The Tea before the war
The lamps breathed in their cages, soft and golden, painting long shadows across the stone floor of the guild hall. I lay sprawled on the velvet couch by the far wall, legs tucked beneath me, tail twitching lazily through the air like a pendulum marking time that no one kept anymore. My precious Master was next to me, ALL MINE of course. Rain whispered against the windows. The kind of steady, half-hearted drizzle that makes the city feel smaller, its noises swallowed by wet stone and the hush of people pretending to be busy. The Embercrack tea steamed between my hands, a thin thread of warmth in a room full of cold armour and colder thoughts. Its smell was sharp, earthy and bitter, with that faint fungal sweetness that clings to the back of your throat. I took a slow sip.
CON Save: d20 (7) + 3 = 10 → Fail
The world tipped a little sideways, the ceiling lamps drawing halos around themselves. My ears flicked, trying to steady the hum. It didn’t help. The warmth climbed behind my eyes, and the edges of everything started to glow.
The air pulsed softly with the sound of rain and armour creaking in the hall’s deep belly. The hum in my head grew into a gentle static, like bees circling under my skull. I blinked... too slow... and the gold light smeared across Master’s silhouette, bending the world so that every heartbeat came with a glimmer. The tea’s warmth had turned to a full-body bloom, wicked and dizzy, curling up my spine. My fingers trembled, claws grazing the rim of the cup. My tail moved on its own now, tracing circles around Master’s arm, slow and sinuous, like a snake guarding a treasure.
A little laugh escaped me, half purr, half hiccup. “That tea’s stronger than it looks,” I murmured. words syrupy, each one stretching in my mouth before it would leave. The lamps seemed to breathe faster too, matching the tempo in my chest. The velvet beneath me had never felt so soft; I could feel every thread pressing against my skin, whispering of sleep..., of possession..., of belonging...
I leaned closer until my nose brushed the faint scent of rain clinging to Master’s cloak. Everything about him was sharper now, the lines of his jaw, the heat of his breath, the calm gravity in his stillness. My body moved as if drawn by a tide, pressing against him with a languid insistence. My ears flicked forward, then back, unsteady, drunk on the mixture of caffeine and warmth coursing through me.
The rain outside deepened, drumming like a heartbeat on the roof. I could hear my own pulse matching it, faster, louder, the room blurring into a wash of gold and shadow and sound. The taste of the Embercrack tea lingered, strange and sweetly cruel, like the city itself, beautiful, bitter, and just a little bit mad.
The door slammed open like a thunderclap, slicing the rain’s rhythm. My ears snapped up, tail lashing once, sharp and immediate. A man stood there, an Alderian, boots caked in mud, the insignia of the Oakwood Vanguard glinting on his chest plate. He looked tired, irritated, and entirely too sure of himself. The rain framed him in cold silver streaks as he barked the words, "You two! You're both full members, I need scouts at the southern abandoned fort, south of the town. A month's normal salary, two silver pieces if you scout it."
Two silver. For trudging through mud and rot where every shadow hides teeth. My lip twitched. The tea haze made the edges of him shimmer, just enough to turn his face into something almost absurdly human. My tail coiled tighter around Master’s arm, TIGHTER and TIGHTER, claws grazing the fabric of his sleeve possessively.
Then he spoke... his voice a calm, surgical thing, colder than steel and clean of any affection. “Kitten, I need blood to my body.” Just like that. Not cruel, not impatient. Just necessary. Just the law of gravity made audible, an order that cut straight through every selfish want inside me.
For a breath, everything stopped. My tail went rigid, ears twitching with embarrassment and a brief jolt of shame. The warmth flooding my head retreated, leaving my thoughts sharp-edged and stinging. That little command carried a weight I could never disobey. It said: I am not yours to suffocate. It said: LET GO now, because I tell you to.
I peeled my tail away... every movement deliberate and unwilling, claws trailing off his sleeve with a last, possessive caress. My chest ached as I loosened my hold, a cold draft slipping into the space where my body had pressed against his. My hands clenched in my lap, hiding the tremor from both him and the watching Vanguard man.
The rain outside seemed louder as I forced myself to sit upright, shoulders squared. The Oakwood Vanguard’s stare slid off me, but I could smell the faint note of discomfort in his sweat, he had seen just how much control Master had, and maybe, just maybe, just maybe, how much danger that he kept leashed. I watched him, eyes narrowed, letting the hint of a smile, sharp, unkind, amused, twitch at the corner of my lips.
