Bragwaine Sunday (5 Sep 2001) Tom meets a girl who claims to be a cat.

Church of Jesus Christ, Redeemer
This church is more modern than the old Church of God's Word-- it actually has running water and plumbing, though the older people grumble that the pastel-colored walls and the simple, functional construction lack the character of the other church's intricately carved altar pieces and stained glass windows. Here, the altar is a flat slab of black walnut wood, what decoration there is tends to be of an abstract sort that suggests rather than depicts, and the preacher's lectern is more or less a board on a post, veneered.

It's the next day after the Adventure of the Golden Hawk -- which would make it Sunday. On this particular Sunday morning, like most others, the average child in Ainigton is expected by his or her parents to be in church, and Thomas and Agatha are no exception.

Sunday school consisted of the story of Jonah and the Whale, as told with the help of some construction paper cut-outs on a tag-board, and some assistance from the class -- with a little bit too much enthusiasm by children assistants in playing out the part of the whale expelling Jonah, perhaps. The sermon was far less exciting, the topic being something about "Knowing God's Will" -- a topic that usually tends to come up in the spring time, when graduation from high school is on the minds of some of the older children (or, that is, "young adults"), but the pastor seems to have decided not to wait another year to make use of some new material on the subject.

There is, as usual, a little bit of clandestine note-passing amongst children in anything but the very front row, the usual hymns, and so forth. The only really noteworthy bit was when it was announced that John and Loren Winters have relatives visiting, and a prayer request for "travel blessings", amidst the usual prayer requests for hospital concerns and the like.

Finally, it's over with ... and there's the general rush to the doors (more rushed with some than others, especially with the gauntlet of howdy-dos and hand-shaking one must get through to squeeze outside).

A lanky dark-haired kid chats with his parents briefly, the din of chatter obscuring much of what they say. After a minute, he heads away from them and toward the doors, leaving his parents behind to chat with their friends. When he's but a few feet away the father, a dark haired muscular fellow, calls out to him, "Just be careful of your clothing, Tom. You should probably head home and change; I know you like to go climbing and such in the afternoon."

Tom turns and nods. "I'll do that if I find something interesting I want to check out. I don't intend to do much today, just see who's about I may know and see what's up. I'll be home by dinner!" He waves one more time and continues toward the door.

From her high vantage, Agatha surveys the crowd and spots Thomas. The tall redhead waves to her friend while waiting near her father, who is busily chatting with another church member.

There's a bit of a slow-down near the "gauntlet", where several grown-ups are pausing to do more than the usual well-wishing in the vicinity of the Winters. Ginny Hortons even makes an appearance, doing her usual role of being Miss Congenial when around adults, even though her reputation among further kids is far less spotless.

Thomas also catches sight of Boris and Andrew -- also high school freshmen with a reputation of looking down upon grade schoolers now that they're above such things -- but they're comfortably removed, being with families sitting in the far back and thus much further ahead to getting out of the church building once the benediction was complete.

Tom's eye catches Agatha's wave and he pauses momentarily to wave back to her, then point at the door to indicate he's heading outside. Unfortunately, the "gauntlet" seems to have other plans. He gets stuck behind a large gathering of people. He stands there, arms crossed slightly, but trying to not look too impatient. Aw, come on. I'd like to get some fresh air, he thinks, and gah, Ginny, putting on a show for all the parents again? After another minute, he really has to resist the urge to tap his foot, surveying the rest of the crowd.

From across the crowd, Agatha grins at Tom's impatience, and makes an exaggerated shrug as a what can you do? gesture.

Thomas gets a glimpse of a kid he doesn't recognize -- a boy with black hair, possibly as old as Tom, maybe just a bit older, with thick glasses, and some sort of things around his legs. Braces of some sort? He seems to be getting an inordinate amount of attention from grown-ups, and the pasted smile on his face looks more longsuffering than sincere. Beside him is a girl with a lighter, sun-faded sort of mousy-brown hair, almost grey in its colorlessness, offset by the crystal blue of her eyes. By their proximity to the Winters and the faint similarities with Mr. Winters' face, they must be the aforementioned "visiting relatives".

