Waiting

Cub watched the light of sunrise slowly shift from pale gray to hues of red and gold. Sleep had eluded him, but he didn't feel tired. He rolled swiftly to his feet and padded up the stairs and toward Catkin's quarters. He moved barefoot through the house, dressed only in his loincloth as was the traditional attire for the dance. Although, if things were normal, it wouldn't be quite so threadbare. He made a mental note to cut a new one today and add it to the bag he had packed with supplies for if their plan succeeded. Threadbare or not, the invaders preferred their skin, and the skin of others, be mostly covered. At this time, though, only the kitchen staff were up and he would be back in his quarters long before anyone would discover and punish his unpresentable appearance.

Cub knocked softly and then entered into Catkin's workshop without pause. She was already there waiting for him. Her silver hair was tied back in a leather cord and she too wore only her loincloth. She smiled softly in greeting and then bid him come upstairs as she turned to climb the stairs herself. He hadn't seen so much of an adult's skin since he had been pressed into the House's service. It reminded him of the closeness and innocent love that his people practiced as a way of life and its stark contrast to the more guarded ways of the colonists.

At the top of the stairs, Cub followed Catkin out onto the terrace where she grew many of the herbs that she used in service to the House. Sheltered from prying eyes and earlier than any would come looking in need of her skills, they were free to embrace the coming light of dawn.

The sun had crested the horizon and its rays were already warm on his skin. He stole a glance at Catkin and stretched his arms to the sky in simple satisfaction. "Do you do this every morning?", he asked quietly.

"It is one of the few ways left to me that I may remember our ways through action.", she responded. Without further conversation, Catkin took the starting stance of the Dance of Dawn's Advent and peered at Cub in silent invitation.

He joined her in the starting stance and followed her lead. It was clear almost immediately that his control and recollection of the movements were lacking. She moved through the dance like flowing water. The hard foundation of her body undiminished by the age-loosened skin of her core, arms, and legs. Made aware of his deficiencies, Cub decided he would ask her to practice more if he lived through the day.

They finished the dance breathing heavily with exertion and sweating with their efforts and the heat of the now risen sun. Cub, in particular, was fatigued from the change in difficulty produced from trying to follow Catkin's improved recollection of the dance.

Catkin walked to him then and embraced him, the sweat of their bodies mingling. He was sure he didn't smell good enough for a hug to be pleasant, but she squeezed him with the strength that had just been on display during the dance. Somehow, she seemed to smell even more of herbs than when fresh.

He hugged her back firmly. Tucking his head down into the crook of her shoulder. It was a stretch given their difference in height; Cub stood a whole head taller. For just a moment he felt like a child again, warm and safe.

And then it was over. She released him and cupped his face in her hands. "I must go."

She disappeared through the door. Presumably to dress and begin her journey to gather herbs, so far as the guard that would accompany her was concerned, but also to procure the purified blade that Cub himself would drive into the Kinkiller's back.

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Cub looked over what was left of his efforts. He carefully tidied and disposed of the unused components of the ingredients in the draught. Five more minutes on the flame and the draught would be done. It was right or they were as good as dead.

When the draught was done, he poured it into the wineskin and strapped it to his arm. It hid perfectly within his sleeve and a flick of his wrist would open the stopper and stealthily pour the poison into the wine carafe.

Cub heaved a sigh as he looked at the workshop, as clean as he had found it, and patted the poison skin. Everything he could do was done. Waiting for the next four hours until dinner may end up being the most harrowing part of the day. He left himself room to be wrong, though, just in case he found himself face-to-face with Silas Drag holding a poisoned blade.

Walking back to collect the children from their lesson, Cub couldn't think of anything else. In his inattentiveness he ran bodily into someone in the hall and spun, catching himself on the wall.

"Of course. You miserable, clumsy Beast."

Cub's stomach dropped and his heart began to hammer immediately. He knew the owner of the voice without turning around. He turned anyway and immediately bowed.

"At least you're finally learning some manners. Almost commendable for a savage. I expect your growth is due in no small part to my tutelage."

Cub felt the cold steel of a knife touch the tip of his ear; the one with only one ragged tear. He swallowed dryly, but spoke clearly and without fear. "Yes, sir!"

The short-blade master chuckled then and Cub heard the sheathing of his dirk. "As badly as I'd like to even out those ears of yours, you have shown yourself to be contrite." Without further talk the blade master left at a fast pace with a lightness in his step.

Cub snorted and straightened. Rumor had it that the blade master had taken a fancy to one of the officer's daughters in a nearby Greater House. It seems as though it was going well for him and it was Cub who had benefited.

He made haste to collect the children, his eyes and mind trained on the task at hand this time.

Maybe the children could distract him enough that he might stop imagining the creative ways in which he would die or the eventual triumph of his people over the colonists. Neither was the frame of mind he needed to be calm and collected.