Valen stirred in the chair. He rose, the movement an argument with his own body. His eyes drifted to the stairs. He wouldn't wake her. Answers weren't here; they were in the city's underbelly.
He fastened his cloak and stepped outside. Valen moved through the waking streets, his boots keeping a steady rhythm despite his aches. His destination was the guild tavern. Where whispers were currency, and a bounty notice was a loaded gun.
The tavern door groaned on its hinges, releasing a wave of warmth and roasting meat. Valen's eyes found the source of the room's rumble: a dwarf behind the bar, his beard a fiery cascade braided with silver. The dwarf slid a frothing mug across the polished wood without being asked. His voice gravel, addressed Valen. "Aye. Ye look like the north-facing end of a south-bound mule."
A corner of Valen's mouth twitched. "Better than bein' a smelly rock-humper."
The dwarf's jovial smile froze. His hand, thick-fingered and ringed, hovered over the mug.
Then Valen snorted.
The dwarf's laughter erupted as. he slammed a meaty palm on the counter. "Ye earned that drink!" The mirth in his eyes hardened into keen interest. "Now. Why drag yer thin bones here at dawn, Valen?"
Valen took the stool, his gaze level. "Been a while, Grom." He pulled the crumpled parchment from his pocket, smoothing it flat on the sticky wood with a deliberate tap. "This. A bounty for a 'fine-mineral feline'."
He took the parchment, thick fingers careful with the creases. His eyes tracked the description, the sum. His brow furrowed. "Aye, whispers reached me," he rumbled. "But I dinna ken who's behind it. That kinda gold, and the silence it has to buy?" He met Valen's stare. "Smells of deep pockets, and feet that don't leave a trail."
Valen gave a slow nod. Reliable, but vague. It gnawed at him. He pulled a small pouch from his belt, the jingle of coin muted by leather, and tossed it onto the counter. "Helpful enough, friend." His eyes swept the shadowed corners of the room. No obvious attention, but in a place like this, the walls listened. "Keep your tiny ears to the ground. Well, more than usual." A faint smirk. "You catch any wind, you know where I am."
Grom's eyes stayed on Valen. "Aye, I'll do it." He pocketed the coins in one fluid motion. "But dinna expect miracles from an old stone-muncher like meself." His smile turned sly, a flash of silver in the red beard. "And remember, Longlegs—" A wink. "—ye owe me rounds for every secret I keep."
"You always drive a hard bargain," Valen said, pushing up from the stool. "I'll bring you a nice geode soon."
Outside, the door thudded shut behind him, sealing the warmth away. The chill nipped at his neck. He pulled his cloak tighter. More questions than answers, but it was a thread. His thoughts flew back to the quiet room, to the girl asleep there. A pinprick of guilt. He'd have to visit the Crescent Moon later.
***
Mona was awake when he returned, sat at the kitchen table, her yellow eyes wide and watchful. Her tail gave a single thwap on the floor as he entered. "You're up early. Sleep alright?"
She looked up, the shadows under her eyes answering for her. She swallowed. "Good enough. Kept thinking about those men." Then she sprang from the kitchen chair, a burst of frantic energy. "But I was a good guard! Didn't let anyone in!" She tilted her head, ears swiveling forward. "Did I do good?"
"You did great, Mona. Truly. Thanks for holding down the fort." He paused. Beneath the bluster, she's still just a kit. "You're tougher than steel." He straightened, a grin shifting. But now, a tactical retreat. "So, now for a reward. How about we skip town for a bit? Visit Grinter. Just a fun trip. Nothing more."
Mona's eyes lit up. "Really?" She became a living ball of excitement. Then she faltered, her fingers finding the coarse fabric of his sleeve, twisting. "Hey. Before we go. Can you teach me magic?" She whispered the request. "I wanna fight too. Claws only scratch. Didn't see anything, but I heard them run. Let me help."
Valen's face dropped away. "Mona," he began. "This magic… it isn't something you can simply learn." His gaze lifted, a sorrow carving deep lines in his face. "No incantation. No channeling energy. No tomes." He held her stare. "It lives in my blood. Using it is…" He searched for the truth that wouldn't terrify her. "It's destructive, and I didn't choose it."
