The morning light spilled into the upstairs bedroom of the Crowley ho, illuminating dust motes and the signs of a young boy’s presence—books scattered on a desk, a satchel dangling from a chair, and boots carelessly placed near the door.
Talbot, the spirit guardian cat of House Crowley, lounged at the center of the bed as if it were a royal dais. His luxurious blue fur shimred in the first rays of sunlight, and a pale, ethereal light filled his eyes, revealing to even the most ignorant observer that he wasn’t a regular cat. With a satisfying arch of his spine, he stretched from his front paws to the tip of his tail, releasing an elegant yawn.
“Ah, the sun. Such a useful spirit. Pity that it is so feisty.” If anyone had been able to hear his voice—and not just his sophisticated ows—they might have recognized the diction of a prim gentleman. It was a sha that mortals were so limited. Alas, he would have to keep his wisdom to himself for a while longer. Talbot had high hopes for young Nicholas. He might be worthy of hearing his voice one day.
“A fresh start for the day’s grand adventures. First, I must note that Nicholas’s bed is no place for a refined spirit like . I will strive to have him build
a more suitable dwelling.” Nevertheless, Talbot took one last languorous roll on the blankets, savoring the lingering warmth. Only when his internal sense of duty tugged at him did he finally rise, stepping lightly onto the floor and shaking his plush fur.
With great dignity, the cat padded to the bedroom door and slipped out into the hallway. “Ti to eat, I expect,” he murmured to himself. “The Lady Elena will surely have sothing suitable for a creature of my esteed station.” Down the stairs he went, hopping down the wooden steps without a single creak.
A Teraphim like him could choose whether to affect the material world or not, and while so might see this as a trivial use of his talent, Talbot prioritized appearances. What kind of cat would he be if he were to clumsily tumble down the steps?
In the kitchen, the Lady of the House was already at work. The aroma of frying bacon and the delightful sight of a pot of milk greeted Talbot’s twitching whiskers. He circled the small table before leaping deftly onto Nick’s chair. There, he sat with an air of supre entitlent, gazing at the woman as she bustled between the countertop and the stove.
“My dear lady,” Talbot said—or rather, he owed in a tone that was polite yet appropriately insistent. Humans could get uppity if he was too nice. “I believe you might be able to spare a tidbit of that bacon for the one who has diligently guarded your ho.”
Elena turned around, and though she heard only a soft w, her smile suggested she knew precisely what the cat wanted. “Hmm, you’re such a demanding little guy, Talbot. And you’ve even stolen Nick’s seat. So spoiled.” She teased, taking a piece of bacon and placing it near the milk, pushing them so he could reach them without having to jump on the table. “Go on, then.” She chuckled as Talbot leaned in and sniffed, then devoured the offering with the dignity of a true connoisseur.
It’s not from a spirit whale liver, but this thunderhoof bacon might just be the best thing after that. ’Tis good that they are so abundant. I might have to go for a hunt myself once Nicholas has returned to guard the House of Crowley.
When the al was done, Talbot hopped off the chair, leaving nary a crumb. He calmly paced toward the door, and Elena, who was by now well acquainted with the cat’s routine, obligingly opened it for him. A crisp morning breeze ruffled his whiskers and carried with it the scents of dew-soaked earth and animal life.
Wonderful, I was still a bit peckish.
Once outside, Talbot took a mont to scan his territory. “Now, to ensure the estate remains unmolested by stray spirits or enemies,” he mused. With silent steps, he began his morning patrol across the lawn and into the fields bordering the Crowley property. Dew dotted the tips of each blade of grass, tickling his paws with cool wetness. He made his way through the neat rows of farmland, passing between empty fields that would beco vegetables and trailing along fences that separated the tad land from the wilder outskirts of Floria.
It was no re stroll—Talbot was on a mission. At intervals, he paused to lift his nose, sampling the currents of the air, searching for the faintest whiff of hostile magic or malicious spirit. I don’t have Nicholas’ gift for the elent, but my sense of sll makes up for it. Yes, I doubt any mortal feline could do the job as well as I do. He’s a very lucky boy. I should make sure to remind him when he cos back.
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Once or twice, he flicked his tail in mild interest at a distant shape moving along the treeline, but it proved to be only a stray deer, far enough not to fall under his rule. “Not an intruder, then,” he thought, refocusing on the domain at hand. He’d like to go for a hunt, but he was a serious Teraphim. He had been given a duty, and by the Aether, he’d see it through.
Halfway through his patrol, Talbot caught a tantalizing scent. His impeccable nose recognized the earthy musk of rodents— mice, more precisely, rummaging near the fields for roots or seeds. They were unlucky, as the planting had yet to begin, but who knew how much damage they could do if left unchecked?
“A brief diversion,” he decided, for while Talbot was a guardian first, there was no harm in indulging his feline instincts when it ant protecting the vulnerable vegetation.
He crouched low, each paw step silent as can be, until the mice ca into view: a pair, plump and unsuspecting. With a flick of his tail, Talbot lunged. Two frantic squeaks followed, and in the span of a breath, both mice were pinned, dispatched, and—after the barest mont of savor—devoured. “A modest feast, to be sure, but one must keep one’s strength up.”