In response to Agatha's shrug, Tom responds with a brief "bubba clubba" gesture and a grin. He then returns his attention to the newcomers his doesn't recognize, feeling a bit of pity for the kid who's getting all the attention. Looks like a nice group, though; wonder where they're from? he thinks.

Alas, he can't get much of a look at them, since they're kids, and the adults around them are much bigger. The girl, however, notices his attention, and grins in his direction impishly. She crosses her eyes, then grins all the more.

Tom snorts, then covers his mouth, stifling a laugh. He waits to see if anyone noticed, then nods back toward her, and makes an exaggerated yawning motion. Hopefully, he won't look too odd in doing so, in case anyone is watching.

At last, Tom's family is making their way along the rush. At first, it's like sticks floating along the side of a river bank, but once they get past the initial gauntlet of resistance in the form of church friends wanting to shake hands, comment (again) on how much Thomas has grown (and suggest that he really needs a haircut), and other such things, the speed picks up considerably at the door. Among the children, it's akin to a waterfall, as they rush out, to join those already rushing around outside (occasionally drawing the ire of adults when they play around a little too much in their Sunday best).

Tom smiles amiably and explains that his hair just seems to have a mind of it's own, and cutting it never seems to help much; his usual stock response to that comment. He breathes a sigh of relief, almost to the door and freedom! When he finally reaches it, he moves outside quickly and inhales deeply, glad to be outdoors.

Boris and Andrew give sneering looks in Thomas's direction ... but, come to think of it, they're probably doing that to any grade schooler who catches their attention. It must be some rite of passage to become a freshman -- to deny the possibility that, yes, a year ago, you were one of those grade schoolers. Horrors! In any case, their parents aren't eager to hang around for any longer than necessary, and their "gang" is soon enough broken up. Thomas sees the Cunninghams loading into their truck, and after another wave from Agatha, echoed by her parents, it's rolling off.

"Phew, glad to be out of there. Why must everyone comment on how much everyone has grown? Bleah, adults," grouses Thomas softly. He watches Agatha drive off, suddenly thinking of the odd quest they recently undertook and the note later left at Agatha's place. He looks around the crowd of people, wondering just who was responsible for it, and if there will be any more such quests in the near future.

No one seems to look particularly guilty to Tom. The pastor, well, that's certainly not his style. There's the old gentleman, Mr. Burroughs, a retired aviator, who walks with the help of a cane, but firing arrows into trees and writing riddles on scrolls? No, that's just not his style.

Thomas walks further away from the church. Well, no one seems a likely suspect at all. Well, there were those odd marks, similar to a cane or peg leg, but the weight didn't seem to be an adult's, he muses. He then shrugs and stretches; it's far too nice a day to sit and ponder. It's a day to do something! Well, as long as he changes clothes first.

The Gnarly Tree
This huge, ancient and twisted tree is of uncertain variety -- some say that it was imported from some foreign land long ago, perhaps back when this town was first founded, or even before that. Its boughs spread out seemingly as wide as it is tall, towering above nearby trees, though there are many still above it, thanks to the many hills about Ainigton. There are a number of low-hanging boughs that make for easy climbing on the part of novice tree-explorers, and far more challenging branches high above, with a modestly-beaten trail passing underneath.

Equipped with a painstakingly-copied map, and decked out in clothes far more suitable for adventuring, Thomas makes his way out to the old Gnarly Tree, outside town proper. This time, Agatha isn't nosing about, and there don't appear to be any others to disturb the quiet, save for the singing of the birds, and the scampering of squirrels and chipmunks amongst the branches.

