The Cat and the Crane

Written by Charlie
There was a splash on the lake, one of the famed white birds had come down from the trees to hunt in the shallows by dusk light. Marzia stumbled on a fallen branch unseen by her feet as the bird had stolen her attention and ankle overturning she crashed down into the browning ferns and mud of the bank.

It was getting dark, but she wasn't ready to give up. The hunters had let the beast escape, but they'd promised come morning they would find it dead. Nothing in that condition would last wrong. They were sorry the pelt would be too ruined for the good lady to have to keep off the cold of frosts. It would have been a lovely gift for the children.

She rubbed her palms which had caught rough reeds ad hidden stones in the dark. The damp seeped into her skirts at her knees. A few feet over and she would have slipped into the lake itself. The water was deep and full of weeds here. No real harm done, she consoled herself, pushing back the thin pale grazed skin. She would live. She took a breath, preparing to find her feet when a sound cut it off in her throat.

A low rumbling warning, a cold hiss. Marzia's eyes strained to see the far reaches of her peripheral in the encroaching gloom. A second forced growl sharpened her senses. She'd nearly fallen directly upon it.

Turning her head a few inches, its bright eyes met hers. Dark gum folded back to exposed yellowed fangs, but there was more to see. A strand of silver woven into a braid a cut deep into the animal's neck, the pink flesh clear in contrast to the blue-black fur. Lower down the creature's torso, the coat was a grim matte of blood and mud. If she could look more closely, she would have seen the white of bone in that deep rend. The hunters had not meant for the cat to survive. She tried not to move, though, just to be still. Afraid what might happen if she should provoke the beast to move.

It hadn't though. Even as the young woman had nearly fallen bodily upon it. It continued to growl although the sound grew less alarming and more pitiful as Marzia listened.

"I don't want you to die," she whispered, unable to pull her eyes from the terrible wounds. "It's not your fault they're fat and stupid." She had to decide what to do quickly. Her mind fought to recall how to treat such a wound, and she cursed herself for crying. Tears helped no one. "You have to lay still and let me help, or you will die. I won't let them hurt you, and I won't let you die." The cat huffed and panted, its ears barely flicking at the irritation of the flies gathering to feast.

The shadow cat didn't fight her; instead, it just lay there in the boggy mud and its misery. Marzia wished her grandmother was there, but when the voices had called for her, she didn't answer. The night was cold by Red Lake, and the sun rose early but barely cut through the mist. The young lady was sodden as she dragged her cloak over the soft earth towards the stable.

Beady eyes peered from the reeds.

A boy was on watch for the small stove which heated the stalls. He made himself scarce at the sight of the first daughter of the house caked in mud, soaked through, pulling her clothing behind her. He didn't look too closely at what she was bringing into the stable. Best not to know too much, just to say that she'd turned up. Marzia barely registered his passing, focused on her task. They both needed to be warm and to rest.

It was luck that Rosana was the one the boy found, the earliest to rise in the household. He didn't notice that she didn't seem too disturbed at the news he brought, mostly relieved that he was not in trouble.

There in the straw of the stall near the warmth of the stove, the young lady crane and the shadow cat lay curled up shivering together.

"It is unkind to keep it alive, Marzia," the old woman warned as she took a seat on the boy's stool.

"It was unkind of them to try and kill it," Marzia spoke softly back, stroking the soft fur of the sleeping cat's head.

"It killed the cranes," she always spoke so matter of factly, ever sure of what was the right of any matter and she had never been wrong.

"No-" Marzia shook her head.

"Marzia?" Lord Johann called into the barn.

"In here," Rosana replied for her granddaughter.

"No, please," she pulled her weary body up. Rosana stood, and pulled off her over cloak, draping it over Marzia's shoulders in the flourish. "Father, please!" She began to plead as his footsteps grew closer.

"Your brother is sick, what is the meaning of you worrying everyone by disappearing into the night?" The lord demanded. "Your mother needed you!"

"I killed the cranes! I did it! Will you send the hunters after me now?" Words she hadn't planned tumbled out of her.

"What? What are you talking about?" Johann scowled confused.

"She's caught fever from the mists. Talk to her later, I'll see she's fit before Lilian sees her." That even, calm tone cut through the conversation.

"I hate them, I hate them!" Marzia sobbed feeling anger and hurt she couldn't contain, so tired.

"Marzia, please," Johann was alarmed and stooped down to look more closely at his daughter. The low growl caught his ears and then he saw the tail. "The cat-"

"Johann, she is-"

"Blood, she's covered in it. Is she hurt? What is going on?"

"Let me tend to her. Please. I am concerned about what will happen if that beast dies now." There was something eerie in the way she'd said it, the uncertainty that crept in.

"She is much too much like you," it was an accusation.

Marzia lay back down her head swimming, soft, warm fur and her own body beneath the new layer of the fur-lined cloak.

"She will be well in time enough, no one needs to know a thing." She wouldn't recall any more of the conversation, nor really the next few days. Only that somehow the cat had lived and it had escaped again too. It took Marzia two weeks to lure the cat back out of the ferns and a string of blood sausage. There were many arguments after that, but no more cranes died.