Mona gaped at him. Even she seemed to know this rejection was a wall rising. "But Valen," she insisted, her voice steadying, "If I can help, I'll learn!" She stepped closer. "You've already done a lot for me, and you barely know me. Lemme do this for you." Her hand settled on his arm with a light grip .
Valen sighed, the sound dredged from deep within. Seems the 'house guard' title still wasn't enough. He scanned over her—the lithe frame, the keen eyes, the predator's grace. A memory flickered. Stupid. Why didn't I think of that sooner? "Alright." A new spark, pragmatic and clear, ignited. He crossed to the room's corner and knelt before a faded chest. The hinges squealed as he heaved the lid open, releasing a cloud of dust.
His hands moved past folded cloth and brittle scrolls, settling on a shape nestled within. He lifted it free: a bow, its wood worn smooth by years of grip, its curves honed by mastery. Turning, he offered it to her. "Archery." The quiver's leather creaked as he adjusted his grip. "Your reflexes, your eyes… you're practically made for it. It's subtle. It's practical."
Mona stared at the weapon, then took a step back, her tail drooping. "I've never… What if I'm terrible at?"
A ghost of his grin returned. "Can't be any worse than my first shot. The string took a strip off my cheek. The arrow found my own boot." He held it out again. "I'll be right here. Basics first."
He led her to the overgrown garden. A burlap sack stuffed with straw became a target. He corrected her stance when necessary, but she quickly caught on. "Breathe in. Draw. Let your shoulder take the weight, not your arm. Now… release."
The first arrow flew wide, vanishing into the weeds. But the thrum of the string, the flight—it awoke something in her. She looked up, eyes wide. "It flew."
"It did," he said with a laugh. "And no casualties. Here." He offered another arrow..
Thwack.
The second shaft struck the very edge of the sack. A trill that was all feline broke free. "I hit it!"
"Wonderful." Valen's smile was genuine now. "Not a killing blow. But a suitable warning." He handed her another arrow. "Again."
***
For hours, he coached her. As the midday sun sat overhead, Valen finally clapped his hands together. "Enough practice." He paused. "We should pack. Best we leave before sundown." He turned toward the house. Mona followed, her tail still wagging, the bow held like a sacred relic.
"Valen," she called as they stepped back into the house, "can we talk while we pack?"
"Of course," he said, gathering clothes from a drawer. "What's on your mind?"
She watched his hands fold a tunic. "Why d'you have so many… things?" she asked, head tilting. "I got my fur. This shirt." She plucked at the worn fabric. "But it's just to look more like you all. Some humans seem to keep more than they could ever use."
Valen chuckled, holding up a woolen vest. "Layers. Comfort. Protection. Sometimes… ceremony. Impressing other humans is a complicated dance." His gaze grew distant. "Some take more than they need. Leaves others with nothing." He focused on her, the distance fading. "I… We take just enough. To be safe. Nothing more."
She nodded slowly. The economy of the alley was simple: find, take, use, hide. Hoarding was a death sentence.
Outside, the city's clamor faded behind them. He let her loose arrows at fence posts, at striking trees, her joyful meeps marking each successful hit. As true dusk fell, Grinter's welcoming glow appeared in the valley.
Inside the Golden Petal Inn, the air was thick with the smell of garlands. Valen's hand rested on his whip's hilt as he scanned the common room, counting exits. Among the patrons, beastfolk and humans mingled freely. Coins hit the counter; a key was passed.
Their room was small, clean. Mona drifted to the bed, pressing a palm into the quilt. Then she saw it—a bright festival flyer on the side table. Golden flowers and swirling, incomprehensible script. Her breath caught. Luna's voice, a memory: "Letters are maps. Even for lost things."
She turned, the paper crinkling in her grip. "Valen?"
He looked up from his pack.
"Luna… she could make these make sense. I never learned. Just… survived." She stared at the floorboards. When she forced her gaze up, it was raw. "I hate to ask but–"
"Of course." Valen cut her off, resigning himself to the request before it even came. "If you learned the common tongue on the streets, you can learn anything. You've already thrived without letters. But if you wish to learn them, I'll teach you."