Wilderness, for Ainigton anyway, passes by Thomas quietly. He's doing exceptionally well at being quiet today, taking to heart some of the things his father taught him. He moves low, keeping his center of gravity close to the ground. Each step he takes, he angles his foot sideways, gliding it between the leaves on the forest floor, then flattening it out and noiselessly pushing aside the ground clutter. He breathes lightly, obscuring his breathing sounds with the wind and the sounds of birds chirping around him. And lastly, he remembers to gently lift up branches, careful not to break them and leave a path. He makes his way to the old gnarled tree, without making any noticeable noise or disturbance. He nods firmly, congratulating himself on an absolute perfect sneak. Of course, he realizes when he actually needs to be quiet, he'll probably mess up. Stress does that, after all. He shrugs, rapidly forgetting that thought and heads over toward the tree, map in hand.

Tom curls the map up and tucks it into the backpack slung over his shoulder. He paces slowly around the base of the tree, looking to see if there is any place that seems to be totally obscured from below. He tries to imagine the tree without leaves, as it should blend in relatively well, even during winter. He shifts the pack on his shoulder, his flashlight, compass, Swiss-army knife, slingshot, and rope stuffed tightly inside. In addition, his school notebook with a few pens are also stuffed inside, just in case he wants to make a map or notes.

Thomas grins, stopping beneath a particular spot in the tree. He remembers a spot up there from last time. It's certainly not large, but would do for an outpost where items can be stored or messages left. He reaches up and grabs onto a branch, starting to work his way up into the tree to check it out.

The leaves rustle with a gentle breeze, and the tree's boughs beckon to the intrepid explorer. He feels totally alone here, but not in the sense of any danger -- rather that for right now, all of this is his, uncontested by any other, save for perhaps a nesting bird or a chattering chipmunk. If anyone could actually follow him here, they either already knew where he was going, or possess abilities that would put him at awe.

Making his way up the tree is child's play (literally and figuratively), as Thomas finds good purchase in the rough bark and the sturdy lower limbs (all the flimsy ones have been broken off, after all, or are too flexible to bear weight).

Tom climbs rapidly upwards into the branches, making his way toward the spot he remembers. The breeze, creaking of limbs, and the sounds of birds become the only things breaking the silence and keeping him company. What a great day, he thinks, I think this one place would be a great small outpost. I could probably even keep some of my maps here!

As Thomas makes his way up, he finds a number of interesting twists and turns. There are several places where the trunk branches out into sturdy limbs, with multi-crooked forks that work well enough as perches for Thomas to look out upon his foresty domain ... though, granted, the view is somewhat hindered by the very leaves and branches that conceal him from casual outside observation. Conceivably, he could put a more permanent structure up here as well ... or at the very least, some of these nooks might be great places to throw ropes over to haul more ambitious projects up into the tree.

Tom grins and looks around. "Cool," he says, "I think I could build a small stick platform between a couple of these limbs. Why, if I use some fallen trees, it would blend in even better. I don't think I should build much; that would threaten the hidden-ness of it all." He moves carefully from branch to branch, looking for two branches close together that might allow for a five foot by five foot platform or some such, probably a bit ambitious, but he looks nonetheless. He also gazes out from time to time, still concerned that someone is following him. After all, they knew enough to plant those items last time.

As Thomas looks out, he can't help but notice someone wandering along one of the forest trails. Small ... child ... bland-colored hair ... bland-colored clothes (probably play-clothes) ... nobody he recognizes immediately. Eventually, that path will loop back around this way, but there are several forks along the route as well.

"Huh?" remarks Thomas, and then he starts to make his way back down as quietly as he can. He wants to see who this is, and also make sure whomever it is doesn't find his new "hideout". It's probably just a younger kid I don't know, but best to check it out, he thinks.

If Thomas had some sort of spy scope or binoculars, he might be able to make something out, especially from his marvelous vantage point, but by the time he reaches the ground, there's just no way to see the approaching child -- or even if he or she is approaching for certain. Nevertheless, he does feel a lot more alone now that he's on the ground again.

