Fish Out of Water: The Catgirl Fishing Isekai

Making A Splash

 

Chapter 6

 

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“Would you like to try baiting the hook yourself next?” Bart asked, continuing my first fishing lesson. I nodded eagerly, kneeling beside the bucket of minnows with him.

 

“If you have trouble catching one, you can try—” Bart began explaining, but before he could finish, I'd thrust my hand into the bucket and snatched a single minnow between my fingers, drawing it out and holding it up between us.

 

“Hmm,” Bart hummed appraisingly, looking from the minnow to me. “Very impressive.”

 

“T-thanks, it was nothin’,” I said with a cocky grin, to cover for the fact that I had no idea how I'd done that. I’d had just enough time to think about reaching into the bucket before my hand snapped out like a spring loaded trap.

 

“Bart,” I said, after realizing I'd been staring at the minnow in my hands the whole time.

 

“Aye?”

 

“If I do try to eat one of these, please stop me,” I said.

 

“Are you hungry again already?” Bart asked.

 

“No!” I answered hastily, but, after a moment of contemplation, conceded, “Well, ok, yes, a little bit, but that's not the point. I just don't want to end up tossing one into my mouth without thinking.”

 

“Why not?” Bart asked, bafflingly. “They're perfectly edible, and they make a fine snack.”

 

I narrowed my eyes in suspicion at him. His face was completely flat, not a hint of amusement in his expression or tone, and I was almost certain he wasn't the type to play pranks, but I was still extremely skeptical.

 

Sensing my apprehension, Bart reached out and plucked the minnow from between my fingers and, without any hesitation at all, popped it into his mouth.

 

“Oh, ew, come on man, that's gross!” I protested while he chewed once, then swallowed, flashing me a challenging grin. “Isn't there like… stuff in there you gota get out before you eat it?”

 

“On a larger fish, yes, it is important to gut them first, and if you wish to reduce the chance of toxins, you’ll want to cook them first, but should you ever find yourself in a desperate situation where that is not an option, gulping down a few minnows is preferable to starving,” Bart explained while I rotated through a series of grimaces. He retrieved his canteen from his belt and brought it to his lips, taking a deep swig, and then offered the water to me.

 

“I am not drinking from that after you put your fish backwash in it,” I said, putting my hand up. “And I am not going to eat the minnows.”

 

“Suit yourself.” Bart shrugged, motioning at the bucket. “You've still got to learn to bait your hook though.”

 

Shaking off one last shiver, I refocused on the bucket and, once again, moved almost automatically, snatching up a minnow. Bringing up my hook, I held my breath, and carefully inserted the tip through the small section of the minnow’s back, behind the “dorsal fin,” or so Bart called it. I made extra sure not to damage the creature's spine, not just because I didn't want to make its final moments worse, but because Bart told me that would prevent it from swimming, and reduce its effectiveness as bait.

 

“Sorry, lil’ guy,” I whispered under my breath, and stood up, facing the pond once more. I repeated the motions I'd been drilling into my head all morning and performed another overhand cast, plopping the hook into the water a few feet from the opposite edge of the pond.

 

“You've made quite a lot of progress for your first day,” Bart noted as I settled in to wait for signs of a bite. “Are you certain you have not done this before?”

 

“Never,” I said, shaking my head, one of my fingers idly resting on the string just above the reel.

 

“And yet…” Bart began to say something, then stopped himself, furrowing his brow when I turned my head to look.

 

“What?” I asked. I was a little nervous about taking my eye off the bobber, but I figured it was fine for a moment or two.

 

“Well, I am just curious. You gave Hubert a family name for your license,” Bart said, scratching his chin. “ Fisher , if I recall.”

 

“Yeah,” I said, sighing. Bart had been more focused on my age, but I figured he'd also gotten a look at my full name too.

 

“Well, with a name such as that, people are going to reasonably assume that you belong to… that you come from a family with a long history of fishing, you see?” Bart said, and I raised an eyebrow.

 

That… had not been the first thing that occurred to me. I'd been more worried I'd be accused of just making the name up on the spot, but it made sense. Morgan had even pointed it out to me once, that both her and my family's last names were occupational like that; Fisher for mine, Hunter for hers. I'd always thought of it as just a neat coincidence, but she found it absolutely fascinating, and it was beginning to look like she was right, in the end.

 

“Huh, yeah, you’re probably right,” I said, shrugging and turning back to the pond.

 

Bart didn't seem to know what to say to that, and before he could speak again, I felt a gentle tugging on my line. My eyes snapped back to the bobber and my ears stood straight up, and I waited for the tentative nibbles to become a full on bite. Just like the first time, I waited until I saw the bobber disappear completely under the water before I gripped the reel tight with my right hand, jerking the rod upwards with my left. The hook was set, and the fight began again.

 

I’d expected many things, back when I made the decision to try taking up fishing: that it would turn out to be mind-numbingly boring, or simply too hard, or that I’d turn out to be no good at it all. What I never would have expected was for it to be this fun .

 

The fish and I took turns, with it running for distance and pulling the line out, and me reeling it back in once it slowed again, making sure the line never went slack, as Bart warned me that could allow the fish to shake the hook loose. Once its strength began to wane, I started reeling it back in faster and faster, drawing it ever closer to the shore. I thought I had it at that point, but I was startled when the fish put on a sudden burst of speed, yanking my rod far to the right, heading towards the mouth of the river that flowed away from the pond.

 

“Don’t let it get too far now,” Bart called at my back. “And don’t forget to use your legs.”

 

“Huh?” I asked, looking down at my legs and the ground under them. 

 

Oh, duh, of course. I’d been keeping my feet firmly planted, rooted to the same spot the whole time, but by combining reeling back on the line with stepping backwards, I was able to haul the fish in even faster, diverting its path away from the escape route it’d been making a break for. After that, the fight was pretty much over, and I walked back to the pond’s edge as I lifted the exhausted fish the rest of the way up and out of the water.

 

“Yes!” I cheered as I swung the line into my waiting hand, grabbing it out of the air and holding the flopping fish up in front of me. “Good fight!”

 

It had been a harder fight than my first one, and it was no wonder; the fish I pulled out of the water was larger than the first one had been. But, if I were being honest, I almost found myself wishing the fight could have gone on a little bit longer. There was just something , something about the process of struggling against the fish, gripping the rod and reel tight, steadily gaining and losing ground, until I could drag my catch out of the water and claim victory, that got my blood pumping.

 

“Oh, right, here,” I said, remembering that Bart needed to spike the fish as soon as possible. I knelt so I could lay my rod down and reached up, gripping the fish’s surprisingly-slimy body with one hand and working the hook back out of its mouth with the other. I moved to pass the fish off, but instead found Bart holding the bone-white spiked tool out towards me, handle first. I looked up, questioningly.