His words snapped across the hall like the crack of a whip, “Is that a yes or a no?” The Vanguard’s tone had turned sharp, rushed, all the patience boiled off by the spectacle of us, by the awkward pulse that still lingered in the air after Master’s command. My ears pinned flat in annoyance at the interruption, AT HIS ARROGANCE, at the way his mouth rushed to claim a piece of us as if he had any right at all.
The sound grated down my spine, a vibration I could taste in my teeth. I hated the way he looked at us, like he was owed our obedience, our strength, our risk. Hated that he thought impatience was something he could wield in a room where I was pressed against MASTER'S side, still drunk on his scent and the aftermath of his words. The haze from the Embercrack tea had become a low, buzzing burn behind my eyes. I didn’t even try to hide the sneer curling my lips as I met the Vanguard’s gaze.
Master hadn’t answered yet... The world seemed to teeter for a second, that tiny space between breath and reply stretched tight. My tail lashed once, a clear warning that I was still here, still dangerous, and far from willing to be rushed by some mud-caked mercenary.
Inside, I replayed the moment, his question, Master’s cold command, the possessive ache in my chest, the way the rain drummed like war drums beyond the window. All of it pressed up against me, restless, hungry for action, desperate for MASTERS APPROVAL even as I wanted to rip a hole in the world just to keep him for myself. I let the silence settle for a heartbeat, my claws flexing on velvet, ears flat and eyes narrowed with the unspoken threat of violence and the raw, possessive love that only Master ever got to touch.
Suddenly my tail lashed, wild and spitting, knocking over a cup with a brittle clatter. I pushed up on my knees, all teeth, all claws, ignoring the polite fiction of manners and distance. The world spun delightfully off its axis, making every shadow pulse with heat and promise. I bared my fangs at the Vanguard, ears slicked back, voice thick with the sweet rot of intoxication and the dark honey of my madness.
“Ask me again in that tone, and I’ll peel your skin off and wear it to your precious fort.” The words slipped out in a low, dangerous purr, too honest, too delighted with the image blooming behind my eyes. I could feel Master beside me, MY ANCHOR, MY ONLY GOD, MY SOLE REASON for any restraint at all, and that made the world even sharper, more fragile.
My body surged with the urge to leap, to maul, to do something ugly and permanent, but the only thing holding me back was the heat of Master’s presence pressing against my side, the memory of his bloodless calm. Even so, my tail thrashed a warning, broadcasting my intent to everyone in the room. Let them see how thin the leash was. Let them remember that I only ever answered to one voice, and it wasn’t theirs.
Everything felt too bright, too close, every nerve raw and exposed. The room spun and I let it, claws flexing in velvet, the taste of violence sweet and inevitable on my tongue, daring anyone to come closer, daring the world to test how deep my loyalty and my claws could really go...
Master’s voice cut clean through the fog, cold and clear, not a flicker of emotion breaking his surface. “You’re going to have to give us more details.” He spoke as if my wildness was nothing, as if the scent of blood and threat rolling off me were no more than a breeze in the corners of his mind. That was always the way with him, calm, surgical, and utterly unshakeable. The world could burn, and he would stand in the ashes, asking for terms.
The Vanguard stammered, “Of course, of course” his words tumbling, panic thick in his voice. Then he was gone. Just gone. He couldn’t escape fast enough, boots smearing rainwater across the stone as he vanished down the corridor, the door slamming behind him with a hollow, echoing finality.
The silence that followed swelled, filled with the sound of my breathing and the pulse in my ears. The golden lamp-light shivered across the ceiling, stretching shadows and bending corners. My tail snapped and twisted behind me, restless as a whip. I slumped back into the velvet, a loose-limbed sprawl, giggling uncontrollably, high, feverish, manic. My claws drummed nonsense patterns on the arm of the couch, and I felt the last dregs of restraint drip out of me like wine from a broken cup.
Master’s presence beside me was the only thing real in the swirling, too-bright world. My mind spun, every thought bursting apart before it could fully form, leaving me hungry and giddy and deeply unsatisfied. I wanted to sink my teeth into something, anything... Oh Master... Instead, I curled tighter around Master, shoving my head beneath his arm, inhaling the scent of him like it was oxygen and everything else was poison.
