Picking the crate up, I nodded to Renn.

"Have a good day Harren," the woman next to me said, waving as we left.

"You as well dear."

Leaving the shop, I held the door open for the cat as she sauntered out. It was a little amusing to watch her walk. She was stiff, as if cold or had bruised muscles... yet I knew it was simply because she was worried.

Worried about me.

Or rather because of me.

I was used to such things. Especially when it came to meeting people for the first time.

One could only imagine what Lughes and the others had told her about me. That young human especially. She has never liked me. Wasn't her fault though. Her mother had been...

"Is... is she the only one? That's left?" Renn asked quietly. Too quiet. Even I had struggled to hear her over the wind.

"Survivor? Yes. I found her in a well," I said.

"A... a well?"

Keeping an eye on her feet as we headed back to the Sleepy Artist, I made sure she didn't trip. The snow was starting to really pile up, and although there were no curbs on this road, that didn't mean there were no holes or stuff hidden beneath the layer of white. It'd not really damage the food, being wrapped, if she did trip and drop it, but...

"Don't make a big deal out of it. She's young enough that all it'd do is make her cry," I said.

The woman glared at me for a moment, and I wondered if I had insulted her.

"She has a right to cry," she said.

I nodded. "She does. And does, as well. Every night. But there's a reason that old goat is going to throw a feast, as he calls it, and do his best to be merry," I said.

"To distract, giving her a few moments of joy," Renn said, sighing.

Reaching the building, I studied the window for a moment. The painting in front, displayed proudly, was the same as it always had been. The same scene.

How many more times would I get to see it?

How many times will I walk through that door, hear the little bell that used to hang from that shepherd's staff, and then hear the happy greeting from the old goat? Or the grumpy one, that always accompanied a smile, from the Crane?

Odds were not many.

Glancing to the woman, I found her glaring at me. She was waiting for me to open the door for her.

"Do you know who I am?" I asked her.

She blinked, and her pupils contracted. Not too much. Nothing that a human would notice, but I saw it.

"You're Vim... the guardian. The protector, of the Non-Human Society," she said.

I nodded. "Do you know who I protect?" I asked her.

"Us... I mean... our kind. Them," she gestured with a nod, and I noted the odd tone. She was embarrassed to have included herself in that assessment.

"Indeed I do. I protect them from everything I can. Humans. The church. Other predators like ourselves, who eat our kind," I said, and stepped towards her. Close enough the crates we carried bumped into one another.

She held firm, glaring at me with defiant eyes. Daring me to continue. Wanting me to.

A little surprised at her willingness to confront me, I smiled down at her.

Cat indeed.

"I'd not harm them. Never." Her voice was as cold as the icicles that hung from the roof's gutter above us.

"No? Even though you so brazenly walk around in clothes of a lost culture? A civilization that hasn't existed for nearly two hundred years?" I asked her. Confronted her.

My eyes held hers. Especially as they contracted. Especially as the realization dawned upon her.

She nearly dropped the crate in her arms, as she turned to look downward. At her feet.

"So you do know," I said, and did so on purpose.

"Wait! No! I...!" she shook.

"Humans are forgetful creatures. But they notice the odd. They notice the out of place. No one would recognize that symbol, but they would ask about it. Ask their teachers. Their scholars. The churchmen. And one of them would know. One of them would wonder. Then eventually it'll reach the ears of someone who knows of us. Who hunts us. What then?" I asked her coldly.

I was glad that the storm was growing stronger. We were alone not just on this street, but probably all the streets around us. No one would dare this storm willingly.

The woman suddenly looked younger. Her appearance betrayed her years. She looked like a young woman, still not old enough to have children. Especially with such vivid emotion on her face. The tears in her eyes. The freight in her expression.

"I protect them. From danger. Of all kinds," I said sternly.

She faltered. The crate slipped from her right hand. But I was ready. I had positioned my own crate just under hers, on purpose. Catching it easily, I held it firm as she hurriedly tried to regain balance. Regain composure. She quickly picked the crate back up, and then looked up at me. Tear streaks stained her face. They glistened, and I knew they probably felt hot on her cheeks out here in this cold.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Are you?"

"Yes! I... I hadn't thought of that. I should have. I'm so sorry!"

Although her words were full of emotion, pure and real emotion, it was her eyes that told me the truth.

As blurry as they were. As pained as they were...

They still held my own.

"Hm. I believe you. Tomorrow we'll go get you new clothes, and burn those," I said, and with a nod turned to open the door.

"Wait! Wha..." ignoring her outburst, I gestured for her to get into the house already.

"My bacon is going to freeze if you don't hurry," I ushered her.

Standing there with a shocked expression, I wondered how many different faces she was capable of. It wasn't often I found a woman, a non-human one, that was so expressive. Lomi was, but she was a child. Even her, being a fox, would grow to become a little too stoic.

A byproduct of our long lifespans. Even though so many of us looked young, inside we were all still old. Old and weary.

"Wait... you're... not angry? At me?" she asked, stepping forward.

"Should I be?"

"I endangered them!" she shouted. I knew Crane had probably heard her. Lughes was too old. But I hadn't heard enough terror in her distressed shout to worry about Crane rushing out to see what was happening. Shelldon probably heard too, but I knew even if he heard true fear or terror he'd not come out to assess or save anyone. He was a coward.

"You did. Right now you're letting all the hot air out, and Crane gets her feathers ruffled when we do that, so come on," I said, gesturing for her to hurry.

She grumbled, but followed my order. Stepping into the building, I released a small sigh and closed the door behind us. Women, human or not, were always so...

"Vim."

The woman paused in front of me, and turned. Stopping me from venturing further into the building. I didn't see anyone, but I could now hear everyone deeper in the back. Lomi's laugh was soothing to the soul.

"Hm?"

"I... I really am sorry. I hadn't thought of such a thing. I should have. I'm old enough, wise enough, that I should have realized my clothes were not only outdated but unique. I'm sorry," she said, speaking from the heart.

"We will correct it. And you'll not do such a thing again, will you?" I asked her.

"I won't! Not... not intentionally, at least," she said, looking away.

"You worry there's other things you're missing. Don't worry, I'll point them out when I see or hear them. I'm pretty good at pointing out the obvious," I said.

She hesitated, and I enjoyed the look in her eyes.

That wasn't just fear, and pain, but anger. Anger at herself.

Seemed I wasn't going to have to kill her.

Not yet at least.

"I... I have so many questions," she whispered, and seemed to be agitated. As if she didn't know what to say or where to start.

"Ask away. Though do be careful. Some questions bring pain," I warned, and stepped forward. Forcing her to step back, if anything thanks to instinct.

Walking past her, I headed to the kitchens. Leaving the woman behind, who grumbled wordlessly in annoyance.

I'd study her more later. I had time. We'd be here for awhile. Maybe even until the snowstorm passes.

Instead I had another question I needed answered.

Passing the painting that had caught my eye, I once again noted the symbol at the top. Plastered upon a lone church, off in the distance in what looked to be any ordinary village that farmed wheat.

The sight of the symbol made me upset, so I stopped looking at it.

I knew that whoever had painted it, it looked to be Amber's work, hadn't known what that symbol meant. Neither would Lughes, or Crane. Not even Shelldon, for all his cowardly wisdom.

None of them could or would.

It was the symbol that marked the end, after all.

Heralding our extinction.

And there was nothing they could do to stop it.

Not even I could.