 

“You’ll need to learn how to do this as well,” Bart said, and I nodded, tentatively taking the tool into my hand.

 

“You’ll use mine, just for today,” Bart continued, kneeling beside me. “But we’ll get you one of your own tomorrow… ah, now, you’ll want to aim right there, between the eyes.”

 

“Why didn’t we pick one up today?” I asked, bringing the needle-like tip of the spike to the center of what I would call the fish’s forehead, where Bart had indicated.

 

“I suppose I wanted to… shelter you from the particularly grisly details until we were already underway,” Bart admitted, nodding his head for me to proceed. “Don’t push too hard now, you need only pierce the skull.”

 

I nodded, took a deep breath, and though I tried not to, squeezed my eyes shut as I flexed my arm and drove the point of the spike in. I waited for several seconds before peeling my eyes open, checking to see I’d done it right. Indeed, the fish was completely still, its mouth open and fins flared.

 

Exhaling slowly, I removed the spike and passed both it and the fish over to Bart.

 

“Very good,” Bart said softly, placing the second fish in the chest of ice with the first.

 

“It’s not as easy as it looks,” I said, looking at my slick, slightly-shaking hands and taking a deep breath to try and steady them.

 

“No,” Bart said, standing up and returning to my side. “That’s also why I could not have simply chosen a spike for you today. A tool such as that, intended to take a life, should be personal, and chosen with care, as a sign of respect to the animal. Or, so I feel, at least.”

 

“Do other people not?” I asked, looking up. Bart’s face hardened a little, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

 

“There are many fishermen, those new to the craft or those who are simply arrogant and lazy, who disregard the practice entirely,” Bart said, shaking his head. “You’ll see some who prefer easier, cruder methods; using a blunt club to bash the fish, or simply decapitating their catches on the spot, but both carry significant risks of contamination and lack the reliability of the spike. But, the worst by far are the inconsiderate few who will throw twenty fish into a bucket no bigger than that one and simply leave them there to slowly suffocate in the heat. Not only a terrible fate for the creatures, but also a surefire way to ruin the meat and make yourself an enemy of every fishmonger in town.”

 

I looked at the minnow bucket to which he was pointing, furrowing my brow. When he put it like that, it really did seem like the best possible option to just end it quickly and cleanly.

 

Then, as I stared at the bucket, I felt my stomach clench and let out an audible groan.

 

Okay, I might have lied, and been a lot hungrier than I let on already. But I was not going to eat the minnows!

 

“Heh,” Bart laughed, and I turned to narrow my eyes at him. “Go wash your hands off, I’ll get you something to eat.”

 

“Mrph…” I grumbled in thanks, making my way over to the pond. I wasn’t actually sure how much better or worse washing my hands in there would make them in terms of cleanliness, but at least it would get the fish slime off. I dunked my hands in and swirled them around, then drew them out and wiped them dry on the front of my pants, then made my way over to Bart, who had knelt beside his tackle box.

 

“So, what’re we eatin’,” I asked as I approached.

 

“I had a feeling this might happen, so I made sure to stock up,” Bart said, pulling two items from the case, a pair of metal tins about as big around as a soup can. “I’ve got dried meats, and scroggin.”

 

“ Scroggin ?” I asked, tilting my head. “What on earth is scroggin ?”

 

“Oh, I suppose you wouldn’t have encountered it before,” Bart said, setting one of the tins down and popping off the lid of the other, tilting it for me to see. “It’s a collection of different foods, nuts, oats, dried fruits, easy to store and easy to eat, but full of energy, to keep one going while out in the wilderness…”

 

“It’s trail mix!” I shouted, laughing as I peered into the tin. Indeed, inside there was a mixture of familiar and unfamiliar nuts, clumps of oats that glistened slightly, and dried fruits in various colors. It wasn’t fish, of course, but it would definitely help me stave off hunger a bit longer. Excitedly, I held out a cupped hand.

 

“Hmm, trail mix?” Bart hummed, tipping the tin and pouring out a generous portion into my palm. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard it called such, but it is an apt name, aye.”

 

“Mmhm!” I agreed with my mouth full. The mix was better than any store brand I’d tried before; it lacked the overpowering saltiness and was missing the chocolate, but made up for it with the unique flavors of the unfamiliar nuts, some quite dry, some with an almost buttery aftertaste, and the bright sweetness of the dried fruits. The chunks of oats were the best though, as I discovered; they were held together with a particularly-delicious honey that had me saving several of the little clumps for last.

 

“That was great,” I declared once I was finished, Bart also helping himself to a handful before reaching for the second tin.

 

“Aye, I’m glad you like it. I had actually been worried you would refuse to eat anything that didn’t contain fish,” Bart said, once again removing the lid of the tin and offering it to me first.

 

“I do eat other things! I like lots of different foods, fish is just the best,” I said. It wasn’t a sentiment I would have expressed before coming to this world, but it was definitely the truth now. I probably should have been a bit more concerned about having my tastes and preferences radically altered so suddenly, but fish just tasted so incredibly delicious to me now, I couldn’t even think about complaining.

 

Shaking my head to clear it of thoughts about fish, I peered into the tin and was once again treated to a pleasant surprise.

 

“Oooh, jerky,” I said, reaching into the tin, which was stocked with several dark strips of dried meat, the savory, smoky smell of which was making my mouth water. I stuck one end in my mouth and once again was surprised by the taste, finding it more mild than I was used to, but with a flavor that was distinctly not beef. Even dried I could tell it was tougher than beef, and very rich, with a hint of nuts and herbs that grew stronger as I used my teeth to rip off a chunk and chew.

 

“What kind of meat is this?” I asked as I worked the mouthful with my teeth.

 

“Venison, or rather, deer, from the forests,” Bart answered, nodding across the fields towards the treeline.

 

“It’s really good,” I said, swallowing the first bite and popping the other half into my mouth. “It’s no fish, of course, but it’ll do.”

 

Bart gave me another rare smile at that, and offered his canteen. Despite the fuss I’d made earlier, I was getting thirsty as well, especially with the sun starting to climb over the mountain tops, so I accepted and took a deep pull.

 

“Thanks,” I said with a satisfied sigh, passing the canteen back. “I have to remember to pick one of those up later.”

 

Then, piggybacking off of that thought, I asked, “Wait, where do you go to fill that from?”

 

“Hmm?” Bart said, taking a sip for himself before returning the canteen to his belt. “Well, there are several wells around the village, as well as barrels that are kept topped up by the druids for public use. They should be easy to find, but if you need help, you can always ask one of them.”