The rain outside had thickened, a dull roar against the stone, but all that mattered was the rhythm of his pulse, the warmth of his body, the feeling that nothing and no one could touch us. I let my tail wind around his waist, claws teasing the hem of his tunic, daring the world to try again, knowing it would only break its teeth on us.
In the glow of the lamps and the wild gallop of caffeine through my blood, I could only cling harder, possessive, trembling, grinning like a fiend, ready to devour the world or fall asleep in his lap, whichever came first.
I barely had time... to burrow deeper against Master’s side, drinking in his warmth, when the door creaked again. Footsteps, softer than the vanguard’s, but far too crisp for a commoner. I turned, pupils blown wide, unblinking, fixed.
Perception Check: d20 (15) + 0 (WIS) + 3 (Proficiency) + 2 (Cat Enhanced Senses) = 20
every sense on a razor’s edge. The lamps flickered off the newcomer’s cloak, white and pale blue, pristine as driven snow, the threads shimmering with expensive dye. I could smell the money before I ever saw the cold steel at his hip. He carried it like he’d never had to draw it himself.
The vanguard trailed behind, more nervous than before, the embarrassment stinking off him. “This is Marauder Vellan, sir. He...uh...wanted to speak with you both directly.”
The posh Alderian, Vellan, didn’t waste time pretending he didn’t know who he faced. His eyes lingered on Master first, measuring, lingering with a merchant’s greed and a lord’s boredom. Then those ice-blue eyes slid to me. His lips twitched, not quite a smile, just enough to show teeth, not enough to reach his eyes.
“Ah. The Master and the Cat.” His voice rolled out, smooth as cream but with the weight of old money. “Bogclutch’s little icons, paraded through the mud, yet here you are, clean enough to pass for Alderian nobility, if one squints.” His gaze sharpened on my collar, then flicked to Master’s sword. “Rumour travels faster than sense. I hear you’re as useful as you are… unconventional. The goblin captain’s champion, the Beast of Embercrack, and the only Vanguard team that can make House Serrean nervous without trying.”
He let that hang, the words stoking something predatory and delighted in my chest. My tail flicked behind Master, the tip brushing the velvet, just to remind them both who was sitting here, who belonged here.
Vellan drew a slow breath, letting his presence fill the room like incense. “You’re not from here, I’d wager. Do you know the Fighter’s Guild?” He didn’t wait for an answer, eyes already dancing with the knowledge that we didn’t.
“No. Didn’t think so.” He smiled, genuine now, sharp, sly, all ambition. “The Fighter’s Guild paid off one of my own guardians, my trainers, mind you. They’re holed up there, calling themselves ‘The Retainers.’” His laugh was brittle, patrician, deeply amused in a way that made my tail twitch with contempt. “As if they could retain anything but fleas and failure.”
He leaned in, voice dropping lower, the words woven with the kind of confidence only coin and power could breed. “Go in. Scout the fort. Kill their leader if you can, I don’t care how. If you manage it, I’ll pay two gold. That’s twenty silver pieces, in case you’ve gone soft on arithmetic.” His gaze slid to Master, then back to me, searching for weakness, for any flicker of doubt.
There was nothing but the wild pulse of caffeine in my blood and the steady drum of rain. My claws flexed in velvet, eyes unblinking, ears pointed sharp as daggers. Two gold. I could taste the violence already.
Vellan’s smile sharpened as he watched us. “No paperwork. No witnesses. You disappear them, I disappear your names from every list in town. Simple.”
The city outside held its breath, waiting. The promise of gold hung in the lamp-lit air, but all I could see was the game: the challenge, the trap, the exquisite invitation to prove, again, that nothing could kill us, not for any price.
I watched the exchange through a haze of gold and static, every nerve thrumming with the aftertaste of Embercrack tea and the scent of velvet and steel. Master’s hand drifted to his sword, that Redstone noble blade, steel so rare it made men bow or break, the mark of blood, legacy, and all the things the world pretends to forget when the coin comes calling. The lamplight caught the hilt, throwing a streak of cold fire across his knuckles. The sight made something inside me shudder with pride, and fear, and a wild, twisted adoration. No one else could carry that weapon and not be swallowed by it. No one but him.