Tom hmms softly to himself. Let's see if I can sneak just as well again, he thinks. He heads slowly and quietly toward the area he just saw the person. He almost angled to be a bit ahead, as judged from above, then realized if he approached from behind, it's safer.

This is just too cool for words. Thomas is so quiet, he can't even hear himself above the rustle of the trees. Stepping on a twig? It just doesn't happen. Maybe he could take up hunting ... bare-handed. Okay, so perhaps that's just a wee bit over the top, but the point is that he makes it to a better vantage point, where he sees a girl striding along -- that same girl from church. She's maybe only a little older than Alice, a slight skip to her step, and a carelessness to her pace that suggests she isn't up to anything terribly important. Certainly, she has no idea Thomas is watching. She sing-songs, "Meow! Me-OW!" now and then, occasionally stopping to "hiss" at some birds in a tree, and do other pretend-cat things, like licking at the back of a hand, and then rubbing her hair, and continuing along, chin held high. "Meow."

Tom blinks repeatedly. He never expected to run across the same girl again. Why, if someone told him he's see her again, pretending to be a cat, he'd have commented that they need to be "committed". He slinks along behind her a decent distance, simply observing, incredibly curious. Why is she out here and acting like a cat? Of course, someone could be wondering why Tom is out here, and sneaking, but that doesn't really occur to him. Should he say 'hi'? Perhaps announce himself loudly as lord of this realm?

For a moment, the girl stops still. If she had cat ears, he can imagine them perking. She ducks her head a bit, moving to one side, then prowls to the side of the path. Could she somehow notice him? That should be impossible. She looks about again, as if disturbed by something ... then abruptly stops ... and "licks" the back of a hand again. "Meow." Then, she continues on along the path again. There's a jingling noise as she goes -- a coin-like charm on a necklace around her neck.

Tom follows along for a few more minutes. Finally, his curiosity gets the better of him. He cups his hands over his mouth in hopes of redirecting or muffling the exact location of his voice. "Meow! to you, fair traveler. Greetings and welcome to my realm," Thomas calls out, then asks, "Are you friend, or foe, fair feline?"

"Me-OW!" squeaks the girl, as she stops abruptly. She doesn't turn fully around, but just her head, as she glances back toward Tom's general location out of the corner of her eye, around a few misplaced strands of colorless hair. After an instant of an uncertain look and maybe a faint flush of embarrassment, she turns about, pantomiming licking at her "paw" again, and then running it across her hair. "Neither! I'm a cat."

Tom moves, trying to remain quiet and circle the girl, hopefully remaining hidden. "A cat, huh?" Thomas calls out again, "I've never met a cat that could talk."

"Hmph!" the girl says, looking nonchalant as she "grooms" her hair. "We just aren't usually in the mood to talk, that's all." She's certainly not very imposing, wearing jeans that bear many grass stains and perhaps a few splotches of paint or ink and other soils that refuse to be easily cleaned without bleaching the jeans out entirely. She wears a somewhat baggy -- and just as abused -- shirt that is probably a hand-me-down, rolled up at the sleeves, with a t-shirt underneath. (The layering isn't entirely appropriate for summer, but this is up in the mountains, and given the state of the outer shirt, it's probably meant to get dirtied first.) At her neck, glinting in the sunlight that filters between the leafy boughs of the trees, is a charm, coin-like and silvery in appearance, with dark graining rubbed into the low points to bring out the detail.

Tom laughs and steps out into full view of the girl. "Is that so?" he asks, grinning. "I don't know. I've been all over these parts and I've never seen one talk. Surely in all my travels I would have by now, don't you think?" He then smiles and waves. "Heya, I remember you from earlier. I'm Thomas, but most seem to call me Tom. I tend to wander the forests around here. Sorry if I startled you. What brings you out this way?"

The girl looks to Tom. "Mmm. Is it just Tom, or do you have some sort of a title? You have your own realm, after all."

