(2= Failure)
Malta occasionally got up the courage to nose about the streets and alleyways around Castor's house, her keen nose picking up the fetid, dark, alien smells of the city and setting her mind a-tingle. She never went very far, always coming back to the house when things became too strange and frightening for her to handle, or when there was a risk of being discovered by someone who wouldn't be kind to an unbound feral khehora wandering around the city of the Oblivionites.
By this point, though, neighbors of Castors family did know about her, and she made sure they liked her by being genuinely friendly and helpful. She had found that she could do lots of their strange chores: she'd even hung washing once, which was difficult to do.
She wasn't sure if she would ever get used to the strange customs of the Oblivionites, but slowly – very slowly – she was losing her fear of them. Just a bit. They were still scary, of course, with their dual wings and tail and third eye and dark powers and imposing city and all, but she was – despite that – starting to feel a lot more comfortable in Obsidian city.
She certainly wasn't jumping at every shadow that so much as twitched, like she had been before, and she was exploring, which was good, because it was better than hiding all the time. So, she was getting sort of used to it, which was also good.
That didn't mean that she didn't want to leave, though. She did. She wanted to go home to her forest and her lair and her cauldron and her cousins, mean as they were. She wondered if they had been attacked by the Mara too, and if there were any of them left. There probably were, they were all so tough. She wasn't though, she very much wasn't.
Today, or what passed for day in Soldul, she was only wandering nearby, where she was safe and could easily return. She walked down the narrow alleyway, instinctively squishing her bulk with her wings even though she actually had a good foot of margin between her and the wall. The gargoyles and dragons atop the buildings leered down at her and, though they were harmless as the stone they were made of, she still found herself slinking along warily, as if they might somehow strike.
She wasn't actually afraid, though. Far from it. This was different from the dark woods and the lurking threat of Bolarn – this was just dark. There were no ambushers in these shadows so, though it was eerie, she was safe. Mostly safe.
A little yellow shape ran out into the dim light and she blinked. It was an Uruu. She followed it curiously. She recognized it as a pet of one of the children in the area, though she mainly did so from the little jingling bangle that the small fluffy creature was wearing. She looked up as above her a window opened.
“Kiji! Kiji, come back!” called an Oblivionite woman, “Damn it!” she looked down and spotted Malta. “Oh! You're that feral Khehora... Can you help me? Catch that Uruu!”
“Okay!” Malta said. Being helpful was good, in all situations. Her legs – still slightly sore from the Mara escapade, broke into an awkward run after the Uruu.
It ran, its little pattering feet taking it into a twisting series of alleyways before, finally, she lost the trail...
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