 

“Huh,” I said, recalling the brown-robed, wooden-masked figure standing outside the toilets the day before. That was yet another public service that they were in charge of, and between that and how they were apparently also involved with regulating the hunting and fishing around here, I was starting to suspect they were more of a major organization than I’d realized. 

 

“Good to know, I guess.” I shrugged. “I was worried you just dipped it in the river or something.”

 

“I do,” Bart said, and at my startled reaction he held his hand up. “But you are right to worry, and you should certainly never do so without me. Down here, drinking from an unknown water source without a means of purifying the water could make you very ill, or worse, mana-sick.”

 

“O-oh, right,” I said, recalling some of what Elle had said about mana being in everything, but especially the ocean. That probably also made other sources of water a similar danger, though I didn’t exactly know what “mana-sick” meant.

 

“I’m fortunate enough to know the techniques and spells used for purifying water and burning off the excess mana, and I will try to teach them to you if I can,” Bart said, and I felt myself grinning a little at that. I couldn’t believe I was really going to get to learn magic too!

 

After our quick snack break, we got back to work. And by work I meant fishing.

 

It was only after I’d successfully hooked and pulled in two more of the little striped fish that I realized I didn’t even know what to call them. 

 

“Hey, Bart,” I asked, after handing off the fourth fish for him to spike and put with the others. “What kind of fish are these, anyway?”

 

“Perch,” Bart answered immediately. “Yellow perch, specifically. Not a very impressive fish, but good for beginners, and one of the finest-flavored panfish you’ll find in this region.”

 

“Panfish?” I asked, pausing for another short break. That last fight hadn’t been any more difficult than the others, but I was starting to feel the growing strain accumulating in my arms and legs.

 

“Aye, that is, any fish that typically never outgrows the common frying pan,” Bart explained, nodding towards the pond. “You’ll find plenty in these waters; yellow perch, their hardier cousins the black perch, as well as various minnows, chub, and solfish.”

 

“Wow,” I said, following his gaze while I knelt beside the bait bucket. “I can’t wait to taste all of them…”

 

“Mmh,” Bart made an amused noise, nodding his head. “I’m sure you will, in time, and eventually we’ll move up to even larger fish. There are several species of trout, pike, and salmon to find if you know where to cast. You’ll need to further hone your techniques, and learn which bait each prefers, but if today has been any indication, you won’t have much trouble advancing.”

 

“Heh, yeah, sure…” I said dismissively, shaking my head and readying to grab another minnow.

 

“You disagree?” Bart asked, and I looked up again, realizing what I’d said.

 

“Oh, well… I mean, I don’t…”

 

Shit, me and my big mouth…

 

I sighed, sitting back on the ground.

 

“I’m just saying, don’t be surprised if things don’t exactly go perfectly once we start trying to move forward,” I said, lightly drumming my fingers on the rim of the bucket in front of me. “Like I said last night, I kind of have a history of… giving up, you know?”

 

“How do you mean?” Bart asked, looking down at me curiously. 

 

“I mean when I try to learn new stuff, new skills or a new hobby or something, I’ll get all excited about it at first and throw myself entirely into it,” I began explaining, watching the minnows dart around in circles so I wouldn’t have to look Bart in the eyes. “I’ll do great at the very beginning, when everything’s easy, but the first time things get even a little bit challenging, and I start making mistakes, I’ll get really pissed off and start to hate the whole thing, and then eventually I’ll just… give up.”

 

Bart was quiet for a few moments, but I could hear him moving around as he thought, pacing through the grass. I just kept watching the minnows swim.

 

“You must have had very poor instructors then,” Bart said finally, and I lifted my head to stare at him. He had a hand on his chin and was looking thoughtfully at the pond, but when he noticed my lack of response, he turned, cocking his head and lifting an eyebrow.

 

“Ah,” he said a moment later, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “You… did not have instructors, did you?”

 

“Well…” I hesitated, unsure of how to explain having access to a near unlimited source of information like the internet. “I had instructions , like… books and things, to learn from, but no, I usually didn’t have someone else teaching me.”

 

“I see,” Bart said, the furrows in his brow only growing deeper. He was clearly lost in thought, but before the silence could stretch on too far, he shook his head. “Regardless, you can hardly be blamed for that. Books are no replacement for practical exercises and training. Anyone would become frustrated attempting to learn a new technique with no one to guide them.”

 

“Y-yeah, I know…” I sighed, my mouth suddenly dry. It wasn’t like I didn’t know that already, but that was only half the problem. The other half was actually getting myself to admit I needed the help, and then being able to ask for it without losing my nerve. I’d never been comfortable doing so before, too worried about appearing too weak or too stupid to figure it out on my own to ever ask anyone for help.

 

Well, except for her…

 

“Heh…” I laughed, but not because anything was particularly funny.

 

“Sam?” Bart called, clearly concerned, and I shook my head.

 

“I’m alright,” I assured him, mindful of the fact that he’d seen me almost have some kind of episode in the shoe store the day before. “It’s just, you sound like someone I used to know when you talk like that.”

 

“Oh?” Bart asked, relaxing his tense shoulders. He’d moved closer since I started talking, standing in the shade under the tree now.

 

“Yeah, a friend of mine,” I said, sitting up straight. I’d been starting to hunch over the bucket, and my back was getting sore. “She was really smart like you, too, she knew a lot about almost everything. I guess because she actually studied, unlike me. The one time I actually didn’t give up on something, it was because I had her teaching me.”

 

I knew I was saying too much, but I didn’t really care at the moment. It was just nice to talk about something, or someone, familiar for a little bit, to think about the parts of home I’d actually miss, as much as it caused my chest to ache.

 

“I… see,” was all Bart said, taking a seat next to me. Not right next to me, but about two feet away, just settling onto the grass and crossing his legs. I waited for him to say more, to ask for more information, since I knew I’d been nothing but frustratingly vague for as long as he’d known me, but he remained silent, just pulling out another strip of dried venison and sticking it between his teeth. Between him and Felda, I knew the two of them had agreed to give me as much space as I wanted and not hound me for details about my past, which I was taking full advantage of. 

 

I still thought it was for the best, especially considering the biggest elephant in the room, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t getting a little tired of having to constantly keep my guard up. And, if what had happened in the kitchen when I went to talk to Felda after the run-in at the bakery was any indication, I was not as good at keeping what I was feeling under wraps as I used to be. Or rather, I mused, it was less that I wasn’t able to control my emotions, and more that I was feeling every emotion, good and bad, far more strongly than I’d ever been before.

 

“Blaaaagh…” I groaned, throwing my head back. “I just wana fish!”

