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Staring down the barrel of half a year left to graduation was intimidating, elating, and overall fascinating really. Winter was at its ebb. he hadn't done exceptionally at the competitions recently, so he'd redoubled his efforts and time at the gym. It meant he and Colin were getting less face time unless it was sleeping, but they supported each other through the rough just the same.

He was glad he'd told his roommate about things that had been going on. It meant he felt less troubled on the walks to and from the gym in the early morning and, like now, in the evening. It meant he worried less about if something happened while he was out- conversations or otherwise. He could meet fate with a clearer conscious and the solidity of having another head to approach any and all difficult questions with. Difficult like Obsidian...the war...the purposes and existences of universes and sailors and black things.

Thinking about it, though, made him walk more briskly, strides wide with purpose and energy like eagerness, not fear. Like warhorse scenting blood on the wind, and champing bit, not balking. He was made more wary by it, looking left, right, forward, back, and especially up. 3 dimensions in battles with flying opponents. He supposed down could also be a possibility, but he hoped that if landsharks existed that concrete would prove a barrier thick enough to crack as warning.

It was garbage day tomorrow for the street he walked along- cans set up like obstacles or gravestones, and he looked sharply as soon as a few clattered with life they should not possess of their own. Steel did not breath to rattle its own drums. But then there was something shifting out of the shadow of one of the cans into the dim silhouettes of the twilight blue and leafless reaching trees. The witching hour of falling dark to reveal a cat.

When the cat approached, he felt like he should crouch so as not to loom over the poor thing. People didn't like being loomed over, so animals couldn't like it very much better. It must be very, very hungry to just approach someone. It looked like a stray.

When it spoke, his brows and heart instantly knit into knots. "Ja, I'm Björn. Are you okay? You poor thing. You look famished. We can find you some food. Are you normally a cat? I was a cat once, and it was awful to have lost my home and worrying about where I would find anything to eat. I can help. "

"Well, I mean...I don't know how to make you not a cat. If you aren't normally a cat. Mine just went away and I was a human again. "

There wasn't a lot available that would be open at that hour and nearby. Most gas station convenience stores sold some sort of canned cat food. Usually Friskies, or 9lives, or some other mid to low level brand. It might be better than nothing. Hunger was the best sauce. And cat taste-buds weren't human ones. Maybe Friskies was really delicious to cats? He'd never had to try it. This poor thing must be sifting through trashcans for morsels.

Not a human normally...it must be one of the 'real' cats Aegir talked about sometimes! The real star-browed kind. "You are like 'Pray' then! "

"I see. Well, you still look rough and wanting a warm, soft seat. Will you come with me? I know a soft, warm place. A laundromat. There's always left over clothes and we could put some on a seat for you. It's open 24 hours. "

"Why would a special cat like you want to find me? I'm not famous." He offered hands out slowly to carry the small thing. He didn't know if magic cats liked to be carried like some normal cats or not. Did they like pets? He imagined a magic cat didn't get fleas, or at least woudl know its business about getting rid of them. "What should I call you? You know my name."

He had grave doubts about the whole 'special person' thing. That was like the stuff schools spewed- if everyone was special that meant that no one was. But making a difference, "I will be doing what I can to make a difference. We can agree on that."

When the can finally decided to approach he resisted the urge maul it with adoration. It was so pathetically adorable in its hesitation and fear. Maybe talking cats couldn't sense when people liked animals the way the normal variety did. As soon as it settled, he scooped and lifted it slowly and gingerly and held it close over his chest and next to his shoulder and neck. He remembered his mother's advice - always make sure they feel supported! Especially the hind legs and butt. So he shifted and cupped a great hand under the small fluffy rump.

"Grendel? You are not a very large, monstrous man. But it good to meet you. Do you have a brother, Beowolf? " Imagine, a cat with a Saxon name! He liked the old Anglo-Saxon stories, they weren't too far off of Scandinavian legends, even if they were too dense for him to read as anything but abridged and translated.

It wasn't hard to find the way to the laundromat. Björn was a swift walker with long strides and a more or less tireless endurance in the face of a tiny burden like a cat body. In the panic of Björn's own time spent as four-legged and furry, the laundromat had become the center of his survival and safe haven. A place with crannies where humans couldn't get at him, white noise to mask him and comfort him in sleep, warmth in the dead of winter, and a ready availability of cleanliness to cut down on the possibility of fleas.

"Obsidian..." The name just hung there like a waiting noose after it passed his lips. Was it better or worse that the man had sent a talking cat in his place? The other times they'd spoken had been an odd mix of elated and terrifying. He didn't think he woudl be able to decide.

"I didn't expect...he seems very much a soldier standing in lone dark. Having anyone to be able to send or that he talks much to anyone with words instead of a weapon. I guess we talked. Well, a bit, and more after he nearly broke my jaw. "

"He could have killed me many times already if he wanted to."

"Why so puffy?" Björn haloed a hand near but not touching the now very round and fluffy looking dirty cat. "He was not so bad. He seems a very long warrior. They get strange, after so much death and killing in a war, if they are not careful. He doesn't strike me as very careful. He pulled his force, but it seemed very much a choice. He didn't want me dead. "

"In fact, he's told me more than anyone else has about what is going on after that black hawk tried to claw out my chest. The sushis just want me to live or die by such whims. I've met some! They just tell me to go home and stay safe. As if anything is safe to magic without the same as defense. At least Obsidian has offered the beginnings of keys to a warchest and weapon- some way to help others and myself. "

"There is some caring of some sort there. And I am grateful for it."

"Do you not like him? Why come on his asking?"