A Novel by Bastet Kiroar
Your name must be Catpapa.
The only creature on this planet who would call a strange, scruffy young purrbeast like you a name is your orange-horned Charge. They named you when they were a scuttling, six-legged grub. It was an unceremonious christening- they simply babbled it out when they were learning to speak. Your charge has used it many times since to refer to you. They never seemed to question if you had other names, or anything about your past, or why your duty was to them. It didn't need to be questioned- you were Catpapa, and they were your Charge. That was all it ever needed to be.
Most of the Orangehorns lived elsewhere, across the concrete roads, in unfathomably enormous structures swarming with the grey-skinned, two-legged, Orangehorn folk. Your charge was taken away from their structures when you took them. The forest of teal trunk trees was plenty to survive on, of course. You never knew why, but as soon as you became devoted to them, you knew the Orangehorn City should be avoided. So, you never took them back.
Your charge has made much of the tree trunk. It's almost hollow now. There are other creatures who would seek this glorious shelter as their owns, and your protect it with ferocity. This is the home for your Charge and you, only. It's worth protecting.
There is another young Purrbeast in the forest. He has indigo-hued eyes, and long, flowing fur that runs down his chest like a mighty waterfall. You've seen him a few times, darting about in the woods. You kept a close eye on him this dusk, curious if he was trying to invade the home your charge built.
???: You can relax, Grublusus.
CATPAPA: What?
???: I see you, y'know. Fighting the vermin who try to get in that Orangehorn nest... you don't have to worry about me. I would never want to be a spoiled Grublusus.
The way he says that word is dripping with a disgust.
CATPAPA: Why do you call me that?
???: Haven't you heard the Orangehorns call you "Lusus"- the purrbeasts with an Orangehorn Grub?
CATPAPA: That is not what my "orangehorn" calls me. They named me Catpapa.
???: That's an awful name for a purrbeast, but I guess what I would expect for a Grublusus.
CATPAPA: Well, what did your grub name you?
???: My name is Puffy Ironpurr- and I wasn't named by a orangehorn, that's for sure! I was named by another purrbeast, the Monarch of Thunderclade.
CATPAPA: Why would a purrbeast need to be named by another purrbeast? What use do we have for names alone?
You expected to insult the haughty tom-beast by pointing out the lunacy, but he only looks more smug. Puffy Ironpurr sits down on his back legs, wrapping his long, fuzzy tail around himself.
PUFFY: The Soldier Purrbeasts of the Clades are advanced Purrbeasts. We have a mighty tradition, a legendary legacy created by our superior Ancestors, and we uphold their work through maintaining the Soldier Testaments. We've lived in the forests here for generations, and it's balance is protected by the supernatural forces of the spirits of Starclade- against Orangehorns, vermin, and all things wicked and evil.
CATPAPA: ...you're a soldier?
You scoff incredulously at his recited declaration. At last, the words seem to pierce his facade, though you aren't sure why. Puffy Ironpurr looks down, sheepishly, to avoid your gaze... at first.
PUFFY: Well, not yet. I'm training to be a Soldier. Right now, I am just an apprentice. My master, though, is the Lancer of all Thunderclade- so I'm going to be a great soldier!!
CATPAPA: I'm getting sick of this vernacular. Why call yourself a soldier, or about to be, when there is no war to fight?
PUFFY: Hmphf! Of course the grublusus doesn't see the battles and needs of the forest of Clade purrbeasts... there is a delicate balance to protect! If you ever left your Orangehorn nest, you would understand. You would need to catch your own delicious prey, and defend your kin- instead of just defending a invading orangehorn who wraps you in little ribbons and bells and feeds you tasteless slop!
CATPAPA: If the alternative is fighting an endless battle against, what, wicked ghosts?- I'll choose the steady food and a dry bed. You'll stay away from my Charge and our nest, Puffy Ironpurr- you and all of your Clade Purrbeasts--
You are interrupted by a stark silence. Puffy has left, bounding back deeper into the woods. You feel lonely for a brief, shameful moment. Your Charge is great company, but he is no Purrbeast- even one who raves such madness. It was a joy to deflate Puffy's ego. If there is such a collection of Purrbeast Clades in this forest, you wonder why you have seen so little of them.
Your charge has arisen from their bed, greeting you out here, and scratching your ears. They ask if you made a friend today. You don't reply, you can not speak the Orangehorn tongue. This is a convenient excuse, because you're not sure what you would answer. You have a feeling- your Charge is hoping Puffy was indeed your friend. They want friends like themself, too. You both watch the woods for a long while.
That night, your Charge pours dry slop into your bowl like always. You thank them with a double-lick, even though the slop seems more tasteless than it had always been.