 

Then, acting purely on impulse and bottled up frustration, I stuck my hand into the bait bucket, snatched up one of the minnows as easily as if I was picking up a quarter off the ground, and tossed it into my mouth. I chewed once, twice, then swallowed, then immediately went back for a second. It wasn’t until I’d snatched up and ate five of the finger sized fish that I finally came to a stop, flopping over onto my back and letting my mouth hang open, panting slightly. I’d barely tasted the first minnow, but by the second and third I’d found that they were, in fact, pretty good, even completely raw. There was an expected amount of crunch, and the flavor was very earthy, with almost the right amount of natural saltiness.

 

Eventually, Bart’s face entered my vision, leaning in from the side.

 

“Do you feel better now?” he asked, his tone so pleased it bordered on smug.

 

“ Yes ,” I admitted, grumbling, then added, “needs more salt, and they’re really chewy.” 

 

That had been the most surprising part, that biting into the minnow was more reminiscent of biting into a particularly-chewy shrimp than a tender piece of fish. I probably wouldn’t want to keep eating them raw, not if cooking them was an option, but I could easily see myself eating at least fifty of them in that case. 

 

“You were right though, not bad,” I said, lifting myself back up off the ground, mindful of the fact that I still only had one pair of clothes.

 

“Glad to hear it,” Bart said, an amused half-smile on his face. “You really did not need to hold off for so long, though.”

 

“What?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Well, you've been holding yourself back from doing exactly that since we left the bait shop, haven't you?” Bart asked, and I rolled my eyes.

 

“Not the whole time,” I said, before conceding, “but, yeah, I guess it did cross my mind, and I was curious, but that's why I asked you to stop me.”

 

“And that is exactly why I did not agree to do that,” Bart said, laughing once. “That, and, I did not feel like having to bandage myself up.”

 

“What do you… oh, right,” I said, trailing off and looking down at my clawed hands. They did look like they could cause some serious damage, but I was pretty sure I would not actually have scratched Bart if he tried to stop me. For one thing, he was like twice my size.

 

“What I am trying to say, Sam,” Bart spoke again, drawing my attention back, “is that you do not have any reason to push yourself to behave… differently than you usually would, especially around myself or Felda or her staff.”

 

I took a moment, for once, to think before I answered. That was probably a reasonable assumption on Bart's part; that my behavior not matching up with his past experiences with catkin, whatever those were, was caused by me purposely changing the way I behave, to act more… human. 

 

But I wasn't human anymore, was I? As much as I might have looked like a human girl with some cat bits just stuck on, I was forced to acknowledge that the differences ran deeper than that, beyond a simple change in my food preferences. Case in point, I hadn't gagged once while scarfing down the raw minnows, and I was fairly certain I'd be perfectly fine grabbing one of the perch cooling in the ice chest and devouring it whole with only my claws and fangs, with the only protest coming from the part of me that was still, mentally, a human.

 

“Huh…” I said, the summation of my musings settling over my mind like a fog on top of a lake, not quite touching it but still definitely there.

 

“Alright, thank you, Bart,” I said, snatching just one more minnow from the bucket. “I'll keep that in mind the next time I feel like clawing up some furniture.”

 

“You're… welcome?” Bart said, confusion evident in his tone. “Ah, but, I believe Felda would appreciate it if you did not scratch the bar tables, at least.”

 

“I… won't!” I said, stumbling a little and coughing to clear my throat. I'd been about to say that I'd been joking, but Bart’s reaction seemed to indicate that catkin actually did need to claw things regularly. Great, I'd taken a single step towards accepting I was a different species, and the next thing I knew I was having to think about getting myself a giant scratching post.

 

After that lengthy interruption, I was eager to get back to fishing. I wasn't sure how long Bart was planning to have us stay out for, but I figured he would let me know when it was time to stop. As willing as I was to keep going, the strain of the morning's work was really starting to accumulate in my arms and legs, especially after the next handful of fights, brief as they were. 

 

It wasn't until after I'd reeled in my tenth catch of the morning that Bart called for me to stop again.

 

“I think we ought to head back now,” Bart said, offering me his canteen once again.

 

“Are you sure?” I asked, trying not to pant so hard. Bart smiled in response and nodded.

 

“I appreciate your drive to keep going, but I think that would be best, aye. Your legs are shaking, and I worry the next bite may drag you right off your feet,” Bart said, while I gulped greedily from the canteen. He had a point, I was forced to admit.

 

“Alright,” I sighed, passing his canteen back. “I'd hoped to get a little further, but I guess it is only the first day.”

 

“Do not be discouraged, Sam,” Bart said, clapping a hand onto my shoulder. “You have made remarkable progress for your first time. In truth, we were nearing the limits of how many perch are permitted to be caught in one day.”

 

“What? There's a limit?” I asked, and Bart nodded firmly, then, looking suddenly startled, removed his hand from my shoulder and went about packing up the gear.

 

“Aye, fifteen is the limit for that species at this time of year,” Bart explained while he knelt and checked over his tackle box and rod case, ensuring both were latched shut. 

 

“Huh,” I said, looking over at the ice chest while I thought. I understood the concept of fishing limits, at least for my world, where organizations monitored the ecosystem and tried to keep everything in balance, and wondered if that was also another facet of the druids' existence.

 

“So, what's to keep someone from going over the limit?” I asked, looking around the wide open fields. “I mean, we're all alone out here, so unless we have to go through some kind of checkpoint and get our fish counted when we get back, how else would we get found out?”

 

At my question, Bart’s face suddenly became very serious, and when he spoke his tone was as stern as iron.

 

“No, there is no such measure in place for a town this small, but tempting fate and defying the limits is not only wildly irresponsible, it is also highly illegal,” Bart explained carefully, making sure I was paying as much attention as possible. “A druid could request to inspect your catch at any time, and if you're found deliberately violating the catch limits or weight restrictions, you might not only incur a hefty fine, but also lose your license or even be banned from fishing in the entire kingdom of Torgard.”

 

“Wow,” I said when he was finished, shaking my head. “Gotcha, don't mess with the druids, and don't take too many fish, message received.”

 

“Good,” Bart said with a firm nod, his face softening again, and he motioned to my rod, still waiting to be packed away.

 

Following Bart's prompting, I knelt and started to place my rod in the carrying case, but he stopped me again.

 

“Ah, wait,” he said, reaching into his pockets with one hand while pointing to a small metal loop at the base of the rod just above the reel with the other. “If you're storing your rod with the hook still attached, be sure to use the hook keeper there.”

 

“Oh, got it,” I said, following his instructions and guiding the hook into the little loop. Bart withdrew a cork from his pocket, which I then stuck to the end of the hook to keep it in place. Soon after that, we were all packed up, and my eyes were drawn to the bucket of minnows, which still had several of the tiny fish swimming around inside. 