Tom laughs again, shaking his head slowly. "Well, sorta. I play a game with a group of local friends. I'm the Lord Explorer Thomas of the group, late of an expeditionary crew called the Golden Hawks. I do happen to know this area really well, so yeah, I consider it my realm.

The girl grins. "Well then! If you are Lord Explorer Thomas of the Golden Hawks ... then I am Bragwaine, Familiar of the Sorcerer of Anwynn!" She lifts her chin, smiling proudly.

Tom runs his hand through his spiky hair. "A familiar? Really? The sorceress I know doesn't have one, hmm," he says. "Well, regardless. What brings you this way, Bargwaine?" he asks, looking around some. "This is a bit out of the way for a Sorceress' Familiar, isn't it? You are welcome here, of course; please pardon my curiosity."

"Brag-waine," the "Familiar" insists, pouting slightly. She then grins. "There's nothing wrong with curiosity! That's what brings me, after all."

Tom nods. "Bragwaine, right." He paces slowly, saying, "And nothing wrong with curiosity, either. Why, I live on the stuff." He glances toward the girl. "So, since you're a Familiar, what sort of powers do you have?"

"I'm a cat," Bragwaine says, in such a tone that suggests it should be quite enough. "What powers do you have?"

Tom laughs. "Powers? Me? None whatsoever. I have just my wits and knowledge of the forest to guide me. They've served me well, though. For instance, did you know you can tell what direction north is by just using a pocket watch and the shadows that fall from the watch hands? There are many other ways, such as where moss grows on trees, an actual compass, and so on." He shrugs, shifting the pack on his back. "It may seem mundane, but they serve me well."

"What's in the pack?" Bragwaine asks. "Do you have a compass? Can you show me which way north is?"

Tom pulls his pack off his back and unzips the top. He digs in it, setting out his rope, notebook, slingshot, and army-army knife onto he ground. "Aha, here we go," he says as he produces the compass from the bottom of the pack. He holds it out, hand steady to let the needle settle on direction. "Look for yourself. The red needle points north," he says.

Bragwaine sticks the tip of her tongue out briefly. "Okay. That works. But now if you do the moss thing, how do I know you're not just cheating, since you know which way north is now?"

Tom grins. "Clever Familiar. Is this some sort of a test? Moss typically grows on the north sides of trees. But, a compass is more reliable of course. There are other things, such as red skies in the morning indicate rain is coming. Or, if the moon has a halo, rain may be coming in the next day."

Bragwaine nods, looking appreciative. "Neat. I didn't know that. So, what sort of cool stuff do you do out here? Are there neat things to explore? Birds to chase and mice to catch?"

Tom nods and paces again. "There are lots of things to do. Many great old trees are about to climb and observe the landscape. It's how I saw you, in fact. In the far hills resides old caves; dangerous places to go alone and I advise against going there. Out in the lake are islands to visit. A bit further out, I believe, are old dwarven mines. I would say the old haunted manor would be quite interesting, but a new lord has taken residence and is rebuilding it as we speak." He grimaces. "What would you do with a mouse or bird? You wouldn't eat it, would you?"

The little girl listens intently to the report about all the adventurous places to visit, then smiles cattishly at Thomas's question at the end. "Maybe I just want to keep it and pet it and name it William!"

Tom looks dubious. "Uhhh ... right." He smiles. "Oh, pray tell where are you from? I have never heard of your Sorceress before. Is she new to our fair kingdom?"

"Sorcerer," Bragwaine corrects. "He's bound to get uppity about that. And he's just visiting."

Tom nods again. "I apologize. Too many odd things of late have been happening; it's rattled my senses. Where is your Sorcerer? Should you not be with him?"

"I'm a cat," Bragwaine says, as if that should answer everything.

"We've established that. It doesn't answer my question, though," replies Thomas.

"Mmm. Well, he's busy," Bragwaine says. "And he's too dull to be going out in the woods right now, so I decided to go alone. He has mystical stuff to do, I suppose."

