakes herself, the memory falling away; an unease lingering, prickly, in her pawpads. âYes. Iâm sorry. Weâllââ She looks up, at the trees again. âConiferstar will want to know, though. Where he was.â
And so he does.
When they return to camp, the story spilling out from Pinepawâs mouth, unwary, Coniferstar ducks his head.
âThe southern territories,â he says, softly.
His small clan is gathered all around him; the kits are drooping, with exhaustion, but perk up to listen to him speak.
Coniferstar hesitates, and then leaps up onto a tumbled, flat-topped boulder in the centre of their camp. As he jumps, the wind catches him, ruffling his fur where it howls above the stone walls all around them.
âCats of Sedgeclan.â His voice is grave. âGather near. Today, we have faced a trial, and through the perseverance of our clanmates- and the will of Starclan- we have come through unscathed. Snowstreak, Wormturnâ I commend you, for returning Pinekit to our camp.â
Snowstreak straightens, a warmth kindling in her chest; like sheâs swallowed down a hot, fresh piece of prey.Â
âBut,â her leader carries on, âOur good news, this morning, comes with ill. Pinekitâ is it true you ventured past the southern boundary?â
Pinekit steps forward; a red and shining little scrap, in the bleak grey morning. He looks up at their leader. Nods, mutely.
Coniferstar sighs. âAnd you know-â he lifts his head, to survey his gathered clan. âYou all know- that the southern territory is forbidden.â
âConiferstarââ Wormturn steps forward, brushing Snowstreakâs shoulder as she passes. âHeâs young. And new to this. He didnâtââ
Coniferstar raises his tail; Wormturn falls silent.Â
There is a pause; the whole camp seems to hold its breath.
âI understand.â He dips his head; sadness in his bright, winter eyes. âBut the south⊠the dangers there. They are of greater weight than any one cat. Even a brave, young kit of Sedgeclan.â
He blinks at Pinekit, warm. The young cat straightens, chin lifting.
Coniferstar goes on; âI have learned, today, of something very grave. Harebolt told me of a vision. Harebolt?â
Snowstreak turns, surprised. She didnât mention it to me. But of courseâ of course she would go to Coniferstar first. Of course; thatâs right, and good.Â
But Harebolt looks stricken; her pelt, that dappled grey and gold, lifts, slowly, as if blown by some private wind. ââYes,â she says, âButâŠâ
âItâs alright.â Coniferstar looks at her, steadily; straight on. Snowstreakâs pelt pricklesâ a tight, sour sort of feeling in her stomach, like sheâs watching her mother fuss over another kit. Strange. âTell us, Harebolt. You arenât in any trouble.â
Harebolt looks around; meets Snowstreakâs eyes, for a moment, through the crowd of other cats, all staring at her. Snowstreak nods, encouraging.
Harebolt holds her gaze, as she speaks; as if talking only to Snowstreak. âYeah,â she says. âAlright. It was just. A cat. He said he was looking for Coniferstar.â A beat; Hareboltâs lovely, familiar blue eyes bore into Snowstreakâs. âHeâ said he was lying. Coniferstar, I think. The kits werenât here yet, so. I donât know what other he it could have been.â
âWell, of course he isnât lying!â Snowstreak looks up to Coniferstar. âOf course you arenât.â
He nods to her, blinking gratitude. âNo. But there are forces which would like you to believe I am.â His eyes lift from Snowstreakâs- a cold loss, which she tries not to feel- to rake the entire clan. âForces from the south. If Iâm rightâ the cat we found, on the southern border, is the same who visited Harebolt. Dark forcesâ from the Dark Forest.â
Snowstreak, uncertain, looks aroundâ the other cats look as lost as she does.Â
Except for Harebolt. She seems to shrink, inside her pelt, watching Coniferstar speak.
