I slip from the support of the black-haired Werecat before I think better of it. I fall to my knees without him as a crutch, and my head drops to my chest.

A soft, leathery trunk glides under my arms and gently encircles my waist. The big berserk picks me up as easily as I would cradle a child, moving slowly but surely to a large platform on his back. I jerk, not wanting to be stuck there. The bars surrounding the large platform upon his back and the wooden ceiling above remind me too much of previous cages for my comfort.

I prefer air and freedom, or at least some semblance of it if I'm to be taken as a prisoner to the Werecat Imperial.

Harry pauses, a low keening emerges from his chest. Then he moves me up to the front, where there are straps and hides that could constitute a saddle within a much smaller area. Perhaps three or four folks could sit upright in the area, or I could comfortably lie down and ride right behind the wooly white head and large umbrella ears.

Harry meets my gaze, and I give him as much of a smile as I can, even as drowsiness pulls me ever closer to the darkness.

“That would... be great, my friend.” I lethargically pat his trunk with my good hand.

His eye twinkles as he places me gently upon the platform two stories from the ground. I settle in as he flaps those large ears, a smile tipping my lips as the wind is a cooling balm to my burning body. Even as my eyes drop closed, I feel Zephora place a pack beneath my head. The world fades to darkness.

~~~

We travel throughout the day at the lumbering, gifted gait of the berserk. It's indeed true what they say of the berserk... they can traverse mountains and valleys as if they were a fish parting water.

It's a blessing few ever have to see firsthand the Gift of the berserk. They are nearly extinct in this world. They were a Gift from the Blessers of Beulah, but their homeworld had nations designed for the large creatures to thrive. We do not, and the winter here is not kind to the large animal. The Werecats are the only ones I know who have been able to tame the magical creatures.

The Gift of the berserk is one of swiftness and might. I can't define when nor where the berserk ends and the forest begins. It reminds me of a mirage of the desert lands, a shimmering around the edges in ways that makes one question what is real.

He moves much quicker than a horse at full gallop, the surrounding forest receding as a large mountain range grows steadily before us. Mountains that seemed a great many miles off loom closer.

The white peaks of the monolithic mountains reach their pointed fingers into the sky. The trees along their sides are colored many hues of deep orange and red, contrasting with the glances of pale whiteness of the mountain tree bark. A few evergreens color in between the mountain trees remain a dark green even as the rest are dropping their leaves in preparation for the cold season.

Before me is a life-sized painting I cannot enjoy to the full extent I wish were possible.

I rest between watching the surrounding countryside, waking up for short periods to drink from a waterskin. A buzzing in my ears grows as the day grows older, and I shake my shaggy head to displace it—which just makes me dizzy.

I sit up, placing my good foot in the stirrup and holding onto the shaggy mane of the berserk. I flow with his gliding movement, trying to ignore the weakness laying a parlor upon my skin. Instead of the rest helping, I feel worse as the day progresses.

I attempt to take my mind from the weakness as I take in the surroundings. A large brook travels beside us like a lazy snake, gliding to and fro.

As we meet the mountain, we travel further up and in through enormous mountain passes, even once passing under a waterfall. The Werecats providing me with a waterproof cape that smelled of resin.

The other side of the waterfall led to an enormous cavern big enough for three berserks side by side. Further in and further out, we traveled through the grey and black tunnels, eventually emerging on a ledge running alongside an immense cliff.

Before us lies the desert. An expanse of land no one claims that borders the land between The Empire and Jrakkathan, the nation of the Werecats. But if what Black says is true... the land on the other side of this vast expanse may now belong to my cousin. I look to the North, glancing along the mountain range to where they begin to grow even larger than those here. Somewhere in that direction, among the cliffs and plains of those mountains, lies my homeland.

The large monolithic trees from Videlia have shrunk into smaller, scraggier trees with a lighter bark and leaves more like large fronds with spikes than oak leaves. And even they grow few and far between in the vastness of the golden land before us.

Smells of arid spiciness and something I can't quite define punctures my nose with a mixture of rancid decay and sweet flowers. From my vantage, I can see over the tops of the mountain trees through to the ever shrinking shrubs until it meets light pink and slightly golden sand. I have to shade my eyes as I peer in the sun's direction. It approaches the horizon, descending into the desert beyond the mountain pass we travel. The sand reflects its light and glares into my aching eyes.

Zephora approaches.

"Eat this." She says, coming before me as the berserk stops and puts its long trunk into the water basin at the exit of the cavern.

I grunt out something unintelligible.

With a sigh, she takes back the food and impatiently sticks the spoon into my mouth. I can't say it's the best thing I've ever had, and my stomach almost revolts.

"Swallow it." She says sharply.

"Don't mind my sister, Shifter. She's just worried and this is how she shows she cares." Black says, traversing the back and stocky neck of the berserk as if it were ground and not made of shifting muscles and twitching skin.

I open my mouth to say something, but Zephora sticks another spoonful in my mouth and I reflexively swallow with a grimace.

"Eat yours too, Brother." Zephora commands.

The Were shifts around the food in his bowl. "Trail rations... we should have brought a cook instead of grumpy cake back there." Black points to one of the Were, who sends Black a glare in return.

"If not for me, you'd be dragon fodder, cupcake." The man calls back.

Black shrugs. "I will neither confirm nor deny, Sparrow. Just don't make the mistake of calling me cupcake when you're in range of my claws."

The man grins, showing blackened teeth beneath his scraggly beard. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Zephora pokes more soup down my throat, a slight smirk on her lips the rest don't see.

