Her features were still fox-like, though slightly softer in appearance, her muzzle less pointed and more feline. The black-and-white stripes on each cheek streaked up to ears that were tall and tufted—evidence of her part-squirrel origins. From basic forrel to proud avatar, Ris’kin’s continual growth was like a physical manifestation of my own. We’d both evolved in our own ways; both grown smarter, stronger, more advanced as we assimilated our experiences—the failures as much as the successes.
Another rock clattered down the hill.
“I warned you not to use the cat’s blueprint,” murmured Ket. "Remember how much trouble we had getting it to leave?"
“Actually, I think your exact words were ‘Do it! It’ll be cute!’,” I reminded her.
I'd recently evolved Ris'kin again using strands of grass-cat DNA, which had further heightened her balance and reflexes. This had allowed her to traverse the more precarious terrain of the deeper caverns. It had also made her somewhat... obstinate.
The next falling stone rolled to a stop against Gneil's leg. My high cleric jerked awake with a gasp and stared around, confused. He had dark bags under his eyes. He glanced up at the purpling sky, visible through the hole in the ceiling above us, then leapt at once to his feet.
Gneil stumbled zombie-like down the hillock to his gnomehome. He'd stayed awake all night and day for some reason, and was now turning in at the same time he usually woke.
He was so busy stretching and yawning he almost bumped into Hoppit, also on her way inside. Like she usually was at this time...
Ohhhh. I get it now.
Hoppit seemed surprised but delighted to find that Gneil was now sharing her sleeping pattern. The two of them lingered in the doorway; she rested her hand on his arm and laughed at something he'd said—or maybe just at the sight of him, to be honest; that seemed more likely—while he grinned sleepily, blushing.
"Ket, d'you think priests are celibate?"
"Some are. A lot of human priesthoods make it a requirement."
Down in the doorway, Gneil and Hoppit were forced to move away from each other to make room for the two farmers emerging to begin their day's work. They caught sight of Gneil's delirious grin, then exchanged glances and went back inside the house. A moment later they re-emerged. Trailing after them, grumbling, were the other eight gnomes who dwelt in that particular home, all in varying states of rumpled sleepiness. Some headed to the altar or the lumberyard to start their shifts early, while others still swaddled in blankets dispersed into other homes, presumably to crash on the floor until their own time came to begin work.
One of the farmers smirked at Gneil. The other clapped Hoppit on the back. Then both farmers headed to the shroomeries, leaving Gneil and Hoppit alone once more. Gneil's face was now kobold-red, and he stared at the ground, clearly mortified.
"Do you think my priests are celibate?" I wondered.
"Do you think they should be?"
"No?"
"Then they probably aren't."
Gneil might have been embarrassed, but Hoppit was still smiling. She whispered something in Gneil’s ear. He managed to stutter an answer. She grinned even wider, then grabbed the front of his robe and pulled him through the doorway into the privacy of the empty gnomehome.
"They definitely aren't," Ket amended.
"Hopefully his experience in kneeling will serve him well." I sniggered.
I felt a flush of embarrassment through our bond. The sprite sparked disapprovingly and quickly changed the subject.
"Why did you make Ris'kin stay behind?"
Her tone suggested she already knew. I braced myself for yet another argument.
"She was made beneath the surface, Ket. Like me. Up there... it isn't our world. It isn't safe for us. For her."
"It wasn't your world," she amended. "But that was a different life. A different time."
"It's dangerous."
"Everywhere is dangerous. Especially when you're a gnome. That's why they need Ris'kin's protection more than she needs yours."
"But what if something happened to her? Like you said, we can't use the resurrection ritual again until—"
"Corey, you can't just hide away and keep her close 'just in case' something happens," she snapped. "Besides, the surface surely isn't as dangerous as you think. Look how pretty the sky is!"
I gazed up past Binky's many legs and through the ceiling hole. She was right; the sky was a deep indigo now, and the first stars were beginning to blink against the darkness. Later, when the moon was out in full, it would illuminate the strands of Binky's webs so that the stars seemed from this angle to be caught in their silver strands. It was a sight I'd admired before on many a clear night.
What would it be like to go up there and see it all properly? The whole sky, and not just this tiny round slice of it?
Maybe Ket's right. Maybe it isn't that dangerous after all.
A dark shape suddenly appeared, silhouetted against the sky. Ket and I barely had time to shriek in surprise before it jumped into the hole, each of its four legs flailing wide like a frog diving into a pond.
"Binky!" I cried as the new arrival crashed into the spider from above, driving them both toward the hillock below. They fell through web after web on their way down, slowing their momentum, until eventually they tumbled to the ground beside my shrine.
Alerted by both my call and her own instincts, Ris'kin rolled out of the way easily, pushing the two acolytes to safety as well. Then she dived on Binky's attacker and with some difficulty hauled it off him.
Flea the badger squirmed in my avatar's arms. She quickly let go of him when he started to lick her face, and he scurried back over to where Binky was unfolding himself from the heap he'd landed in. The spider's furry body already glistened with badger drool.
Poor Binky seemed too shocked to make his usual quick exit. When Flea descended upon him once more, squealing with delight, he simply
