“Many stories seem to start with, ‘Once upon a time…’ or ‘Long ago…’ Basically in some place further than one’s own troublesome world, where someone’s life—its glorious ups and tempestuous downs are only viewed and read by one’s own eyes...They don’t have to know how it feels for the character to go though its well-predicted life.
“Now I don’t want you to be taken off course with such bad current that the author seemed to produce out of bitter spite and compassion for people and creatures that she’s created with her dreams, for I speak as one of them. Actually, I am the oldest of her creations. Produced with most delicate intricacies and well-thought plots to test my own being. Allow me to introduce myself, though I’ve had many names—My first name was Irony, but lately, for the sake of plot purposes, my name is Jherethe Winthrope, an incompetent hunter (by choice) from a lineage of blood-thirsty killers with keen feline instincts—for indeed they were feline creatures that walked erect like those of humans...As part of the Second Chance for the High King’s Salvation.
“It proved to be an excellent choice by His Majesty, the one whom is credited for not only making the author of this story, but for the many authors, readers, humans and creatures alike, who live in the world of Reality, however bitter or wonderful Reality is...
“As the prologue narrator, I hope you enjoy this small, early story of my life...My trials, my troubles...My plagues, my praises...My tale.”

Story No: I

Clouds began to gather around the sliver of moon, whose waning light cast an eerie glow over the white stone of the abandoned Druidic temple of the mountain valley of Tillathried. Winds carried their secrets of war from the east, making the wintry night colder. The moonlight also fell upon the silver fur of Jherethe Winthrope as he trudged along, in the form of a grey cougar, to the opening of the valley that led into the Ecylich Woodlands. His wine-colored eyes had a determined gaze toward the tall pine trees that mingled with the bare dogwoods and magnolias.
As he entered the woodlands, darkness came over him that nearly made him halt in his tracks-until he recognized the darkness that pulled his heart from his chest to leave it to freeze in the wintry night. He lowered his head, weary from forcing his nostalgic pain back inside him. He didn't notice the gleaming white snow leopard that stood before him until she spoke.
“Stop,” she said, startling Jherethe so that he nearly fell in a pile of pine needles.
Jherethe pulled himself together and sat down before the snow leopard, whose head came to his chest. He recognized the ice blue eyes and said quietly, “Meighlyne.”
“Jherethe,” she spoke back. “The time since we’ve met has been long-”
“Enough with formalities, Meighlyne,” Jherethe growled. “You know what I have come here for.”
“So I decided to save you the trouble, and your breath,” Meighlyne answered coolly. “Clansyre Thomas will not give him up.”
Jherethe swallowed, mulling over his thoughts.
“It was barely easy enough to leave his den to come to you. How could I get away with taking his son-”
“His son, Meighlyne?” Jherethe thundered. “How very odd for a white snow leopard and a tawny cougar to have a silvery cougar cub!”
“The Winthrope Clan is of many cousins and kin of cat, Jherethe.” Meighlyne tried to explain quietly. “His fur color can be well covered for that.”
“Give him to me,” Jherethe said.
“Jherethe,” Meighlyne tried to argue.
Jherethe rose to his feet, towering over the young leopard and noticing her swollen belly. “No punishment like a father void of his mate and his son should be taken on any creature...Know this, dear sister, my son and I will be together one day...In life or in death. And my brother, your Clansyre, will someday share the similar fate of his family.”
“Let us just hope that he can adjust as long as you have,” Meighlyne said sarcastically as she growled.
He gazed around the snow leopard, and at the various pairs of eyes that glowed in the moonlight. Knowing that his demise would come if he came closer to the woodlands, he turned around to the mountain valley. He began to walk away from her, whispering over his shoulder. “He will have to live with it for the rest of his days, Meighlyne. My punishment will not be so long.”
The snow leopard glared at the trudging flight of Jherethe Winthrope. She knew he was planning, brooding. As the oldest son of the Winthrope Clan, he knew very well the entire scale of the Ecylich Woodlands, the home he was raised at before he was exiled into the mountain valley. He knew of every hollow, every branch, every rock that witnessed his bitter cub-hood, and every leaf that blew in the autumn wind to share their tale. He knew where he could be seen as a cougar and as a ghost.
What she also knew was that she would never rest, knowing that those wine-colored eyes were constantly watching her every move. She would also hear his voice in the night. She would remember the night when Jherethe’s mate was killed-by his own family that lead humans into Tillathried. She would remember the dawn that her mate stole away Istheyre, Jherethe’s son, to have an heir as Clansyre.
“Meighlyne,” a voice sounded from the woodlands.
The snow leopard glanced back over her shoulder, recognizing the voice as the Clansyre, Thomas Winthrope, approach her from one of the many used rabbit trails. His brother, Aramis accompanied him.
“Meighlyne,” Thomas called again. He sighed in relief at the sight of her beauty glowing from the moonlight. “Meighlyne, where have you been? Winter’s wind will carry away your cub before spring.”
“I know my frailties and strengths, Clansyre,” Meighlyne said brusquely, walking away from her mate and toward the woodlands.
“Why were you speaking to him?” the Clansyre blocked her path. His warm amber eyes regarded her with concern.
She looked away from those eyes. She knew that over the façade of his concern, he was furious. “I was only preventing him from coming to our territory is all.”
"That’s what Aramis and the others posted at the perimeter are for,” the Clansyre patronized. “What did he want?”
Now it was her turn to glare at him with her ice blue gaze, “His only reason to live in his misery.”
The Clansyre dismissed Aramis with a slight nod. When he saw his only witness disappear into the darkness, the Clansyre began to walk Meighlyne back to the Winthrope Den in the center of the Ecylich Woodlands.
“Come now, Meighlyne. We can’t have little Jherethes walking around converting natural born hunters to take the easy path of their trade,” the Clansyre said. “So if he’s willing to produce those cubs, we’ll be willing to take them away from him to train them to be a true Winthrope…Not some stupid priest in rags with tricks and magicks to make life easier.”
“But it’s only a male, Thomas,” Meighlyne remarked. “It’s not like we would be giving him a pair of cubs…Just his male cub. How can he make such a grand clan with only his son-”
“As true as the grass is green, my love,” the Clansyre agreed. “But what greater chance to take if Cholieus has his true father’s charisma? And in Ambeigh, one does not need charisma to get what they want.”
"The females there are too independent with their power. Jherethe would not be so foolish.”
“Which leads back here, Meighlyne? Who’s to say that he will not want to take back a female to Tillathried with him?”
“Chole’s fate is inevitable. Give him back to Jherethe, or Jherethe will take him back. That’s what he said to me.”
“He’ll never have him back,” the Clansyre said sternly.
They arrived at the Winthrope Den as the first rays of dawn crept through the forest. Composed of a ten mile wide ring of oak trees as the inner walls, the body heat of thousands of slumbering cats of every species kept the den warm in the winter, but unbearably hot in the summer. The den smelled of animal musk, and dirt soaked with the blood of many victims. The canopy of the oaks layered as a crude thatch roof over the den, cloaking the den in darkness no matter what the time of day was. In the many crevices of the trees and in the branches lay the slumbering masses of cougars, panthers, leopards, lions, tigers and many other species of cat.

