"Let me guess," the sorceress mused. "I'm supposed to rub your tummy, is that it?"

Oh, wise wizard! came the reply. Your amazing powers of deduction truly astound me. Surely no other mage in Faerun can possess the intuition to rival your own!

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Gam," Evaine laughed. She began digging her fingers into the thick pelt covering the cat's chest. Gamaliel's green eyes closed until they were thin, gleaming slits. He began purring like an oversized kitten, which was pretty much what he looked like at the moment.

However, Evaine knew that looks could be deceiving. Over the years, the claws safely sheathed in Gamaliel's big, soft paws had ripped the life from countless enemies. Evaine had never met a warrior more ferocious or more deadly in battle than her great cat companion, and she rather doubted she ever would. Still, right now he was looking awfully cute-and somewhat silly. His rough, pink tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth.

I never look silly, came the testy reply to her thoughts.

The great cat was Evaine's familiar, so of course her mind and his were inextricably linked. Her first familiar, a snowy white owl, had died long years ago, during one of her quests to vanquish a magical pool. That had been a devastating blow. Evaine didn't know if she would ever have recovered if Gamaliel hadn't come along. Every mage, even the lowliest hedge wizard, needed a familiar-even if only a simple lizard or spider-but Evaine was lucky to have one such as Gamaliel. He was more than her protector. He was her truest friend, and she loved him dearly.

As well you should.

"You don't have to be so conceited about it."

I'm not being conceited, Gamaliel protested. I'm lovable, and you love me. What's wrong with that?

Evaine tried to think of a witty reply, but nothing came to mind. "Here, Gam," she said finally, getting up to stir the contents of the bubbling caldron. "I want you to taste this." She used a wooden spoon to scoop up some of the curious liquid. Flecks of herbs drifted on the surface.

Gamaliel's pink nose wrinkled. Do I have to? I really don't want to be metamorphosed into a toad, you know.

"Don't be such a baby, Gamaliel. Besides, it isn't a magical potion. It's soup. Your favorite kind, even-rabbit, with thyme and fennel."

Why didn't you say so?

Gamaliel lapped the soup off the spoon with his big tongue. Suddenly a faint, shimmering light surrounded the cat. His tawny pelt began to undulate as his form started to change. In a blink, the great cat was gone. In his place was a handsome man, a tall, wild-looking barbarian. He sat cross-legged on the ground, holding the wooden spoon, clad in a buckskin coat and leggings trimmed with beadwork and fringe. A broadsword was belted at his hip, and his long tawny hair was tied back from his angular face by a leather thong. He regarded Evaine with glittering green eyes.

"It's easier to eat soup when you can hold a spoon," he offered by way of explanation. "Otherwise you tend to burn your tongue."

"I wouldn't know," Evaine laughed as she dished up two bowls of the steaming liquid.

Gamaliel was a shapeshifting cat, and as such he could opt for human form any time he wished. Generally, he preferred to be a great cat, but sometimes he liked the option of fingers.

The two friends ate their lunch, then Gamaliel helped Evaine gather her things. She had ventured into the forest that day to find a few herbs for her magical spells. But already the autumn day was drawing toward evening, and the golden beams of sunlight were fading.

"Let's go home, Gam."

Instantly, the barbarian's form blurred. A moment later the great cat bounded ahead through the trees, scouting ahead for danger. Protecting his mistress was Gamaliel's sole concern.

The sun was setting in a sea of bronze clouds as Evaine and Gamaliel stopped before a seemingly impenetrable thicket of brambles and thorny bushes. It looked as if anyone who tried to force their way through the overgrowth would be taking a gamble.

"Gate!" Evaine intoned, lifting one hand in an intricate gesture.

There was a rustling as the brambles parted to either side, forming a walkway. Gamaliel ambled through, and Evaine followed. The thorn bushes immediately closed behind her. Wizards were secretive by nature, and did not generally leave their dwellings undisguised.

Beyond the hedge was a circular clearing in the midst of a grove of tall, majestic ash trees. The far side was bounded by the steep face of a hill. A waterfall tumbled down granite boulders to splash into a small pool of frothy water. Countless droplets caught and refracted the last light of the sun, glistening like diamonds on fire. On the edge of the pool sprawled a long, low, rambling log house. It was a comfortable and inviting place, not at all the usual wizard's domicile. Evaine had never much cared for towers and such. They were stuffy in summer, freezing in winter, and tended to dampness, which meant books often fell prey to mold. Most of the wizards Evaine had encountered in her time lived in towers simply because they thought that was what wizards were supposed to do, not because they cared for tower life.

Despite its rustic appearance, Evaine's home was as well guarded as any wizard's. The rough logs were not hewn from mundane trees. Rather, they were iron-oak trunks, felled by magic, for no axe could do more than scratch them. The large windows were not ordinary glass but thick plates of steel which Evaine had made magically transparent. The poppies and chrysanthemums that bordered the walkways were bright and lovely, but each had been conjured of magical energy. They emanated a powerful protective ward around the house. Any creature of evil that tried to set foot inside would be burned to ashes.

Inside the house, Evaine spread the herbs she had gathered on a large oaken table and began sorting them. Gamaliel curled up by the hearth for a nap. He considered the bearskin rug before the fire his throne.

The house's main peak-roofed room was comforting in its clutter. Books weighed down pine shelves. Intricate, faded tapestries and animal pelts covered the walls. A stuffed, somewhat moth-eaten owlbear lurked in a corner, and a huge dwarven war drum served as a table for a scattering of elven runestones. Two overstuffed leather chairs, worn and comfortable with use, dominated the center of the room beneath an ornate chandelier imported from the southern empire of Calimshan. In all, it was an eclectic but hospitable room that spoke not so much of far travels as it did of frequent homecomings.

Evaine paused in her work, reflecting on the objects in the room. Most of them were souvenirs of her quests to destroy pools, she realized. In fact, she couldn't think of a single possession that she had acquired on a pleasure trip, or that a friend had given to her as a gift. She allowed herself a sigh. She wasn't sure why, but somehow the thought made her a little sad. Hunting down and destroying magical pools had been her whole life these last thirty years. It was a critical mission, but sometimes it made her feel just the slightest bit lonely.

Gamaliel's sharp ears caught her sigh. The great cat opened his green eyes and regarded his mistress. Worry flickered through his mind. Something had been bothering his sorceress of late, something that caused her to forgo sleep from time to time, or to neglect her meals. Gamaliel did not like that. His mistress's well-being was his preoccupation, and he wondered about the air of melancholy he had detected lately. Of course he would have attacked any being that disturbed Evaine, rending it to bits. But the cause of Evaine's sorrow was obviously beyond his ability to correct with his claws. This troubled him. The cat racked his brain for a way to help her, but could think of nothing. He growled softly in frustration.