He sat cross-legged on the floor, his back against the bed. From his pack, he pulled a scrap of parchment and a nub of charcoal. "Look." The stick scraped against the rough surface. "Letters build words. Words build worlds."
Mona leaned in, focused on the movement of his hand. She nodded, glued to the emerging symbols. Hours bled away. The fire crackled down to embers as Valen drew each character, enunciating its sound with clear, patient precision.
But as the candles shrank low, she spoke once more, her voice hesitant. "Valen?"
He looked up from the parchment. "Yes, Mona?"
Her gaze remained on the lines, but her thoughts were racing ahead, leaving the dusty alleyways of her past behind. She wished to leave a mark on the world that wasn't a claw-scratch or a stolen meal. A name. She lifted her eyes to his.
"Could you… teach me to write my name?"
The words felt strange. Powerful. A declaration of an identity she had never dared claim out loud. Her ears tilted forward, waiting.
Valen's expression softened, understanding the weight of the request. "Of course." Gently, he repositioned the charcoal stub between her fingers. "I'll have to guess, but watch closely." He place his finger on the parchment. "Follow closely." He slowly drew an 'M'—two angled peaks and a valley. "A mountain," he murmured, pausing for her to mimic the sharp angles. "Good." Next, an 'O'—"a perfect circle.". Mona maintained her concentration as she scraped out a lopsided, but closed, curve. "Perfect. Now, 'N' is half an 'M'." He pointed to the 'M', then covered the last stem. She copied it. Finally, he grinned. "'A'—like a cat's ear, pointed up."
Mona drew the final lines, then stared in silence.
She couldn't recall who first gave her the name, when, or even where. But, there it was. Not just marks.
Mona.
Her name, in stark black on the pale parchment.
Valen squeezed her shoulder. "There. You did it."
Mona kept staring at the four letters. Proof she existed. Proof she had someone who cared. Proof she mattered. She leaned closer, her padded fingers brushing the charcoal smudges, as if to make them part of her.
"Mona," she whispered aloud, testing.
She lifted her eyes to Valen. "Thank you." For the first time, she felt like someone with a story worth telling. Not just surviving. Being.
"Any time. You did brilliantly. I'm proud." He took the charcoal from her, setting it aside. "But now—" He stood, stretching. "We rest. Big day tomorrow." He offered his hand, palm open.
Mona took it, letting him pull her up. "Valen," she whispered. "I know you said rest, but…" Hesitation knocked at her. "Teach me your name too." She felt the tug within. The need to tie their stories together.
Valen stifled a yawn, his smile widening. "Sure. But why mine?" He leaned against the bedpost, waiting.
Mona's ears twitched. "Because you're important." She inhaled, committing. "One of the few humans who's not mean to me. I wanna write to you." Then, a sly grin took over. "And leave notes around the house for you to find."
"A wonderful idea." snatched the parchment and charcoal back, setting them on the table now. Having her follow along once more, he traced a 'V'—"a bird n flight." Then 'A'—the kitten's ear again. 'L'—a straight, strong line that turns. 'E'—a comb with broken teeth. 'N'—the same half-mountain.
Mona's hand grew more sure with each stroke. Valen lifted the parchment between them. "Look."
Mona Valen
Simple. Enduring.
Mona stared. Her claws unsheathed, and she carefully scored a single, deep line in the parchment between them. A connector.
She took the parchment back, tracing her own name with a reverent touch. "It's… amazing," she whispered.
Valen stifled another yawn, his voice gravelly. "Not a problem, Mona. Now, we sleep." He gestured to the other bed, his eyelids already at half-mast. "Goodnight." He lay down, his whip coiled beside him and succumbed to sleep almost instantly.
Mona curled up on her own bed, the precious parchment clutched to her chest. Her thoughts whirled—arrows, letters, names, the smell of sunflowers. She watched the slow, steady rise and fall of Valen's chest in the gloom, his presence a comfort in the unfamiliar room.
Her eyes drifted shut. Just before sleep took her, she breathed into the dark: "Goodnight."