 

“What do we do with those?” I asked, nodding towards the bucket.

 

“That depends,” Bart said, standing up and slinging the case containing his rod over his shoulder. “We can bring them back to the bait shop, and Hubert will refund a portion of the price for the ones that are still alive, but most fishermen choose to just release their leftover bait. I don't suppose I have to tell you which I prefer, but you're free to choose…”

 

“Say no more,” I said, scooping up the bucket and returning to the edge of the pond. As I lifted the lid, I felt a brief urge to help myself to a couple more of the tiny fish, but fought it down, as I'd already had plenty .

 

“S'your lucky day, guys,” I said as I tipped the bucket into the water, watching for several seconds as the dozens of remaining minnows scattered in all directions, swimming as fast as their little bodies allowed.

 

Bart was right, that did feel nice.

 

I started to rise, but paused, something drawing my eyes to a point across the fields, to the edges of the forest. At first, I couldn't tell what it was, but then I realized I'd picked up on some movement inside the foliage, and instinctively honed in on it, similar to how even the slightest twitch of the bobber instantly drew my full attention.

 

Squinting my eyes, I could just make out a figure squatting amongst the trees. They were small, even shorter than I was, and both their skin and the clothes they were wearing were almost the same color as the greenery around them, making them blend into the bushes and grass they were using as cover. It was hard to make out any features other than their huge, pointed ears and a pair of wide, round yellow eyes, which even now continued to observe me, even after I'd noticed them and began staring back.

 

“Something wrong, Sam?” Bart called out, making me jump to my feet.

 

“Uh, no, sorry, I…” I turned to wave him off, and when I looked back, the figure was gone. “Just thought I saw somethin’.” 

 

I returned to Bart and we finished preparing to set out for the village, Bart holding the ice chest, and me carrying the tackle box in one hand and the now-empty bucket in the other. We started off back the way we’d come, tromping through the tall grass, with Bart once again keeping his steps measured for my sake.

 

As we went, I kept casting glances back over my shoulder, curious about the figure I’d seen in the woods, and maybe expecting to see it again following us away from the river, but as far as I could tell they’d disappeared back into the woods. I did eventually see someone though, several someones, as we followed the river back towards the road. They were other fishermen, posted up at the banks of the river, holding their rods out before them. A few of them noticed our passing, raising an arm to wave, and after seeing Bart return the gesture, I joined in as well. 

 

The journey back seemed much shorter than the walk out to the river, and in no time we were back on the well-traveled main road, with the guard tower and the edges of the village coming into view in the distance. There were also people other than us traveling the road now, going to or coming from the village, and just like with the fishermen, many of them called out to Bart and I and waved as we passed. I watched as one of the horse-drawn carts passed us by, several of the people riding in the back waving or nodding or tipping their wide-brimmed hats.

 

“Everyone’s so friendly today,” I mused aloud. It was much preferable to the sea of silent stares and hushed whispers I’d waded through yesterday while out on the streets. Bart looked at me thoughtfully and I expected him to say something, but in the end he just smiled and nodded.

 

We passed by the guard tower and I got a second look at the guards stationed in and around it, the three figures clad in a uniform of pale blue with gold accents. They were lightly armored, wearing only a breastplate painted with the image of a turtle, and matching sets of gauntlets and greaves. They all had swords resting on their hips, but I also saw one leaning on a tall polearm topped with a wide, axe-like blade.

 

They all saw me staring at them as we passed, of course. I hurriedly tried to cover for it by waving to them, but only one returned the gesture, the other two just exchanged glances before returning to their quiet conversation.

 

“So, uh, where’re we headed?” I asked Bart, eager to leave the tower behind.

 

“Well, first things first, we need to offload your catch,” Bart said, lifting the ice chest in his arms a little higher and once again taking a turn onto a side path, leading us away from the main streets and towards the docks. “Typically, you’d visit the market, and sell to one of the fishmongers, but Felda wanted to be the first one to buy from you directly.”

 

“Oh, really?” I said, my ears perking up, which was becoming a much more regular occurrence since the first time I noticed it happening. “Wait, she’s not just gona overpay me, is she?”

 

“Hah,” Bart barked, turning to smirk down at me. “I’m sure she wants to, but I made her promise not to, for both your sakes. You’ll get a fair price from her, and she’ll still be able to turn a profit on what you sell her.”

 

“Good,” I said, nodding firmly. I didn’t go to all this trouble of taking up fishing just so Felda could bankrupt herself paying me more than the fish were worth. Still, I was glad that we weren’t going to the market today; I was definitely ready to sit down and take a break.

 

As we entered the docks and began to travel down them in the direction of the Crooked Hook, I noticed the amount of fishermen and sailors milling around had decreased since the early morning. Most of the docks sat empty, and I could see the boats that had been moored in them out on the water now, slowly drifting across the bay. There were a handful of ships still docked and a fair number of workers about, either hauling things onto or unloading them from the ships. They not only spotted us coming and waved or nodded when they could, but one in particular even moved to stand on top of the railing of a ship as we passed, raising his hands to his mouth and calling out.

 

“Hoy! Cat girl!” he called, and it took me a second to realize he was not trying to literally catcall me, but was trying to talk to me and just didn’t know my name.

 

“What!” I shouted back, figuring I had no real reason to ignore him.

 

“How’d the fishin’ go?” he asked. I could tell from the number of heads that turned in our direction that he was not the only one interested in the answer, but I couldn’t imagine why.

 

Hesitantly, I glanced up at Bart, to see if he had anything to offer, but all he had for me was a sidelong smirk and an unhelpful shrug. Bastard.

 

“I caught some perch!” I yelled back, if only to see where this was going. Then, since that wasn’t really much of a metric, I added, “Ten of ‘em!”

 

The man let out a whistle and inclined his head, one of the other men on the deck behind him saying something I couldn’t hear. With a grin, he cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled again.

 

“All by yerself, or did Bart help ya pull ‘em in?” he asked, and I actually scoffed.

 

“Nope, all me!” I shouted back with a grin.

 

Laughing, the man tossed out a quick, “Not bad!” before returning to his work, while around him reactions varied. Some sounded less impressed than he had been, some more, and some dock workers even exchanged small handfuls of coins between one another before resuming their work. Chuckling a little and unable to stop grinning, I caught up with Bart.

 

Without any further interruptions, we soon arrived at the front doors of the Crooked Hook. Both my and Bart’s hands were still full, and though I could have easily set the empty bucket down and opened the door by hand, I wanted to try something. Turning slightly sideways, I brought my tail up, looping out through the handle and around the latch, gritting my teeth and flexing until I felt the metal turn and give, using my hips to push the door the rest of the way open.

