But I think of that last time, there with the others. I think of Glade. Not that I’m terribly broken up over his untimely demise- he was kind of a self-absorbed jackass- but what gets me is the senselessness of his death. He slipped while trying to get to the next step in the broken down stairwell, and fell to his death. Of course, that may have something to do with the vast crow conspiracy that some people are gossiping about in Sandpoint.
I sometimes wonder what became of my friends. I hear news from time to time, about how Hope was kidnapped by some kind of monk lady, and of course about the killer cake created by Mera’s rival. I wonder if she’s gotten over her eggbeater psychosis. Somehow, I don’t think she has. I pity Mr. Rabbit. From what I understand, Marika’s farm is doing well, though I think there have been strangers nosing around the property, but her houseman seems to have everything under control.
Life at the Pixie’s Kitten is very comfortable, don’t get me wrong. But there are days when the wind blows just right, and I’ll catch a scent or hear the clanging of steel, and my very being cries out to be there. I don’t want to sit at my window and stare off into the countryside, but I can’t look away either. Every would-be adventurer that finds their way into my bed finds themselves pleasured at a slightly reduced rate as I grill them afterwards about their journeys. Even though I don’t think I’ll find myself on the open trail once more, I love to hear about it all.
Life is comfortable here at the Kitten…but how long will that last…?