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“Actually, what serendipity: good chance to simultaneously test your reading recall. As the letters are dashed. You’ve looked at them long enough to know the shapes and should be able to visualize and recall them to mind. So. You have recalled the ‘A’. Now, what is the rest?”


Thraen extended a finger to try to touch the small, hidden-within-fluff beans of extended mau-feet. “It’s a start to spell with words and names of letters aloud. But still not written, nor at the correct time. If you want Tacos, though, you are welcome to spell it out again, in writing with your paw, when we’ve finished the practice words.”

Taco Bell was night owl friendly, being open until 4am. Yo Quiero Taco Bell-Think outside the bun-Live Más. Not that he had a car to be able to easily visit the drive thru. There was always Uber. Though the drivers were always weirded out by the presence of a Emotional Support Cat, when Faust came along on car-bound excursions. Even being winter, I should invest in motored transportation at some point very soon. The bicycle serves, but only so quickly. Those dreams...memories...premonitions. Staying to the nears hills wasn’t the best solution. An alternative still, other than supply in the stars, is relocation whole to wonders of Earth. Why we all stay...why...still no joint efforts. No concerted populations at and reconstructions of wonders. Knights…..knights…
They could mean so much in all of this.


“C. A. Two more letters.”

A quick check showed hale and hearty no auras near or far. Nor traffic, really, given the residential dereliction or the devil’s hours. There was no sound of feet on pave, nor shuffle of grass.

It was all too elaborate to be honest. Thraen didn’t buy the forgetfulness, or the distractedness. Still, in the litany of actions meant to rid the writing and distract there was an adorable foot thrust into the air. So the Eternal Senshi padded the small dark foot beans between thumb and forefinger contentedly while the faux-washcycle was enacted.

“All the practice so far has been 4 - letter proper noun fish names. Things you’ve seen many times and practiced verbally at meal time. Come now, you know this one. And no, ‘T’ was not one of the letters. We’ll not be fighting tonight, by senses wide. No meeting anyone. ”

"Yours is far more luxuriant than mine could ever hope to be. Yfaith, ye jest! For you must note what worship I bear for thee: find it fitting, sirrah, come and name me servingman in least. I would be glad of't." Thraen retracted hand obediently and brought the knuckle of the pointer to press against his chin in pleasure, speaking over sculptor's hand.

"Yes, it was R. C-A-R- and one more. Shaped like the R, but missing the buttress leg-stroke." Indeed, the Latin R had been fully develped by the 3rd century BC, while P still had an open loop until at least the 1st century AD. P, D, Q, and B had a history of confusion for young English learner when written lowercase.

Tuna. Sole. Carp. I will need two more, for the five, and then he'll compose the sixth. Two more four letter seafood words....clam. Shrimp is five. Swordfish, Salmon, oyster, squid, lobster, tilapia, trout, scallop, catfish, cod, haddock, flounder...Crab. There we go.

“A buttress is a supporting leg. It isn’t lingo, it’s vocabulary. An R has two legs that it stands on. You’re looking for a letter that looks like an R, but only has one leg to stand on when it is uppercase. We’ve been over upper and lowercase. “ If not why they were called as much in relation to the history of the printing press, or D'Nealian cursive.

The round black body so studiously mucking about in the dirt, with muttered insults and puzzling, seemed wanting of more trouble. Thraen took to a few quick, sudden puffs of breath at the raised and available fluffy backside. C A R T is not carp, no. Keeps going for T. But he’s trying hard again, which is nice. Imagine if he could ever send texts.

“T is not the next letter, no. “

“C-a-r-p, carp, correct. Very good. You’ve gotten into your rhythm. You’ll catch this next one in no time. “ Dutifully, Thraen traced a finger through the dirt in two inch letters spelling out C-l-a-m. Two of the letters were the same as the last, C and A, the L repeated from the earlier ‘sole’ so that the whole lesson could start reinforcing all the practice as it built. This being done, the eternal senshi flatted a hand to the wide black flank and thumped it thrice encouragingly.

Faust-thumping made a wonderfully satisfying sound like a wide barrel.

More consideration to it, Faust probably wouldn’t be sending him any texts. Or anything on his behalf if he got into trouble. Any newfound reading skill was probably going to be put to use trying to order food from services like Grub Hub for pocket money cats didn’t have. There was hope in it being an ‘internet thing’ that would never intrigue the puff’s attention. “Four letters, three you’ve seen before in the exercise and one new. Still a seafood animal. “

The way that Faust’s haunches fluffed out and quivered, and his whiskers pushed forward, when concentrating was pure delight. Pure enough that gnawing edges of worg-thoughts could be kept to the edges of candlelight. Here was an evening well spent, with practice and a precious friend. Then Faust self-identified as a “puff” and the eternal senshi’s jaw muscles twitched. The scar across his mouth twitched.

It took every ounce of willpower not to give in and smile. Enamel ground instead, a moment, before he could safely offer a reply, “Well done with some educated guessing. Good improvisation. "

"Not so fast, hustler. No payment, yet, I haven't forgotten what was set down when we started practice. You remember the rules: One more to guess to tally up five. Then you write the one successfully that you want to be paid with. And paid it shall be. Last one-”

The letters came: C - r - a - b.

He called himself a puff. A puff. What will he spell when he gets around to it? I imagine seafood, but he might go for fowl or rabbit just to try to be surprising. At least big cities have specialized butchers and international markets. And it isn’t like he’s going to be spelling out abalone. A puff.

The review was well used, and he was picking up on letters he’d seen immediately before. It would behoove to make this exact sort of exercise into a every other day affair, and then a daily affair as part of the morning routine once Faust was into the rhythm of it. The bank of words he knew would grow quickly, and then actual grammar and sentence structures—that was jumping ahead. Far ahead, beyond the sight words. 220 service words and 95 high-frequency nouns at the very low-end of Dolch. “Crab” was not one of them. At least “fish” was, but that was the limit of the gastronomically relevant to Faust’s interests on the list. He spells it out himself after- he’s been listening after all when we’ve done this. It makes it real for the mind and helps retention. Thank goodness. Even if it’s just because he wants to not have to do it as long, brevity is a legitimate motivator.

“The ancient tribes of Angles, Saxons, and Jutes started the whole tree that is the English Language. But I’m confident that you could handle kicking the asses of the ancestors and progeny of the last 1400 years since. It’s not too many people. Good exercise. We just need to figure out the time travel? Mauvians are pretty specialized for inventions. But come now, you could make this whole exercise worth it again. Spell out what you want. Something delicious? Something ocean-dwelling?”

“The big ten are Halibut, Perch, Red Snapper, Yellowfin, Rainbow Trout, Sea bass, Wall eye, Salmon, Mahi-mahi, and Kumu. Supposedly Kumu taste like Shrimp- but the fishmonger down in the docks and trade neighborhood gets them in from Hawaii. “ Reluctant to erase the adorable cat prints under the letters, Thraen wiped smooth the letters with a hand to give Faust room. “Which will it be?”