 

“Ha!” I laughed at my own minor accomplishment. Since starting to come to terms with the changes I’d undergone, I found myself growing more and more curious about the capabilities of my new body, especially my tail, and took the opportunity to test its strength. I didn’t think I’d be lifting anything particularly heavy with it anytime soon, but this was definitely a start.

 

Stepping into the tavern, I found Felda waiting for us. She had her moss-colored hair tied back, and was in the middle of wiping down one of the tables, but upon our entrance she smiled and stood up, running an arm across her brow.

 

“Welcome back,” she said, throwing the rag she was using over her shoulder and coming to relieve Bart of the ice chest, carrying it the rest of the way to the bar. “How’d it go out there?”

 

“Great!” I answered first, setting the tackle box and my rod case down beside the door and following Felda to the bar.

 

“Aye, she did very well for her first time,” Bart agreed, shrugging his coat off and hanging it up beside the door and resting his rod beside mine, before joining us at the bar where Felda had deposited the ice chest.

 

“Well, this certainly feels pretty full, let’s have a look,” Felda said, running a hand across the polished black surface of the chest before lifting the lid. Inside, just where we’d left them, was the small pile of ten yellow perch resting atop the slightly melted bed of ice. While I suspected Felda had been merely humoring me before, upon seeing my haul her eyebrows went up and her mouth opened slightly. Clearly, whether she knew it or not, she’d been underestimating the amount of fish I’d brought back, and it showed. 

 

I couldn’t help but grin again.

 

“You caught all these?” Felda asked, reaching in and lifting one of the fish out of the ice, weighing it in her hand while turning to look at me.

 

“Of course,” I said, preening. I knew she’d been patronizing me, but her surprise seemed so genuine, I was willing to let her overreact a little.

 

“Wow,” Felda said, reaching out with her free hand, placing it on top of my head between my ears and gently ruffling up my hair. “Well done, Sam.”

 

Between the surprisingly-pleasant feeling of her fingers on my scalp and the genuine compliment, I felt myself melt, a shiver traveling all the way down my spine and out to the tip of my tail, making it swish in the air behind me. I was purring again, and I had no clue if it was even possible to stop it, or whether I even wanted it to.

 

All too quickly, Felda had to stop petting my head to go back to examining the fish, and when she did I realized I’d closed my eyes at some point. Opening them again, I found Felda poking through the ice chest, while behind her Bart appeared to be having trouble meeting my eyes, for some reason. 

 

“They all appear to be in excellent condition, too,” Felda said as dug deeper into the pile. “I suppose I have Bart to thank for that?”

 

“Yeah, he’s actually a great teacher,” I said, hopping up onto one of the bar stools.

 

“What do you mean, ‘actually?’” Bart asked, crossing his arms and giving me a look. I tried to return it with a smirk, but I was still feeling too giddy from having my hard work praised, so I couldn’t hold it for more than a second or two before I burst out laughing and shaking my head.

 

“Sorry, sorry, I was kidding, you’re… you’re a very good teacher, Bart,” I said, taking a deep breath to try and calm my sudden case of the giggles. “One of the best I’ve ever had, actually.” 

 

Bart’s own face remained still as a statue for so long I almost started to wonder if I’d gone too far joking with him, until the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly and he shrugged.

 

“Well, thank you Sam. You’re a very diligent student, so far, but we’ve got many more lessons ahead of us,” Bart said, which I took as his attempt to play along, and snickered again.

 

Turning back from her inspection of the fish, Felda wiped her hands off and smiled at our antics, before speaking up.

 

“Well, this is a fair-sized catch. They all appear to be about two pounds, but I can go get my scales if you’d prefer me to weigh each one like they do at the market,” she said, slipping into a more businesslike tone than I hadn’t heard from her yet.

 

“Uuuh, no, that’s fine, I don’t mind, and I trust you,” I said, turning in my stool to face her. Honestly, I mostly didn’t feel like waiting for each fish to get weighed individually at the moment.

 

“Then in that case, yellow perch go for about two shells a pound right now, but if you’ll let me, I’ll give you two and half for the eight biggest ones you have here,” Felda said, motioning to the chest.

 

“Hmm,” I hummed, bringing a hand to my chin to make it look like I was actually thinking about it for a moment. I still knew basically nothing about the currency of this world, but I understood she was overshooting the market value just to make up for not bothering to check the exact weight of each fish. I had no reason to refuse, so I finished up my fake deliberation and nodded with a smile. 

 

“Sounds good to me,” I said, looking at the pile of fish again. “Though I don’t know what I’m gona do with the other two if you don’t wana buy them.”

 

“Oh, I’m still taking those as well,” Felda said, walking around behind the bar and kneeling down, disappearing for a moment and returning with a rectangular lock box in her hands. “The eight I’m buying will be going on tonight’s menu, but the other two are for you.”

 

I felt my ears perking up again as I swiveled to face her, while she used a large key attached to a length of chain around her neck to open the lockbox.

 

“O-oh?” I said, already losing focus while Felda dug out several coins from the lockbox.

 

“Of course, you must be hungry again after all that hard work, so I’ll cook one up now, and the other one later tonight, how’s that sound?” she asked, looking up from her sorting.

 

“Great!” I said, practically lifting up off of the stool. I’d actually been eager to taste this new type of fish since I’d caught the first one, and thought I’d be waiting much longer to get a chance. But, remembering that we interrupted Felda in the middle of doing something, I quickly added, “I mean, it can wait, if you’re busy right now! I mean, I’m not that hungry.”

 

“Nonsense,” Felda replied, shaking her head. “I insist. I can finish the rest later, and you’re going to need the energy for your day out.”

 

Ah, right, I almost forgot, I still have a shopping trip planned later today, whenever Elle and Mel arrive. I probably ought to have something to eat before that, and maybe I could lie down for a little afterwards…

 

The sound of metal clinking brought me out of my thoughts, and I looked up as Felda placed the coins she’d collected from the lockbox out in front of me. I’d been expecting a large amount of the smaller silver coins with seashells on them, based on what she’d said, but instead she placed down four of the larger coins with a trio of clams on them.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot—” Felda said, noting my moment of confusion, but I held a hand up.

 

“No no, I think I get it,” I said, double checking the math in my head. “Hubert told me ten clams is one crab, and this must mean that ten shells is one clam, right?”

 

“Ah, yes, that’s right,” Felda said, and I reached out, scooping up the four coins and dropping them into my pockets with the rest I was still carrying. “Do you want me to explain the figures to you?”

 

“Hmm? No, it’s easy,” I said, looking up and finding Felda looking at me with her brows slightly furrowed. “Two and half shells per pound and two pounds per fish is five shells, five times eight is forty, so forty shells or four clams. Easy.”

