"Do you remember, Pumpkin?" The young woman spoke in a soft, wistful voice to the stump-tailed cat. "Do you remember when he first came here?'
Pumpkin was smack-dab in the center of the floor with one white foot stuck into the air as she bathed her belly. But her burnt-orange head came up when her name was uttered.
The warm gleam from the nearby cooking-fire glimmered on the woman's raven hair as she took a stiff, slow kneel beside her cat, using both hands on the floor to avoid a heavy tumble.
"Aye. I do, too," said the young woman, as if the animal had given a reply. Perhaps it was only a fancy of Taite's imagination, but she thought she saw Pumpkin turn her leaf-green eyes to the bed against the far wall.
"S'awful quiet now," Taite went on, lacing her hands around her knees.
Pumpkin seemed to sense that her mistress was in a communicative mood, and she lowered her foot and stood upright with a gentle chirrup.
"Aye," Taite answered. "Maybe."
Beyond the window pane, a late, lazy spring twilight dwindled to darkness. The woman sat on the floor, for who was there to object to it? Her hand stroked the bewildered cat who walked round and round the woman's form, brushing lightly against her, tail-stump stiff and erect to show she was listening and present.
