Kharris Dawndancer-Blacksong

Beloved

She lay in bed, comforter pulled up and a book lay across her bent legs. There was a mug of tea on the side table and her free hand tapped an unconscious rhythm on the sheets as she read.  She startled and nearly threw her book--and kicked her cat--when suddenly her feet were attacked by an unrivaled predator.

Kharris laughed lightly and then cooed to soothe Fathing's own irritation at the disappearance of his prey. The cat sauntered up to her, silent and haughty, accepting the soft touches she offered to the big tom. He flopped down next to her heavily. He moved with grace and lithe power, but Kharris frowned to see how much slower he was moving. And, lately, he hadn't leapt directly onto the bed, but first onto the bench, then up to bed. His purr was loud and content, but there were white hairs starting on his chin and by the scars. 

Farthing was getting old.

There was a tightness in her chest at the idea. Kharris, like many elves, had a difficult time considering the lifespan of her pets. It was so brief! And it hit her in the heart to see age stamping itself on the animal she'd had the longest. This was the animal who'd started the flood of her menagerie. He was a gift, in more ways than one. When there was no one else, Farthing had remained. Animals were better than most people. And Farthing was her beloved.

She leaned down and kissed his head.

He yawned.