Hooves, heavy and stomping, running up from the forest. It turned just a bit, enough to eye the approaching shadow, edging away from the water in case it decided not to slow. Thankfully it did, staring at him like it knew him, and It tilted his head, curious.
Hello, Booker.
Ah, a friend, then. Bit risky, to be friends with something that could kill you in one blow.
What happened here?
It shrugged, huffing out a laugh as the horse ignored the response, moving to the water and doing... something. Man, you hung out with some weirdos. Fascinated by the collection of strangers, It simply watched, whiskers twitching, stare bordering on bored.
Another cat came running, stopping much too close to the water once again, and It rolled his eye, shuffling back even further. Matter of time before one falls in. The kitten was soon followed by a much larger creature, heavy-bodied and clearly predatory, and It shrunk back, quickly making his way to not-so-nonchalantly hide behind Owlfeather, sending her a tiny, panicked smile.
And then, of course, because Booker had obviously never taught his son anything of value, Diot was up and peering over into the water as well. For a moment, there was a surge of panic, and It stumbled forward, driven on by some paternal instinct - but only for a moment.
After that, he shivered once, before slowly making his way over to the tamarin, mentally beating back the glitch. Stop trying to help. Honestly.
Instead of tackling his son away from the water like Booker obviously wanted to, It simply stopped next to him, grabbed onto one of the tamarin's hands, and pulled him a few steps away from the water's edge, huffing. "Bit close there, kiddo. Don't wantcha fallin' in, now, do we?"
He made a show of grinning gently at his son, like the herbs were still in effect, when in reality they'd faded sometime over the course of the "night." All the better. Booker - what was left of him, anyway - seemed to love wrestling for control when the herbs kicked in.
More creatures gathered, until suddenly the second kitten, the one with the big-predator-thing, spoke up, authoritative and confident. It watched with raised brows, impressed despite himself, a spark of memory warming him. So that's Dove, eh? She's talkative.
Some of the words sparked another memory, though the brightest was "all-mother." Booker remembered it warmly. It only thought of waiting to be rescued, dying in a dusty half-abandoned den in the middle of nowhere. Yeah, some great power. Sure was nice to us, huh?
A flash of self-righteous anger from the locked-up corner of his mind, the one with a great big hole that used to hold a chain, but Booker said nothing.
Just as It was settling back to watch, yet another kitten ambled up to him, sitting next to him with... nothing. Not even a glance. It slowly moved his head to stare, puzzled, at the cat, before raising his gaze heavenward, as if praying for patience. Help me, All-Mother, for I have been drowned in cats. Even mentally, the tone was sarcasm-laden, sounding more like Baratheon then Booker ever had.
And then, as if in answer, Dove fell in the water. Or rather stepped in, all pleasent-like. It stared, bemused, blinking as if he couldn't believe exactly what he was seeing. "Uh... I wouldn't... do that?" The kitten was staring right at him, and It flinched back, raising a paw to rub at his neck lightly, feeling for the bare patch there, created by nervous picking. "Don't seem very safe-like, y'hear?"
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