Keller was disconcerted. She still wasn't finished crying-but, yes, she was. With his warmth and passion shining into her, his arms locked around her, his mind open to her... it was hard not to get swept up in it.
I guess I'm proud, she thought to him slowly. But only of some parts of it. Other things...
What things? he demanded, almost fiercely protective. Our history? The dragons?
No. Stuff you wouldn't understand Things about-animal nature. Even now, Keller was afraid of letting him see some parts of her. Leave it alone, Galen.
All he said was, Tell me.
No. It happened a long time ago, when I was three. Just be glad you get to pick what kind of animal you'll become.
Keller, he said. Please.
You don't like animal nature, she told him. Remember how you pulled your hand away when you touched my shoulder in the music room?
In the... ? His mental voice trailed off, and Keller waited grimly to feel the memory of disgust in him. But what came wasn't revulsion. Instead, it was a strong sense of longing that he was somehow trying to smother. And choked, wry laughter.
Keller, I didn't pull away because I didn't like your fur. I did it because . . He hesitated, then burst out, sounding embarrassed, I wanted to pet you!
Pet... ?
Your fur was so soft, and it felt so good when I moved my palm the wrong way against it-just like velvet. And-I wanted to-to do this. He ran a hand up and down her back. I couldn't help it. But I knew it wasn't exactly appropriate, and you would probably break my jaw if I tried it. So I took my hand away. He finished, still embarrassed, but half laughing. Now, you tell me what you're not proud of.
Keller felt very warm, and she was sure her face was flushed. It was just as well that it was hidden. It was too bad-there was probably never going to be a time to tell him that she wouldn't mind being petted like that...
I'm a cat, after all, she thought, and was distantly surprised to hear him chuckle. There were no secrets in this kind of soul-link, she realized, slightly flustered. To cover her embarrassment, she spoke out loud. "The thing I'm not proud of-it happened when I was living with my first Circle Daybreak family. I used to spend a lot of time in my half-and-half form. It was easy for me to get stuck that way, and they didn't mind."
I wouldn't, either, Galen said. You're beautiful like that.
"Anyway, I was sitting on my foster mother's lap while she was combing my hair, and I don't know what happened, but something startled me. Some loud noise outside, maybe a car backfiring. I jumped straight up and tried to race for my hiding place under the desk."
Keller paused, made herself take an even breath. She felt Galen's arms tighten around her.
"And then-well, my foster mother tried to hold on to me, to keep me from being frightened. But all I could think of was danger, danger. So I lashed out at her. I used my claws-I have retractable claws in that form. I would have done anything to get away."
She paused again. It was so hard to tell this.
"She had to go to the hospital. I forget how many stitches she needed in her face. But I remember everything else-being taken to another foster family because that one couldn't handle me. I didn't blame them for sending me away, but I always wished I could have told her how sorry I was."
There was a silence. Keller could feel Galen breathing, and that gave her an odd sense of comfort. Then he said quietly, out loud, "That's all?"
Keller started, then lifted her head a little and made herself answer the same way. "Isn't it enough?"
"Keller... you were just a baby. You didn't mean to do any harm; it was an accident. You can't blame yourself."
"I do blame myself. If I hadn't been taken over by my instinct-"
"That's ridiculous. Human babies do stupid things all the time. What if a human three-year-old falls into a swimming pool and somebody drowns trying to rescue her? Would you blame the baby?"
Keller hesitated, then rested her head on his shoulder again. "Don't be silly."
"Then how can you blame yourself for something you couldn't help?"
Keller didn't answer, but she felt as if a crushing load was sliding slowly off her. He didn't blame her. Maybe she wasn't to blame. She would always be sorry, but maybe she didn't need to be so ashamed. She tightened her own arms around him. Thank you, she thought.
Oh, Keller. You're so wonderful, and you're so set against admitting it. Everything you do... shines. Keller couldn't form any words for a moment. Then she said, Galen? When you do choose a form, choose something gentle.
I thought you thought everybody has to be a fitter, he said, and his mental voice was very quiet. Some people shouldn't have to be.
Then she just let him hold her.
Another endless time, while they both seemed to be floating in soft, gold fire. It flared around them and through them, joining them. Sometimes she could hardly tell which thoughts were his and which were hers.
He said, I used to write poetry, you know. Or try. My parents hated it; they were so embarrassed.
Instead of learning to be a good hunter, their son was writing gibberish.
She said, There's this terrible dream I have, where I look out at the ocean and see a wall of water hundreds of feet high, and I know it's coming and I can never get away in time. Cats and water, you know. I guess that's why.
He said, I used to daydream about what kind of animal it would be most fun to be. But it always came down to the same thing, some kind of bird. You just can't beat flying.
She said, One thing I always had to hide from my foster mothers was how much I liked to shred things. I thought I was being so clever when I would hide their panty hose after I used my claws on them. But when I did it on the sheer curtains one day, everybody knew.