 

Felda continued to look at me blankly for several seconds before seeming to remember where she was, smiling again and closing the lid of the lockbox.

 

“That’s… that’s right, Sam, very good,” she said, kneeling down to replace the box from wherever she got it, then standing back up and lifting the ice chest from the bar counter. “Well, I’m going to go get these into storage and then I’ll be right back with your lunch.”

 

“Uh, okay,” I said, watching her go. She was acting like I’d just pulled off a magic trick or something. I turned to ask Bart if he had any idea what that was about, and found him wearing the same look on his face. When he noticed me looking, he cleared his throat and quickly circled the bar.

 

“Pardon me, Sam, I’m going to go… help Felda get the fish put away,” he said stiffly, then disappeared through the still swinging door to the kitchen.

 

“Huh…” I said, to myself, then shrugged, leaning forward to rest my chin in my palms, my ears already swiveling forward even before the muffled voices began to drift out from the closed serving window.

 

“ Well, what do you make of that? ” I heard Felda ask, accompanied by the sound of heavy thudding as she set the ice chest down.

 

“ She certainly knows her figures …” Bart said, and I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. Was that really what all this was about, that I could do some simple math? Was it that surprising?

 

“ Seems that way, ” Felda said, voice growing fainter for a moment as she moved further away, and I heard the sound of another door opening. She continued once she returned. “ Every time I think I have that girl figured out, she has another surprise up her sleeves. ”

 

“ She knows how to read and write as well, or she said as much to Hubert when she got her license, ” Bart replied. I thought he hadn’t been paying attention by that point, with how absorbed he seemed in picking out fishing gear for me. I couldn’t really be upset though, especially considering I was, once again, listening in on a conversation they clearly didn’t think I could hear.

 

“ Is that usual up there? ” Felda asked, voice once more fading then returning as she made another trip to what I assumed was her cold storage. “ From the way you told it, they treat her kind like little more than pets, so who would bother to teach her those things? ”

 

“ I don’t know, ” Bart answered. “ It was already my thinking that she wasn’t raised the same as others of her kin I’ve met, and this all but confirms it. I just can’t figure out to what end someone would do such a thing. She knows things she shouldn’t, but seems confused by other things she ought to know. It is… perplexing .”

 

The conversation stalled there for a few moments, enough time for Felda to apparently finish putting away the rest of the fish and start prepping the one she was about to cook for me.

 

“ Well, aside from that, how did the fishing go?” Felda asked, followed up by the rhythmic sound of metal scraping against metal. “ I mean, it’s obvious it went well, but how did she do? ”

 

“ Excellently. ” Bart replied immediately. “ She took to my lessons well, she asked for my advice when she needed it, heeded it well when I gave it. And once she got her hook in the water, she was a natural. ”

 

“ That’s good! That’s great, even,” Felda said, and the metal scraping stopped. For a moment I heard nothing, and then, the sudden and unmistakable thwack of a very large knife chopping through something. “ Do you think she may actually have a chance at winning the competition?”

 

I found myself holding my breath, waiting for Bart’s answer.

 

“ It is… too early to say for certain, ” Bart said softly. “ But, if she continues to improve at the rate she showed me today, then she’ll easily qualify for a full license. And if she proves as adept at fishing in the sea as she is on land, then I’d say she… might just end up good enough to take second or third place. I don’t know if she’ll become skilled enough to win outright, but as we’ve both learned, she’s capable of surprising us .”

 

Aww…

 

It really was amazing, the difference a single day could make, both in terms of Bart’s attitude towards me, and mine towards him. It did not help me feel less guilty about my eavesdropping, and I still knew I was eventually going to have to tell Felda and Bart about it, but part of me insisted that it was vital I keep it a secret in case it helped me hear something absolutely critical that I wouldn’t have otherwise.

 

Shaking my head, I resolved to at least do my part to lessen my own participation, hopping off my stool and walking several paces away from the bar, trying to find something to distract myself with so I could block out the rest of the conversation resuming inside the kitchen. I paced the outer edge of the tavern once, then approached one of the wooden support beams and, for a worrying amount of time, actually considered sinking my claws into it.

 

“No! I told Bart I wouldn’t,” I said, shaking my head and quickly walking away from the wooden pillar, coming to a stop and finding myself at the foot of the stairs that led up to the second floor, where the guest rooms were. I hadn’t been up there yet, and as far as I knew, I wasn’t forbidden from going up there either. I still found myself glancing towards the kitchen, but the faint rhythmic chopping sounds I could hear told me I probably had a few minutes at least. How long did it take to prepare a fish, actually? I could probably ask Felda later. Imagine if I could not only catch, but also cook my own fish…

 

“Nyach!” I shook my head again, and bounded halfway up the stairs, before slowing down and taking the rest more carefully. Not because I was worried about tripping, but because I didn’t know if there were still people sleeping in the rooms upstairs, and I definitely didn’t want to bother them. 

 

Emerging on the landing, I found myself in a version of the hallway that led to Felda’s room, but a bit longer, and with more doors — six of them, to be exact — and a window placed at the far wall that was letting in plenty of sunlight. The middle of the hall was partially covered by a pair of long decorative rugs, and a few of the walls between the doors had paintings hung up on them. One was of a fantastical vista of a towering city built on a floating island, surrounded by clouds, one depicted a large ship being tossed about amidst a turbulent storm, and a much more pleasant one showed a sunset upon the ocean, the orange sky around it melting into pinks and purples before darkening to a deep blue dotted with stars. 

 

I spent longer than I realized staring at the paintings, before a rattling sound beside me made me jump, and I realized it was one of the bedroom doors opening. I briefly considered booking it for the stairs to avoid an awkward confrontation with whoever was emerging from their room, but figured that would only appear even more strange, and just took several steps back to give them space.

 

The figure emerging from the room came out backwards, pulling the door shut behind them before locking it with a key, then turning around, and I realized far too late I should have just ran for it.

 

The bird man from the bar the previous night spotted me as soon as he turned, and it was impossible to miss the way he jumped back upon seeing me.

 

“Oh!” he said, his wings flaring out behind him and all his feathers fluffing up. He spoke in a startled, but unmistakable British accent, putting a clawed hand to his chest. “Soliel’s grace, you scared the living daylights out of me…”

 

“Sorry!” I said quickly, putting my hands up, then pointing at the painting. “I’m not… I wasn’t waiting for you, I promise, I was just… looking at the paintings…”

 

Blinking his large golden eyes and pushing his glasses up, the man turned and looked at the painting of the floating island in the clouds, his shoulders relaxing and his wings settling back into place behind his back.