"Tsk, calling your Sorcerer 'dull'," says Thomas, grinning. "So, how long will you and he be visiting? If it's for a time, I'm sure I could give you a tour. Perhaps you and he could even help solve a mystery that's cropped up. It appears someone has taken interest in the Golden Hawks and has left puzzles to solve as some sort of a test."

"Mmmm," Bragwaine says, shaking her head. "Puzzles are boring. Anyway, we're just visiting. He's an explorer, too. We're from a very far away land. We won't be around all that long." She frowns slightly. "I like it here, though."

At that, the girl takes an interest in a butterfly alighting upon a nearby bush. She "stalks" it, head crouched down as if this might make it less likely to flutter away at her attention.

Tom frowns. "If puzzles are dull, what do you do when you encounter them? Life is full of puzzles." Thomas then shrugs lightly. "I am sorry to hear you won't be around long. You're interesting ... for a cat." He grins.

"Thank you!" Bragwaine says, turning around suddenly. At this, the butterfly lifts off of the bush and flutters away, distracting Bragwaine once more. She half-heartedly "bats" a hand clenched up like a "paw" at it, as it escapes. "You're interesting, too ... for a human." She grins, then turns around again, her charm necklace jingling slightly once more.

Tom laughs, shaking his head slowly again. "You know, that bell only serves to alert your prey of your presence. To hunt successfully, you have to be absolutely quiet, much like I was when I tailed you," he says.

The girl frowns and turns back toward Tom. "It is not a bell," she says. "It's a magic charm." She fingers the charm, which has an intricate little Celtic-looking pattern on it. It looks like two little serpents -- or fish? hard to tell with these things -- in the process of swallowing each others' tails.

Tom blinks and moves closer. "May I see that?" he asks, voice sounding very serious.

The girl raises an eyebrow, and covers the pendant with her hand. "You'll have to find your own magic charm," she says. "It's mine."

"I'm not asking you to give it to me. I simply want to see the design," says Thomas. "Snake eating snake, is it? I've seen that recently, sealing notes left for me," says Thomas slowly, then adding, "Does your Sorcerer walk with aid? Does it perhaps leave small indentions in the earth where he treads?"

The girl frowns slightly. "It's a fish eating a fish. Or sea serpent. Or a dolphin or something, though it really does look more like a couple of snakes. But he says they're fishies. Very dumb fishies, though. But cats like fishies, so I'm fine by it," she says. "Meow."

"And as for the Sorcerer," she adds, "he's lame. Even he admits that. Just don't make a big deal about it, or he'll turn you into a toad."

"Is he the one leaving messages for me?" Thomas asks outright.

"Meow?" Bragwaine says in a questioning tone, smiling cattishly. "Who's leaving messages for you?"

Tom twines his fingers. "I believe your friend the Sorcerer is. The pendant you wear is similar to the seal on the letters. Marks near one of the locations indicate someone walking with aid. And as you said, your friend is lame," he says. "It fits the evidence I have. If he is, I'm curious as to why, and how he knows of me."

"Ohhhhh. Sorcerer Pelles, you mean," Bragwaine says, grinning. "Oh, perhaps he is. And if he knows of you, perhaps it's just because you're so famous? Or perhaps it's because he's a sorcerer." She winks. "Or perhaps it's because I've been spying on you!"

Tom crosses his arms and leans on a nearby tree. "And why have you been spying on me?" asks Thomas.

"I'm a cat," Bragwaine says, shrugging. "Meow."

Tom taps his fingers on his arm and comments, "Surely there's more reason than that." He then asks, "What's with all the messages? Why the quests?"

The girl considers, then says, "Well, you see, Sorcerer Pelles has such a concern for quests. I think it's a curse or something like that. You'd have to ask him for the story. Nicely. He gets really fussy if you don't do things just right. He's so difficult to be around some times. He wants everything to go just so." She rolls her eyes. "Of course, silly, he shouldn't have a cat for a Familiar, then. I almost never do what I'm told. Unless I feel like it, that is."

