Mice in Réveille were, generally speaking, dull and unimaginative. They left their homes to forage for food and returned with their keep. Bast had had no expectations that they would be any more entertaining here.
Unlike the others, who seemed desperate to venture into the world and experience the headiness of reality, Bast had been content to watch from the other side of the Rift. Her entertainment had come from watching the Dead Gods harass each other; Zeus’ lot in particular seemed very keen on sleeping around and creating messy love affairs that kept everyone busy. Make no mistake, Bast was a cat, and her feline nature made her both playful and easily irritated, something without a breath space between them. The primary difference between her and the others was that where they had long since lost worship to the inevitable drifts of mortal time, Bast’s true followers never really forgot her, and so she had maintained a foothold – a pawhold, if you will – and this served her now.
The Russian-blue feline shook herself free of the leaves that had settled against her fur and hissed at the tomcat as he tried to approach her again.
“Typical male,” she told him in mortal speech, catching him by surprise.
His ears went back and his tail fluffed itself up impressively, but she ignored him and stretched. He was not worth her time, if she had not found herself so bored with waiting outside the mouse hole tonight he would not have been worth her time to start with. She flicked an ear at him: go away.
Dawn would be in a few hours, perhaps a nap on the child’s bed then, followed by a lazy bath in the morning sunlight. It would not do to be tired when the time came.
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