Exile

Snow began to fall...On the night among nights for the Winthrope Hunting Clan. Food had been scarce in past winters before their forest was taken over by man. And now the tensions among the clan were thinning blood into water. Some of the elder males, after finding meager prey of winter hares for the night, wandered back to the center of the forest, to where those of the Winthrope Clan called, “The Resting Den.” Ahead of the hunting party was Aramis, the youngest brother of the clan's second generation. His soot-colored fur was caked with snow, and his ears were pulled back. His yellow gaze stayed to the trail as he carried his catch of three large hares by the necks. Their blood dripping from his mouth and onto the fresh snow. Aramis was brooding, thinking about how to confront his brother. There were very few males to come back with a catch of three hares. And most of them caught babies, which were hardly a mouthful for a fully-grown cougar.
“Aramis,” called one of his friends, a young tawny cougar named Drethar as he ran to Aramis’s side.
Aramis slowed his pace for Drethar, his mood brightened for the sake of the young cub. “Ah, Drethar, my young friend...I see you’ve had a good hunt as well.”
Drethar nodded proudly shaking his prize of two hares, their fur stained red from their fight for life.
“Well, we’ll need all the help we can get for this winter,” Aramis spoke smoothly, despite his load.
The cub gave Aramis a puzzled look.
“Oh but don’t you see? We are the last white paws you and I,” Aramis said. “Though I am the last of my generation, I still have the same agile, youthful spirit as you do. And together we stand as the youngest of the hunters! Your father is very proud of you, Drethar…And he’ll be proud of the prize you’ve caught—”
“But what about Chole?” Drethar pointed out. “He’s a white paw, too.”
“Chole,” Aramis snorted. “He’s too much like his father to be a hunter.”
“Well he’s old enough to hunt…He’s older than me!”
“Oh he contributes. In his own way, just like his father,” Aramis grumbled darkly. The party entered the warmth of the den. “He makes our work seem useless! Petty! And I for one am glad that your father is in charge…Otherwise we’d be in our true forms! Hunting with sticks and strings with sticks! Throwing stones at our prey instead of—” Aramis gasped; his jaw dropped as did his prey. He gawked at the sight before him.
For as the hunting party came into the den, a great relief washed over their cold, weary bodies. They beheld a large, dead heifer. Her eyes were gouged out, and already the Winthrope clan began to take their fill of the giant beast. Blood covered the rocky ground, and the smell of fresh meat filled the air. The heifer’s girth could feed the clan for two nights, making Aramis’s hares look like rats.
Drethar even felt shunned after his first hunt. He hung his head low in shame as he made his way through the crowd to the rear of the den.
Aramis could stand this no longer. To be out-hunted by a runt of Jherethe! He thought to himself as he searched for the young cougar. After finding the sheen of silvery fur in the dim light of the den, Aramis grabbed him by the nape of the neck and dragged him outside in the cold.