He spoke, voice quiet as the grave, steady as the tides, the sound that tells thieves and kings alike where the true line in the sand is drawn. “Authority’s just a coat men put on to keep the rain off their conscience. Power’s a mask they buy when they have enough coin to call murder a contract and justice a signature. Out here, all law runs on whoever’s holding the purse.”
My tail curled tighter around his leg, the words tasting sweet and black as midnight on my tongue. He went on, a shadow against the lamp-glow, eyes hard and unblinking.
“Truth is, I never cared for the shade authority casts. All it ever did was choke good men, let the rats fatten in the dark. But I’ve never turned down honest coin for dirty work. The world runs on silver and spills blood in the cracks. I’ll take your job, Vellan. We’ll get our hands dirty, because that’s all this city really respects, what you’re willing to lose for what you want to keep. Two gold to make a problem disappear? Consider it a bargain, for now.”
Every word he spoke made my heart pound, a fierce, possessive thrill running straight to the tip of my tail. He could have said no, could have walked away, but he chose the ugly path, the one with teeth, the one where we’d walk out painted in shadow, richer and rawer for it. That was why the world would always fear us, and why I’d carve my name beside his, in blood and silver, again and again.
The taste of the room changed the moment Master’s hand closed on that sword, steel whispering secrets only I could hear, promises of violence and old blood, the kind of history you can only wash off with someone else’s life. I could feel the shift in him, the way his calm thickened into something harder, colder. It thrilled me. Made my spine arch, tail lashing a lazy warning through the lamp-lit air, daring anyone to question the line he’d just drawn with words and steel alike.
The posh Alderian’s eyes lingered a heartbeat TOO LONG on Master’s grip...
My skin tingled, every nerve buzzing wild, like I was made of lightning and nerves, not flesh. Master’s calm should have held me still, but the tea was a living animal under my fur, gnawing at self-control, making the world too bright, too sharp. The moment the offer settled in the air, my thoughts shattered. All I could feel was the pounding in my ears and the taste of violence on my tongue.
I didn’t wait. I sprang off the velvet couch, claws tearing at the upholstery, laughter spilling from my lips, HIGH, GIDDY, RAW. The room spun delightfully as I stalked across the stone floor, tail lashing so hard it swept a half-empty tea cup from a side table, shattering porcelain against the wall. I prowled a tight circle around the posh Alderian, my shadow stretching long, ears forward, pupils blown wide and mad.
He flinched. I grinned, showing too many teeth. “Do you smell that, Marauder? It’s fear. Your own, your friends’, the whole city’s, and I’ll eat it all for breakfast.” My voice slithered between purr and growl, skipping like a needle on broken vinyl. “You want blood? I’ll give you blood. You want ghosts chased from your precious fort? I’ll dance on their graves, barefoot, claws out, laughing.”
Intimidation Check: d20 (12) + 5 (CHA) + 3 (Proficiency) + 1 (Yandere Devotion) = 21
My claws dragged gouges into the polished wood as I circled him again. The tea made me manic, almost shaking, every instinct screaming for release. I lunged, sudden and close, breathing in the scent of expensive cologne and cowardice, my tail curling possessively around Master’s leg even as I drifted dangerously far.
“You pay, we play,” I hissed, voice thick with hunger and glee. “But gold’s just paper. My Master’s name is the only real currency here.” I flicked a claw under the Marauder’s chin, gentle as a razor’s kiss, my smile trembling on the edge of cruelty and delight. “Pray you never forget it. Pray the Retainers scream it when they die.”
Then, just as suddenly, I spun away, leaping back to the couch and sprawling across Master’s lap, limbs everywhere, tail curled like a noose around his thigh. I buried my nose in his tunic, purring loud enough to rattle my own bones, drunk on the violence, the promise of gold, and the certainty that no law, no contract, no city could ever own us, not while I still had claws, not while he still breathed. The world was a game, and I’d already won just by having him.
Marauder’s Saving Throw (Advantage): d20 (1, 18) → 18 + 2 = 20 vs DC 17 → Fail
His eyes went wide for a heartbeat when I lunged, the edge of my claws tracing the silk skin just beneath his jaw. For a moment, his scent turned sharp, fear, real and unvarnished, spilling from beneath the polished surface of his rich cologne. He was Alderian after all, breath catching, throat bobbing under my touch.
