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Stamo’s eyes flashed with amusement at the preening cat’s story. ‘Well, well, I never heard that version . . . back home. But then, there are no cats there to tell it, as I can recall.’
‘More’s the pity,’ rumbled one of Tevildo’s companions, smiling in that particularly impish feline way. ‘Upgrade the place if you did have.” The three cats shared a laugh, though it sounded more like some smoke from the embers had gotten up their noses, making them sneeze and snort.
‘I think it best we leave before we do something foolish . . . and take up the gauntlet . . .’ Mori paused for a moment as the snorts and sneezes ran their course. ‘Or perhaps, before we take up the hairball . . . and try to put the felines in their proper place.’ He watched the cats as they worked themselves over with their long pink tongues. ‘If only Aiwendil were here – perhaps he would be more patient with their haughty attitudes.’
Mori turned to where the white owl was perched. ‘I think we two-leggeds will return to the common room for now. Sit near the fire, sip something warm.’ He gave a small bow to those gathered in the little courtyard. ‘We’ll have some foods sent out from the kitchen for you. And perhaps later, when the chill has left our limbs, we’ll come back to share another story with you.’
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