Drethar stood before the Clansyre, “Two hares for my family, Father,” Drethar plopped the hares before them.
The Clansyre, a large, dark brown cougar beamed at the young cougar. “Thank you, my son.” He rose to his feet and grabbed one of the hares. “You may have the other, Drethar.”
Drethar lifted his head; his yellow eyes held by those of his father, “Why didn’t you have any of the beast before you, Father?”
“Because I trust that one of the greatest white paw hunters would come back,” the Clansyre answered simply. “After all, your little sister needs the best.”
“Sister?” Drethar whispered.
“Aye,” he began to disappear into the dark passageway. “Would you like to see her?”
“I would, Father, but,” Drethar began nervously. “But I would like to talk to Aramis about…About the hunt.”
“Is that so? I need to have a word with him as well, if you wouldn’t mind waiting a moment…”
“Of course I’ll wait.”

“Little bastard!” Aramis threw Chole against an oak tree, knocking the wind out of the young cub.
Chole coughed, gasping for breath. “Hey! I was only trying to hel-” But he was cut short as Aramis slapped him across the face. Chole rubbed his sore cheek, and saw that he was bleeding.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Chole demanded, rising to his feet.
“Dare you risk the safety of this family?” Aramis snarled. “You caught a heifer! Cows do not run wild anymore! Where in the world did you get it?”
“I-I-I shot it, near a gate,” Chole answered simply as he tried to recoil into the tree.
Aramis roared furiously, charging toward the young cougar. Chole rolled out of the way and into a large wall of snow. Shaking himself free of the thick, cold powder, Chole leapt onto a nearby branch and began to climb the tall oak. Aramis slid to a halt before the tree. Bark flaked and fell from the bough of the tall oak. When Chole reached the heart of the branches, he glanced down from the awesome height. His heart pounded, nearly bursting from his chest. He gasped. Aramis had disappeared!
But suddenly, before Chole could descend the tree, he was held fast. He wheezed, as the air seemed to be pushed out of him. His abdomen felt as though it was going to explode. Chole’s gaze suddenly met those of Aramis, whose jaws sank into Chole’s body. Chole’s blood froze, for a moment all he could do was stare at his uncle tearing into him.
“Aramis! Chole!” Aramis heard the voice of the Clansyre sound from below. “Get down here, now! What is the meaning of this?”
Aramis released the young cougar from his jaws, only to clamp a large paw upon Chole’s throat. “My lord brother,” Aramis bowed reverently. “So good of you to come for this—”
“This creature’s exile, Thomas,” a voice as cold as the winter wind resounded.
Chole groaned in pain as he tried desperately to be free of Aramis's grasp.
“So what makes you so apprehensive now, Aramis?” continued the voice. “Here your witnesses stand-”
“Enough!” cried Aramis.
“Jadis this does not concern you,” the Clansyre patronized the familiar voice.
There was a faint thud in the snow, soon followed the by the sound of the frozen grass crunch beneath the weight of paws. The cougar stood taller than the Clansyre. Upon his lean shoulders, a pair of silvery wings that, like his fur, shimmered in the twilight. He regarded Aramis with dark violet eyes, like cold, black chasms in the night. The cougar chuckled, remembering briefly the days long ago when he was called by that name. “Oh come now, Thomas, you need not look after your older brother. But I do believe that perhaps our baby brother is in need of a little guidance.” Jherethe brought his glittering gaze to the Clansyre that made him shudder. But Jherethe continued smoothly. “Don't you think?
“Aramis how original! To bring such bitter punishment to a creature on a night like this! A night when I myself succumbed to my fate...by my own family!”
The wood beneath Chole began to turn into thin grain, and as Aramis pushed down upon him, Chole began to sink into the branch.