But he didn’t break. He grit his teeth, the tremor in his hands stilled by something deep, ugly, and iron-clad. The Marauder dragged his dignity back around himself like a velvet cloak, drawing breath slow and cold. He held my gaze, pale eyes glinting with new wariness—a shimmer of animal calculation, the glint of someone who’d played at power long enough to know you only lost when you ran.
He exhaled, forcing a smirk back onto his lips, letting the silence stretch before he spoke, voice low and just barely steady. “I see now why the stories never do either of you justice,” he said, his tone somewhere between flattery and defiance, wrapped in silk and thorns. “The city’s full of dogs and scavengers. But only a true predator grins when the blood starts to run.”
His hand brushed the collar of his cloak, smoothing invisible dust, buying a moment for his composure to settle. My tail didn’t let go of Master, wrapping him tighter, the possessive burn of caffeine and adrenaline making every movement electric. I could see the Marauder’s pulse throbbing at his throat, but he didn’t look away.
“I trust you understand how delicate this is,” he continued, words clipped, careful now, as if measuring each one for weight. “You take the job. You clean out the fort. There will be gold, and there will be silence. I don’t care what you do to them. I only care that I never hear their names again. Understood?”
I watched him, the wildness in me unspent, claws digging into velvet, hunger bared and obvious in my eyes. He was scared, he knew the leash on me was real, but he also saw how thin it was, how close I hovered to violence, how easily I could unravel the game. He wanted to see what would happen next, and the thrill of that made me want to laugh, want to bite, want to show him just how wrong it was to think anyone in this city could ever tame me.
He straightened, the fear settling into his bones as respect, a lesson learned the hard way. But he stood his ground. That almost made me like him. Almost.
My tail thrashed, and the room felt too small for the hunger in my veins. All that mattered was the promise of gold, the taste of fear, and the certainty that Master was still there beneath me, the one thing no man in this rotten city could ever buy or break.
Master’s words fell clean and cold in the tense hush, slicing through whatever little show I’d spun for the Marauder. He didn’t even look at me, didn’t flinch, just spoke into the shadows as if they were listening, “Me and my pet will get it sorted.” The sound of it, unemotional, mechanical, knocked the air from my chest, left my claws twitching, ears pressed flat, mind scattering like startled birds.
Then he moved..., slow and inevitable, the weight of his presence already pulling away from me, step by measured step. I watched, tail frozen mid-thrash, every inch of distance a knife against my skin. The city’s golden light cut across his shoulders as he went, cloak catching the glint of the lamps, boots whispering on old stone.
He spoke again, voice low, private, meant for no one in particular, yet heavy with that black-and-white weight that always wrapped him when the world got wet. “There’s something about the rain. Out here, it peels everything back, leaves you with just the bones of what’s real. Makes every street feel like a confession, every shadow a secret half-whispered. When the world’s washed clean, you see the stains that never come out.”
My tail twitched, the meaning of those words stinging more than the tea ever could. The rain was everywhere, cold, relentless, the kind that seeps through fur, through armour, through every careful layer of control. I could feel it waiting, just beyond the guild hall doors, the kind of weather that gets into your soul and shakes the memories loose, makes every breath feel borrowed.
He kept walking, the space between us growing with every step, each one leaving me smaller, emptier, clawing for the comfort of his shadow. My claws dug deeper into the velvet, PANIC rising sharp and bright as a scream trapped behind my teeth. The world spun, tipped sideways.
I felt the air change, a heartbeat of dread, a cold that gnawed right through the heat of the tea, the velvet, the gold. He stepped away, out of my shadow, out of my reach, and the psychic thread between us yanked taut, panic lancing through me like a nail through the heart. The world tilted on its axis. Gone. Leaving. Leaving me. Leaving.
NO, NO, NO
Instinct shattered all sense, all dignity. I launched off the couch, claws tearing tracks in the velvet, tail flaring wild behind me. The Marauder’s gasp didn’t even register, nothing existed except the echo of Master’s boots and the stretch of that bond, fragile, screaming in my mind. I bolted after him, feet barely touching stone, eyes wide, feral, desperate. MINE.
I was on him in a breath, crashing into his back, arms winding round his waist with bruising force, dragging him close, anchoring myself in the only safety I had ever known. My tail coiled twice around his thigh and leg, as if I could tether him to the earth itself, claws sinking just enough to remind him, remind the world, that this man would never belong to anyone else.