His appetite sated, Talbot continued onward, eventually reaching the far edge of the Crowley estate. Here, the trees fringed a wide clearing that bore unmistakable signs of recent spellfire: scorched grass, shattered tree trunks, and a lingering sll of smoke. His tail lashed once in displeasure. “Now, what sort of delinquent conjurer dares mar my territory while young Nicholas is away?”
He advanced, every sense on high alert. The scents of animal musk and lingering ash rged in the wind. "Quite suspicious. Animals and fire seldom coexist peacefully, and I know for a fact that there isn’t nearly enough ambient elent for the local monsters to develop that affinity, regardless of what their Goddess might desire," Talbot remarked.
Slowly and cautiously, he sank low to the ground, moving with a preternatural stealth that belied his bright-blue coat. His breath slowed, and the world around him seed to hush. If there was indeed an intruder, they would soon regret stepping into the domain of House Crowley.
Talbot circled the clearing, drawing ever closer to a half-uprooted stump where the scent was most pungent. He caught a glimpse of movent—a small, crouched figure ssing with sothing on the ground. Without hesitation, Talbot sprang, landing squarely on the intruder’s back. They toppled forward with a yelp.
“Outrageous, setting foot on my territory without so much as a by-your-leave!” he hissed threateningly—or so he intended; all the figure heard was a fierce, bristling cat snarl.
A single claw extended, ready to channel a cutting curse he had been working on. Then, at the last mont, Talbot caught sight of the intruder’s face. He recognized her foxy ears, her startled, wide eyes, and the panic in her expression. Elia.
Imdiately, he retracted the claw, letting the curse dissipate as a faint crackle of ethereal sparks across his paw. Elia scrambled around, breath coming in quick, shallow hitches. Seeing Talbot, she gasped, her voice trembling with relief and residual fear.
“Oh, thank the ancestors—it’s only you, Talbot,” she stamred, clutching him as if he were a lifeline. She began to sniffle at once, and tears welled in her eyes. The cat’s ears flattened in disapproval as he considered tears a rather ssy human—or, in Elia’s case, beastman—habit, but because she was precious to Nick, he tolerated her fussing.
“I do wish you wouldn’t sar your tears all over my fur,” he owed softly, trying to extricate himself. Her grip tightened, and his annoyance flared, yet he remained still. He recognized the depth of her distress: trembling shoulders, watery eyes, words tumbling from her mouth in a halting litany of frustration and grief.
She spoke of the precarious tensions in Floria, the beastn community’s push for autonomy, and her bungled attempt to distract them by faking a second tail, which sohow ended in her actually developing the fad Trait. “They actually took it as a blessing from the ancestors, did they?” Talbot mused, half-amused, half-appalled.
To him, the solution was clear, “If they so revere your second tail, turn their awe into a ans of leadership. Once your control is complete by making a couple of examples, they won’t dare step out of line.”
But the language barrier between them was profound. Despite her animalistic traits, Elia heard only ows and purrs. Therefore, Talbot closed his luminous eyes and delicately placed his forehead against hers. As a creature connected to the spiritual realm, it was easy for him to project his thoughts into her mind—not words, but concepts and urges, the impression of commanding the beastn’s respect rather than running from it.
The ntal contact was brief but potent. Elia startled, going stiff as a statue for a heartbeat, and a faint gasp escaped her lips as realization dawned. She pulled away, eyes wide. “Talbot…that’s…that’s—I think that might actually be my only chance,” she whispered, looking astonished at her epiphany.
Then, without warning, she jumped to her feet. A sudden exhilaration colored her cheeks. “You’re right. I just need to use their reverence and show them a better path—maybe then they’ll stop plotting rebellion.” She brushed herself off, tail swishing in agitation. “I’ll go see Ogden right away. Thank you, Talbot!”
Before he could react, Elia planted a hasty kiss on the top of his head, to which he responded with a dignified w of surprise, then bounded off toward the road leading back into Floria. Watching her go, Talbot huffed in mild annoyance, ears flicking.
“Humph. This drama was not part of my morning plan,” he thought. “Yet if it aids young Nicholas and Lady Elena, so be it.” Shaking out his blue fur, Talbot rose, tail high. With Elia gone and the clearing silent once more, he thoroughly inspected the singed earth around him. Satisfied that the intruder, in this case, had rely been an ally in distress and in need of relieving so stress, he concluded there was no further threat.
With his duties seemingly resolved, Talbot set off again along the periter, resuming his patrol as if the entire event were no more than a small detour in his day. The sun climbed higher, sending warm rays to warm him up. He moved with the self-assured stride of a ruler in his domain, pausing now and then to sniff the breeze or rub his body against the bark of a trunk.
“All quiet for now,” Talbot remarked inwardly. “Let us hope it remains so until Nicholas returns. But if the forest is half as tumultuous as I suspect, I shall likely have more intruders before he returns.” And so, with an unhurried, dignified gait, he headed deeper into the fields—forever the guardian of Crowley land, determined to keep it safe from unseen threats, intrigues, and perhaps the occasional weeping fox-girl.
At least more bacon awaited him.
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