The Big Meow

Rhiow crouched there quietly in the darkness, hearing the thought fade away into others as bleak as the Silent Man started what would be a long struggle toward sleep. The muzziness of his pain medication was slowly starting to descend: something he welcomed. I must see what can be done for him, she thought, starting to doze a little herself: if anything. Best to get some rest now, though. Helen will be in touch in the morning, and by then Arhu and Sif will have some answers for us.

Tomorrow’s going to be busy…

The Big Meow: Chapter Eight

Rest came hard to her as well, and didn’t last long. Rhiow’s eyes blinked open seemingly of themselves in the time of uncertain light before the dawn. She was tired enough after the previous evening’s exertions that for a few moments she wasn’t even sure where she was, and lay gazing across the shadowy room in profound disorientation, taking in and trying to make sense of the bulky, ghost-pale furniture, the unfamiliar view out the French doors, the strange empty feel of the place.

After a few moments memory reasserted itself. From where she lay on her side on the windowsill, she could see the rest of the room to be empty of any People, either her own group or visitors from the neighborhood.

Why is it that when you most want and need sleep, you can’t get it… she thought, and got up to stretch fore and aft, yawning. The feeling of emptiness around Rhiow didn’t lessen as she gathered her wits; the whole place was devoid of waking minds – Urruah apparently gone elsewhere after his second dinner, Sif and Arhu and Hwaith and Aufwi still off about their various businesses. As for sleeping minds, the Silent Man’s consciousness was still immersed in the sleep his pain medication had finally won him, but the immersion was shallow. Soon enough the pain would break surface again and drag him up into wakefulness with it. Not far from him, Sheba drowsed, heading deeper into sleep after having apparently wakened earlier.

Worrying, Rhiow thought as she jumped softly down from the windowsill. She had had enough of those awakenings herself lately with Iaehh, as his pain and longing broke through his sleep and made him call the name of someone who couldn’t ever answer him again on this side of life. Her own sorrow was hard enough to bear at such times, and always left her wondering What can be done for him? But there were no easy answers to the question in Iaehh’s case.

Where the Silent Man was concerned, however, the situation might be different; and Rhiow had been meaning to look into this. And having spent a little while in poor Delores’s physical realm a little while ago, I’m still set for this kind of work. Let’s see what we see…

She headed over toward the shut bedroom door, purred one of the shorter versions of the Mason’s Word, and passed through the door like a ghost. On the far side she paused to glance around. Here was another very underfurnished room, all done in white. Here another set of French windows stood partway open on the palm-shadowed utility yard at the side of the house; gauzy white curtains stirred slightly in the faintest breeze from outside. In the bed, under the covers, the Silent Man lay very still, curled up nearly in fetal position. It was troubling, almost shocking to see in an ehhif always so erect and rigid, as if only here in this most private place did he dare express in his body any of the stress and pain he felt. Down at the end of the bed, Sheba lay in a tight curl of fur only slightly less white than the coverlet, her tail covering her face.

Rhiow stood quiet in the dimness for a few moments, watching the ehhif’s breathing. It was very shallow. Too shallow. The drugs… But she was sure the Silent Man had listened to the warnings from his doctors about the drugs’ effects… and had taken them no more seriously than absolutely necessary. Most likely he thinks it’d be a happy accident if he simply failed to wake up one morning. Not that he would have arranged such a thing on purpose, of course. For even so short a time as she’d known him, Rhiow thought suicide wouldn’t be his style.

She paced over past the bed to jump up on the sill of the window that looked out on the other side of the house’s front yard. Outside a pallid mist was rising, colorless as everything else was in that hour balanced between night and morning. By human reckoning it was four in the morning, the time when People and ehhif alike were most likely to slip across the boundaries between life and what lay beyond, and sometimes not to come back.