Coniferstar shuts his eyes, as if saying something difficult. âI am sorry. Wormturnâ Pinekit. You are brave clanmatesâ good cats. But the safety of the clan must come before any one cat. If thereâs any chance young Pinekit has been⊠touched, by the Dark ForestâŠâ
âConiferstar!â Hareboltâs pelt is bristling, now; on all four paws, she glares up at their leader. âHeâs a kit! What are you going to do? For this? He wasnâtââ
Coniferstar doesnât reply right away. He looksâ
He looks at Snowstreak. There is a light of expectation, in his eye.
She swallows, understanding. Turns, to meet Hareboltâs eyes. She has to handle this. âI thinkâ Coniferstar is right. Ourâ the clan has to come first.â
Hareboltâs eyes widen; a flash of hurt, in them, that Snowstreak thinks only she could notice. But it clears, swiftly. Her tail lashes. âWouldnât Boss say that? The gang comes first. We couldâve been safe with them, butââ
âConiferstar is not like Boss!â Snowstreak shoots to her paws, outraged. âHow could you say that? He would neverâ Wormturn! You know!â
The ginger molly startles, being called on. She looks at Snowstreak, and then up at Coniferstar. Swallows, once or twice. âIâ Boss wouldnât have taken the kits in. Or Snowstreak. When you were hurt.â She nods at Snowstreak, blinking. âButââ
âBut heâs your kit,â Harebolt interjects. âAnd he didnât know. Whatâ whatâs even the risk, here, that heâs⊠possessed? And then what are you gonna do? Coniferstar?â She turns her blazing eyes up at him. âKill him? Exile him? A kit? In winter like this?â
Harebolt turns to look at her; hurt and shock and disgust all twisting up her face. âRight now?â Her voice is a whisperâ but in the dead, icy silence of the camp, it falls, like a stone from a very great height, and seems almost to echo.
There is a long, long pause.
Snowstreak and Harebolt look at one another, across the camp. Hareboltâs pelt settles flat, by slow degrees. Her eyes are wide, and almost glow, as the sun at last breaks over the horizon. Snowstreak hears herself breathing, in the quiet. The distance, across their small camp clearing, feels suddenly very great.
Finally- finally- Coniferstar speaks. âPossession is precisely what Iâm concerned about. Corruption. Infiltration. The dark influences that dwell in the south- and the Dark Forest- can creep into any cat. And it only takes one, to bring the whole clan down around our ears.â
Wormturn makes a small and wounded noise. Presses close to Pinekit- wide-eyed and silent, in the midst of all this tumult.
âBut,â Coniferstar nods to Harebolt. âI am not so monstrous as that. And after allâ your kits, Wormturn, were born in Highsun, were they not? Who can be surprised, that the corruption of the warmth, and sun, touches more easily their minds? We cannot blame any cat, for the circumstances of their birth.â
There is a little pause; and then Wormturn starts, seeming to realise Coniferstar is waiting on an answer. âYes,â she says. âIn the longest days. I wouldnât have run, ifâ it not. But I thought we could survive. It was warm. And there was prey.â
âPrudent of you.â Coniferstar nods. âI am glad, to have a cat so thoughtful in our clan. And not unsensibleâ it would be hard indeed, for a kit to survive with the days as dark as this. We are closest to Starclan, in this time of long nightsâ but that doesnât put prey in young mouths.â
Wormturn nods. Relaxes, a little, where she sits still pressed into her kitâs shoulder. âHe wonât leave again, Coniferstarâ you wonât, Pinekit.â
He shakes his head, mutely.
Coniferstar sighs. âHe might. No matter what he says. I am sorry to say itâ the risk of corruption still threatens Sedgeclan. I proposeâ an exile deferred. Let Pinekit train with us, until he earns his warrior name. Until he knows to hunt, and fight, as well as any clan cat might. Only then will he be asked to leave.â
Wormturn takes a sharp breath in; Snowstreak looks at her.
The rest of the clan does, too. After a beatâ she dips her head, her eyes screwed tight with pain. âThank you, Coniferstar.â
And maybe only Snowstreak hears it; a low noise. A note of disbelief.Â
Harebolt, sitting all alone across the clearing. Saying, softly, âThank you?â