Before long, we're getting ready to move, and then we're on mountain trails that zigzag up and down the mountain before us. The times the berserk's foot landed on slim dirt that gave beneath his feet, my heart jumped to my throat as his foot would dangle over the side of yawning chasms and straight edged cliffs. But the creature never once faltered, leading us steadily up at a pace that would put anything—except dragons—to shame.

At the next break, Zephora brings food and a blindfold. I glare at her, but her stone cold visage never changes.

So, for the rest of the trip, I'm blind as a bat. Wonderful.

I grunt in annoyance, and they mostly leave me be; except for Essie, who stays by my side to keep me from falling off. She chatters behind me, sounding like the indecipherable ranting of a squirrel.

"...then Joish and Yipter put old Marianis into a tizzy—the old lady deserved it—with a bramble bee under her bed. The bug stunk up her whole house. It was fun... until Grampy stepped in to keep Marianis from sticking the bug in Yipter's shirt." She chatters on.

I chuckle at the appropriate places, trying to be nice.

We’ve been traveling so long and I become so used to the gentle sway of the giant beneath me—I almost fall off the berserk as he comes to a standstill.

The buzzing in my ears grows as the saddle (or the leather straps and hides that are classified as a saddle) hits my broken ankle, causing a sharp, intolerable pain. Light flashes behind my eyes, and before I know it, I tip out of the saddle; the weakness growing to a point where I can’t seem to stay upright, nor figure out which direction is supposed to be upright. A scream from the chatter box behind me gets left behind, and then the cries of a young girl rip into my heart.

I grunt as the berserk snaps his colossal head around and wraps his snake-like nose around my torso. He guides me to the ground in the same steady manner as he helped me up.

The gentle giant holds me steady when I finally reach the ground, helping me find my feet. I smile and blindly reach for his jaw, rubbing it as he gives a high-pitched, keening moan at odds with his size.

“Thanks, big guy.” He eases the blindfold from my face with a snuffling, slightly wet trunk.

He meets my eyes with soft intelligence and gives a low rumble of contentment. I try to look back up at Essie, but that makes my head dizzy, so I forego trying to look that far up.

The Black Were in human form appears at my side.

“Easy there, Shifter.” He says, daylight just lighting up the surrounding plain and highlighting the dark bags under his eyes.

We're in the shadow of a towering mountain range, a plateau between the monoliths twisting and rising to meet the clouds high above. The trees here are a mix of large frond-like trees with light white bark and trees more like I'm used to, with heart-shaped leaves about the size of my hand and brown or grey bark. A large, tumulous river traverses through the middle of a large village before me. Behind us, the same river roars over the edge of a ravine. I looked earlier and saw the waterfall flowing in a white torrent that extended a mile straight down, ending at a pool of swirling water.

The black Werecat lets me lean on him as we traverse the village that smells of cat, drifting away from the roaring of the waterfall.

The creators of this village placed the huts on either side of the plain dirt road in muted earth tones and straw roofs. They set the village in a circular form that looks something like a maze or Labyrinth, with huts and small barns scattered throughout. The bleat of sheep and the barks of milk Krisholm meet my ears. The small animals are much like a prairie dog mixed with a rabbit, just much bigger. Their milk is filled with fat and separates easily, making it easier to ferment into sour cream, cheese, and Keifer. The animal is also very placid and has a wooly coat that makes good yarn. It's a creature designed for survival, even if they do stink of ammonia from peeing on themselves.

We slowly make our way deeper in, following the circular form of the hard, dirt-packed roads, and I can't help but feel dwarfed by the size of this place... this isn't a village, but a small city.

Only a few fierce looking women are sweeping out the hard-packed dirt floors from their open doorways of one-room homes. They meet my eyes, and for the first time since I was a pup, I see those with violet, blue, and red eyes of their heritage. Humans have brown and blue eyes that are slightly muted sky-like color or the brown of rich earth, with rare occasions of green.

Shifters mostly have silver and black eyes, with the rare individual having sharp, gem-like gazes in color. That is mostly from mixes. My brother was a prime example. Alec had deep, azure eyes that glowed from within, but he was half-human. I got the black eyes of my father... something I am not proud of.

Were are more likely to have gem-like eyes, with silver and black being less common. The blue eyes of Black is an example. They are a turquoise, not quite blue but not quite green, like an ocean.

Few are in the village right now, but I don’t understand why, nor do I have the mental capacity to figure that out.

It’s funny to me that although many creatures share many similar traits, such as eye color that resemble a night sky or stars of the void, we don’t get along unless it’s of the same animal species. I get cats differ from wolves, but at its heart, shouldn’t we be stronger together? Should we not use our differences as strengths instead of pushing us apart?

Yet, I'm also reminded of something my birth mother taught me. It takes two to meet in the middle. One side cannot do all, and neither can cooperation be forced into existence. That only breeds resentment that leads to greater separation. No, what we truly need is grace. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone has been dimmed by life so that they hardly shine. And yet, we're still a part of this expanse that makes up life. Are we here for a purpose? Is there even a reason for this existence?

Do we need forgiveness and grace, by all sides, to come back together for one purpose? I'm not sure I could do such a thing. I can't forgive myself for the things of my past... how could anyone else forgive me?

Quit it. You do this all the time. Can I not have a little peace from your hair-brained philosophy?

This is me. You either like me or you don't.

I don't.

Then you can leave.

Sorry, no can do. You're stuck with me.

Great. Could you at least focus as we meet the Imperial and try not to get us killed?

I was going to ask you the same thing.

Good. Now shut up.

With pleasure.