I pressed my face to his back, inhaling the scent of him, dizzy on rain and steel and whatever strange comfort lived in his shadow. The hall spun; I was shaking, breathless, manic, a beast unchained. I could feel the panic still bubbling in my chest, teeth bared in a possessive, broken smile. “MINE,” I snarled, words muffled in his cloak, my voice fractured by need and the sick, sweet ache of almost losing him.
I glared over my shoulder at the Marauder, at everyone, daring them to come close, daring them to even think of prying me loose. My claws flexed, my body trembling from the wild caffeine storm in my blood and the terror of separation. I wouldn’t let go. Couldn’t. Not for gold, not for power, not for the city or the world itself.
Let them watch. Let them learn. I’d tear down the sky before I’d ever let him go.
His hand landed on my head, steady, heavy, not soft, not cruel, just real. Fingers threading through my hair, palm flattening between my ears, grounding me with the weight of a command that rang clearer than any bell. “Aliza, go put your leather armour on and the cowl I made you.” His voice, as always, unyielding, emotionless as stone, each word a law unto itself.
The ache in my chest melted into something sharp and eager, obedience slamming through me with electric force. My tail whipped with frantic energy, but I forced myself to unwind, to uncurl, to let him go without a scene. Still, I pressed my head up into his touch for a half-second longer, burning the memory of it into my skin, letting everyone see who I belonged to.
He turned and walked, steps measured, each one drawing me after him like a moth chasing its only sun. The crowd and the Marauder faded into insignificance; I stalked at his side, nearly tripping over my own feet, high on the aftershock of panic and the lingering tremor of tea. My claws clicked on stone. The lamps flickered, the velvet was just cloth again, the whole world shrinking down to the dark corridor and the clean, neutral order of his voice still echoing in my head.
We reached the toilets, battered wooden door warped by old steam and city rot. Master stopped outside, arms folded, gaze set straight ahead—his presence alone enough to silence anyone who might try to follow. He stayed close, always within that sacred ten feet, the psychic bond thrumming between us, keeping the world in its place. My ears twitched, tail brushing the back of his knee as I slipped inside, unwilling to ever let him out of my senses.
The little stone-walled room was cold, washed in the rain’s blue gloom from a slit of window. I tore off my tunic, fumbling with buckles and laces, hands shaking, feverish, half-mad with the memory of almost losing him. I yanked on the hardened leather, the cowl he’d made, deep blue, green and crimson threads winding through every stitch, his hands and his scent woven into every seam. It was a second skin, armour and comfort both, a reminder that even my fear had been thought of, solved, prepared for by him.
I looked at myself in the grimy mirror, a flash of white fang, blue eyes wide and wild, cowl framing my ears, the collar at my throat spelling out the only truth that mattered: "Master’s Property". My tail lashed once, a ribbon of blue and fury, ready for whatever blood, mud, or nightmare this job would bring. I shoved the door open, stepping back out into his shadow, pulse settling at last now that I could smell him again, safe in the orbit of his gravity.
All the world could fall away, so long as he was near, nothing could ever touch me.
I pressed a palm flat to the cold stone wall, measuring the distance, feeling that psychic cord between us stretched tight as a tripwire. Ten feet, never more. I could sense him just beyond the battered door, his presence like a pulse in my veins, louder than my own heartbeat. Anything farther and the world would go white with panic, every nerve screaming for reunion.
Leather armour hugged my frame, creaking against my ribs, cowl drawn snug over my ears, every stitch proof I belonged only to him. I glanced at my reflection again, collar glinting in the weak light, tail flicking with anticipation and restless hunger. Just ten feet. Always ten feet, never further. That law was older than any contract, older than fear, as binding as the gods.
I wrenched open the door, stepping back into the hallway, eyes finding him at once, shoulders squared, arms folded, sentinel and executioner both. The line between us thrummed with relief as I reentered his gravity, every inch closer making my tail settle, ears pricking up, balance restored.
I closed the gap in two strides, breath catching as the scent of him filled my lungs, psychic bond crackling warm and sharp. I brushed past him, shoulder grazing his side, my place, always, then shot a feral, triumphant look at any onlooker. Ten feet was all it ever took to turn a wild animal back into his shadow.
Ready, dressed for war and rain, I walked beside him getting ready to brave the rain.
