Then, at last, the cries were near at hand. He moved aside a branch while clinging desperately with his other hand, and there it was.
And it was not at all happy to see him. Rather than regard him as a rescuer, it apparently thought he was there to eat it. He reached toward it—and it backed away, then scrambled off down a side branch, forcing him to leave the trunk and follow.
Then began a pursuit that would have been comical if Kellen hadn't been so petrified of falling. Several times he was almost within reach of the kitten. Each time it regarded Kellen's outstretched hand in pop-eyed horror and retreated out of reach, either around the trunk or out along a limb. Several times it fell, slipping to a lower branch to glare at him in affronted indignation before bouncing off—just out of reach—to resume its piteous cries for rescue.
You stupid lint-brained furball! Can't you see I'm trying to rescue you? Kellen thought with something more than irritation.
Finally, he'd gone as high as he could go without falling himself. The tree trunk itself swayed slowly with his weight, a slow sickening motion that would surely give away his presence here if anyone bothered to look. The kitten was just above him, on an even narrower branch.
And for one brief moment, all its featherbrained feline attention was devoted to keeping its balance. Kellen lunged, grabbed it around its middle, tore it loose from its perch, and stuffed it down into his tunic as deep as he could, wrapping one arm around himself to keep it from struggling free.
Kittens, Kellen discovered at that very moment, might be small and helpless-looking, but they had a very large number of very sharp claws. The claws weren't big, but they made up for their lack of size in degree of sharpness. He was being lacerated by needles. He clamped his mouth shut on a yell, which would only have attracted unwanted attention.
Gritting his teeth and trying to concentrate, he turned toward the trunk, feeling with his foot for the branch below.
And slipped.
His descent from the tree was much faster and far less comfortable than his ascent. Kellen grabbed one- handed at everything he could to slow his fall, but his weight and the speed of his fall tore the branches from his fingers almost as soon as he grasped them.
At last he stopped.
Abruptly. On his back.
He struggled to breathe for a moment, and his vision greyed out, then returned as he managed to gasp in a breath.
Kellen lay on the ground, panting, taking in huge gulps of air, looking up at the tree. He was dimly aware of something struggling free of his tunic and worming its way out through the neck-hole.
I've broken my back. Father will have a fit.
A healing-Mage could mend a broken back of course, and it wasn't as if Lycaelon couldn't afford the best there was—but oh, what he'd have to say about it!
He twitched feet and hands experimentally, then moved arms and legs. They all worked, and no movements produced any stabbing pains…
Oh, good. I haven't broken my back. Or anything else, I guess.
Groggily he sat up, shaking his head. Leaves, flower petals, and bits of twig rained down on him from his hair and from the hole he'd left through the branches as he fell.
He looked up at the little kitchen maid. She was clutching the kitten beneath her chin and beaming at him, her tears forgotten. The kitten was purring loudly and looking smug. Wretched little monster. For a brief moment Kellen could see why someone would be tempted to drown it.
Maybe I should have left it up there…
But—no. The tear streaks remaining on the child's face reminded Kellen of why he really didn't mean that last thought.
'Are you all right?' the girl asked anxiously.
'I think so,' Kellen said, though he really didn't think anything of the sort. He shifted, and heard something crackle beneath him as he moved. For a moment, he was afraid it was his spine after all.
