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Dakin wrinkled his nose. “Aye, but a few more minutes and I doubt even I could have saved him.”
I looked between the men with wide, curious eyes. “That wouldn’t matter, though, would it? I mean, he has a couple more lives.”
“Is that what he told you?” Dak mused as he eased himself onto a block of wood and picked up the fire stick to prod the wood. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. He’ll live, but he won’t be of much use for a while. You’ll have to carry him home, too.”
“What sort of poison was it?” Ben asked him.
A dark look marred Dak’s already gnarled features. “Some of the worst kind. Whoever blew that at you meant for you not to see another sunrise.”
“Blew it?” I repeated.
He set the stick aside and tossed another log onto the fire. “Aye. It came out of a pipe. I’ve never seen one myself, but the books my old man mentioned them a few times. I even found a drawing somebody scribbled a while ago.” He dug into his coat pocket and drew out a wrinkled piece of sketch paper which he handed to Ben. “That’s what you’re looking for.”
Ben studied the drawing, but my own curiosity was dampened. I couldn’t shake off what Dak had said about Qita’s lives. My attention was drawn to those closed curtains and the faint candlelight that shone behind the cloth.
“This looks to be quite large,” Ben mused as he studied the paper.
Dak nodded. “Yep. I guess it’s at least a foot and a half, and maybe even two. They won’t be able to hide that very well.”
“Only if they have a bundle of dressings over themselves,” Dak mused as he plucked a bowl from a short stone slab in front of the fire pit and held one up to Ben where he nodded at the pot that hung over the fire. “This isn’t as fancy as what Harim can offer you, but it’s what we got.”
Ben smiled and shook his head. “It will be as a feast to us.” He turned to me and his good humor faltered a little. “Are you alright?”
I pursed my lips and turned my attention away from the cave and to our host. “Can I see him?”
Dakin shrugged before he started pouring Ben a bowl. “Sure, just don’t go jostling him about.”
A faint smile appeared on my lips as I stood. “I think I can promise that.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
I crept awayfrom the fire and over to the cave. Nothing stirred save for the faint flicker of the candle. I pulled the curtains open just slightly and peeked into the small room. The candle sat on a block of wood beside the bed. Dakin had created a nest out of his own sheets, and nestled in the center lay Qita. The cat wasn’t in the typical ball but was stretched out on his side with a blanket laid over him up to his shoulders.
“You’re letting a draft in.” The voice was weak but still held that bite that so characterized the cat.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized as I slipped inside. “I was just wondering how you were doing.”
The cat opened his eyes and their shine had lost some of its luster. “I feel as if a herd of qasi had run me over.”
I eased into the seat beside the bed and looked him over. Even after such a short absence, he looked gaunt, and occasionally his whole body would twitch. I grasped my hands together in my lap and bit my lower lip. “I’m so sorry. . .”
His ears twitched. “For what?”
I bowed my head and stared at my fumbling fingers. “That dart was meant for me, but you caught it to save me. What happened to you is all my fault.”
The cat studied me for a long moment before he turned his head slightly away from me and scoffed. “Even after hundreds of years, I fail to understand you humans. You accept blame where this is none and you never fail to get me into the worst kind of trouble.”
“But-”
“But nothing,” Qita scolded me as he whipped his head back to glare at me with illuminated eyes. “And wipe those tears out of your eyes. I never could stand to see a human female cry.” He adjusted his spot beneath the covers and sighed. “Such a blubbering nuisance. . .”
“Then you need to at least let me thank you,” I insisted as I leaned forward closer to the feline. “And I feel I really do need to thank you for risking your last life to save me.” His whiskers twitched, but he said nothing. “This is your last life, isn’t it?”
Qita sighed and his body drooped a little. “Nobody likes to admit how old they are, even we cats.”
“Then you’re not really six hundred years old?” I asked him.
“I might be alittleolder than that.”