Tom chuckles. "And somehow I suspect he would not answer me if I did ask. Is this not so?"

"Mmmmmm, yeah, probably," Bragwaine agrees. "It's that mysterious sorcerer thing. He gets to ask the questions and tell the riddles, you see. So you're probably right. He doesn't like it when I ask too many questions. He just tells me to figure it out on my own when I do."

"Well if he wishes some task of me, he should just ask," says Thomas, "How long has he and you been following me? Why have you been following me?"

Bragwaine's answer comes quickly. "I'm a --"

Thomas mentally inserts, "pain in the butt," though he resists the urge to say it.

"--cat," Bragwaine finishes with a mischievous grin. "Anyway, hasn't he already been asking tasks of you? He's rather riddle-y about it, but he always seems to like to find things for people to do for him. He's used to it, I guess. And as for how long? Oh, we've been studying you from afar, gazing at you through the crystal ball, for ages. It's just that now is the time. You're going to ask me 'The time for what?', aren't you? Well, I'm not telling. You're supposed to figure that out yourself."

"Helping people with tasks is one thing ... but being used by someone is another. Can I be sure that no ill intent is intended for me?" asks Thomas slowly.

"Mmmmm, not really," the girl says. "After all, I might be fibbing. But I think his test has something to do with finding out whether you're a hero or a fuddy-duddy. So if you're afraid, you can just be a fuddy-duddy. It means he'll just have more time to pay attention to me, then!"

Tom bahs. "Afraid, hardly," replies Thomas curtly. "But, I haven't made it alive this long by just wandering into a trap or not examining the evidence presented to me. If I had followed every obvious lead, I'd have died a thousand horrible deaths by now, after all," says Thomas, "Will he ever speak to me directly?"

"Sure he will!" Bragwaine says. "He's just very cautious. He needs to find out whether you're pure of heart, strong of will, and not inclined to pummel lame sorcerers just because they're within arm's reach."

Tom looks hurt. "I have never harmed another without just cause," says Thomas, then explaining, "In fact, I've stuck my neck out for others I did not know. That is how I met the one who became jester to the court. I saved him from a roughneck."

Bragwaine smiles. "Well then! I'm sure you'll pass with flying colors!" She adopts a more serious guise. "Personally, I think it's just because he's a coward, and doesn't get out much. But don't tell him I said that, or I'll bite you."

Tom grins. "You would have to catch me, cat."

Bragwaine grins. "Oh yeah? I can run really fast!"

Tom waves a hand. "But, as you ask, I will not tell him." He grins. "Yes, you may. But I know this area. You don't."

"Meow," Bragwaine says. She looks over her shoulder down the path.

"'Meow' to you, too," replies Thomas. "I may have to challenge you to a wilderness run sometime. I'd like to see how I compare to a feline."

Bragwaine yawns widely, looking suddenly bored or just distracted. She then grins cattishly, and makes her way back along the path, her charm jingling as she goes.

Tom leans against a tree again, content to watch Bragwaine head back down the path. His eyes narrow slightly, a smile of amusement on his lips. "See you around, Bragwaine," he mutters softly. "I can guarantee I'm not through speaking with you." He waves, then says, "Be well."

Previous Log: Called Away on Business	Next Log: Library Research

Thread Links
	Previous Log: Called Away on Business Next Log: Library Research		Previous Log: The Riddle Quest Next Log: Library Research
	Next Log: Returning to the Scene		Previous Log: The Riddle Quest Next Log: Library Research

---

This site serves as a chronicle of sessions in an online roleplaying campaign moderated by Conrad "Lynx" Wong and May "Rowan" Wasserman. The contents of this site are (c) 2001, 2002 by Conrad Wong and May Wasserman except where stated otherwise. Despite the "children's fantasy" theme of this campaign, this site is not intended for young readership, due to mild language and violence.