The second was the Doomwalker. He had been expecting another attack, but he hadn't considered that it would also go after his sister. She was a strong Sorcerer, but he had absolutely no idea of why it would go after her. Other than simply to punish him, to taunt him with that information should it start to lose the fight. But that hadn't been an issue. He was warrior enough to know when he had his kiester kicked. Jegojah, it called itself, had cleaned up the floor with him. Tarrin got in some licks, but the Doomwalker had never been put in a very bad position. It had used Tarrin's momentary rage against him, and had displayed an outstanding fighting ability. If that weren't bad enough, it could also use magic, and knew how to use it. If he hadn't have been knocked into the Conduit, Tarrin would have lost. He could admit it without feeling bad, because no matter how good one was, there was always someone better.

It still didn't make much sense. Jegojah had brought more than enough to the table to deal with him, and Tarrin had the feeling that it knew it. So why attack Jenna? Why risk destruction by attacking a little girl, who happened to be protected by two of the nastiest fighters in Aldreth, maybe even all of Sulasia, and no less than two Sorcerers? It didn't make much sense. But then again, nothing made sense to him because he didn't know what was going on.

And that was the third problem. The fight, and what had happened to him, may interfere with Keritanima's plan. He hoped not, because it was getting to the point where absolutely had to find out what was going on. Everyone around him was acting on information that was being kept from him. He was certain that the string of seemingly illogical events were all connected by a common thread. For him to know what to do, he had to find out as much as he could about what was going on around him. Why he was so important, what made him so important, and what part his sister, Allia, and Keritanima played in it.

The fight with the Doomwalker had disrupted everything, and he realized that there had been several of those. They were trying to kill him, but they were succeeding in disrupting his plans with the attempts. Jesmind, who could not have changed his life any more without killing him. The attack by the Wyvern that separated him from Dolanna and the others. The Wraith, who very nearly killed him, and caused them to raise the Ward that trapped him in the Tower. And now the Doomwalker, who had caused him to somehow injure his ability to use Sorcery. He wasn't sure if that was a good observation, but that was the way it seemed to be working out.

He had no idea what to do now. He was becoming afraid of trying to touch the Weave, and if he couldn't use his power, he had the strange feeling that he may become expendable to the Council. He had no idea what they wanted him for in the first place. He was starting to expect a washtable to attack him. They'd thrown just about everything else at him, and mostly through sheer luck, he'd managed to survive. They had to be running out of ideas.

He missed Jesmind. She had such a simple way of looking at things. For her, everything was black or white, and she didn't lie, and she also took everything everyone told her for the truth. Until she realized it was a lie, anyway, and then she got violent. If only the world could be like that for him. Everything good or bad, right or wrong, friend or foe. Not enemies that turned out to be friends, and potential enemies pretending to be friends, and everything in between. He felt quite overwhelmed at the scope of the machinations going on around him, and he suspected that there were many more beyond his ability to see. He was a simple village boy, raised for a life in the regimented order of the army. Not this. Adjusting to being Were had been almost more than he could handle, and what was going on around him just seemed out of his reach. He didn't feel in control, like he was a pawn on a lanceboard, waiting for the next player to pick him up and move him.

He rolled over and started picking at the grass, experiencing the power of its scent, feeling it between his pads. Such a small thing, yet it could live almost anywhere, and it was very tough. If you cut it, it grew back. If you killed it, more grass just took its place. It softened the ground, kept it from washing away in the rain, and it made things beautiful. And all it wanted in return was a little sunshine, a little water, and some fresh air. He could definitely relate to the grass. He wanted out of the Tower. He wanted a little sunshine, a little water, and some fresh air himself. Preferably in some dark, untouched forest, well away from the human lands, where he could live free and unfettered by how others saw him.

But was he willing to let people cut him, try to kill him, to get it?

Grass had it easy, he decided. But then again, what choice did it have?

Nothing for nothing, his mother always said. If you put in nothing, you got nothing in return. There would be a dark forest and simple living, but he would have to work for it. And that meant enduring what was happening to him now, getting it overwith so he could find his little den somewhere nice. Closing his eyes, he put his chin on the back of his paw, listening to the sound of the wind rustling the hedges, rose bushes, and the grass, feeling it in his fur, on his skin, smelling the scents of the Tower, of people, and of the city beyond that was carried upon it. Grounded in his senses, Dolanna had said. He had to agree. What the Cat couldn't sense, couldn't see, it wasn't important to it. There was no now but now, no place but here, no time but that in which it lived. A serenity of selective amnesia, where the past was forgotten, the future didn't exist, and the whole world existed only in its own territory.

Sometimes cats had it easy too.

There would be no losing himself in the Cat again. Not now. Things were too important, and they were happening way too fast.

He needed to find Allia. Not for anything serious though, he just felt the sudden need for company. He felt very small and very alone, surrounded by things so much larger than himself that he no longer had any meaning, and it was a humbling and frightening sensation. Allia was his sister, in every sense of the word except blood, and she could always make him feel like he mattered, if only to her.

Allia was laying on her side on her bed, a worried look on her face, a book laying before her. He had no doubt that she was worried about him, and that made him feel just a little guilty. Tarrin had disappeared after leaving his sickbed, and had told no one where he was going. He was burdening everyone he cared about, and giving nothing but grief back in return.

She looked up at him, and her greeting died on her lips when she saw his expression. She simply moved her book and patted the bed in front of her.

Tarrin flowed into his cat form and jumped up on the bed, then laid down against his sister. She put her hand over him, stroking his fur, soothing his fear and worries. And he clung to that sensation, using it to try to calm his fears, letting it melt away everything that was disturbing him. The ever-threatening clouds finally carried out their threat of rain, and the sound of the drops striking the glass pane of the window melded with Allia's sweet voice, as she sang an old ballad in her native tongue, and the pleasant merging of the song of the Selani with the music of nature caused Tarrin to give way to his primal instincts. He slipped into a more Cat-like mindset, allowing the instincts to join with his conscious mind, finding solace in the forgetfulness of his animal soul.

He lost himself in the Cat, if only for a little while. There would be plenty of time for worrying tomorrow.