 

“Oh… I see!” he said, putting on a pleasant smile, turning back to me. “You’re the girl from last night, yes? You stood up to that pompous cad and his two cronies.”

 

“Uhh, yeah, that’s me,” I said, taking a moment to actually parse what he’d said. I was glad that was the thing he remembered me for, at least. 

 

“Oh, of course, where are my manners,” he said, removing the hand from his chest and holding it out towards me, but not like he was expecting a handshake. Instead, he held his hand out low, palm up and with fingers slightly curled.

 

“I’m Peter,” he said, and I looked from him to his hand, raising an eyebrow. It wasn’t hard to tell that he was trying to greet me the way people introduced themselves to unfamiliar dogs. Or cats too, I supposed. I had no idea what he expected me to do with that, so I just brought my own hand up, offering a shake like normal.

 

“I’m Samantha, but, uh, call me Sam,” I said, and Peter recovered quickly, turning his hand to accept mine and shaking it once.

 

“Oh, lovely to meet you, Sam,” he said, chuckling lightly. “My apologies, did I do it wrong? I haven’t been back to the skies in quite a while, so I’m a bit rusty on greeting catkin.”

 

“Uh, no, I just prefer a… normal handshake,” I said, completely at a loss for what he was talking about.

 

“Huh, fair enough,” Peter said, adjusting the strap of the large shoulder bag he had slung across his chest. “To be honest, I didn’t expect to find one of you all the way down here, and especially not without an accompanying Lord or Lady. How’d you come to find yourself in this little corner of the world?”

 

Oof, there it was. I’d grown accustomed to Felda and Bart’s insistence on waiting for me to open up on my own, but Bart had warned me that other people were going to be just as curious about me, and wouldn’t hesitate to ask me that exact question directly. Luckily, I had the perfect response in my back pocket.

 

“I… don’t really like to talk about it,” I said, bringing one arm up to rub awkwardly at the other. For good measure, I flexed my ears until they tilted downwards, as I was pretty sure that was a universal signal of displeasure, at least with normal cats.

 

“Oh, goodness, I’m deeply sorry,” Peter said, and I got worried I’d poured it on a little too thick, if his expression of concern was anything to go by. “We’ve only just met, and I’ve been so terribly rude.”

 

“I-it’s fine,” I said, popping my ears back up and shaking my head. “It’s just… kind of a long story…”

 

“Say no more, Sam,” Peter said, holding his scaled hand up and placing the other on his chest.

 

Well, it needed a little tweaking, but I would have to keep that move in mind the next time a stranger started asking me questions.

 

Before I could figure out how to move the conversation on from that little hiccup, an exit provided itself in the form of Felda’s slightly-concerned voice, carrying itself up the stairs from the first floor.

 

“ Sam? Where’d you go? ” 

 

“Oh, uh, sorry, I’ve gota…” I jumped, pointing over my shoulder with my thumb and taking a few steps backwards, towards the stairs.

 

“Oh, certainly, I was just on my way down as well,” Peter said, and began walking as well, following me as I bounded down the stairs, landing back to the tavern’s main floor, and finding Felda and Bart having returned from the kitchen.

 

“There you are,” Felda said, smirking upon my hopping down from the last step, putting a hand on her hip. “Where’d you get off to?”

 

“Upstairs,” I said, trying to focus on her face, but my eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the slightly steaming basket she had placed in front of her on the bar. I very quickly made my way over, climbing up onto a stool. “I was, uh, just looking at the paintings for a bit.”

 

“Oh, I see,” Felda said, and then added with a slightly more serious tone, “You didn’t bother any of the guests, did you?”

 

“Not at all!” Peter said cheerfully as he also emerged from the stairway, greeting Felda with a quick tip of his little red woolen cap. “Hail and good morning, Miss Stoutsinger, I was just getting to know your little houseguest here.”

 

“Good morning, Peter,” Felda said, giving the bird man a tired smile. “I’ve told you, you can just call me Felda.”

 

“Ah, apologies, old habits, you know?” he said, also approaching the bar, taking a few sniffs at the air and pointing to the basket of lightly breaded fish portions that was currently holding a good eighty percent of my attention. “My, that smells delightful, what is it?”

 

“Just a bit of fried perch for Sam here,” Felda said, reaching out and once again giving me a brief, blissful, scratch on the top of my head. “She caught it herself, as well as several more. I’ll be adding them to the dinner menu tonight.”

 

“Oh, that’s right, you did say you were here to take up fishing, didn’t you?” Peter asked, turning to me, and I had to fight through the fog of Felda’s petting and the smell of fried fish that was threatening to cloud my brain entirely in order to answer him.

 

“Y-yeah, that’s right,” I said, turning to look at him so I could focus again. “Went out with Bart for my first lesson this morning.”

 

“Well, I’d certainly love to order some later tonight,” Peter said, turning back to Felda. “For now though, could I possibly trouble you for a bit more of that bread from the night before?”

 

I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from snorting, and ended up bringing my hand up and biting down on one of my knuckles. I wasn’t sure why, but there was just something extremely amusing about the bird man asking for bread in his charming little accent.

 

Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice my reaction, nor did Felda, but I could clearly tell Bart was looking up at me from the book he’d been reading.

 

“Oh, of course, I didn’t manage to sell off all of it, let me go get you some,” Felda said, turning and disappearing back into the kitchen. Humming slightly, Peter climbed onto a stool to wait, and I was able to focus on something else, namely, getting a better look at him. Specifically, getting a look at his legs. 

 

No, not like that .

 

I hadn’t been able to see him from the waist down the night before, and I’d been too flustered upon being discovered outside his door to notice earlier, but now that he was sitting I saw that he wore a very wide legged, dark blue pair of pants that only went down to his knees, and were cinched in place by a pair of buckles. What I could see of his legs and feet was drastically different from his upper half, being completely covered in downy, soot-gray feathers that grew darker the closer they got to his calves and feet, which were completely unlike a human’s at all. Instead, they were entirely birdlike, being covered in black scales and ending in a four-toed claw-tipped foot with large, curved talons. 

 

I realized I’d been staring and looked up, finding Peter giving me a strange sidelong smile while he leant against the bar.

 

“S-sorry,” I said, hastily averting my eyes, then, to hopefully make it seem like I hadn't just been staring at him for no reason, added, “Those look really sharp. Your claws, I mean.”

 

Shit, was that supposed to be a compliment? Was it a compliment? I hadn't been great at knowing how I was supposed to act back when I was just a human, so I was at a total loss trying to figure out social interactions across two entirely different species.

 

Thankfully, my worries were assuaged a bit when Peter just cocked his head and stuck one of his legs out, flexing his clawed toes.

 

"Oh, my talons?" he asked, and grinned when I nodded. "Why thank you, I do try to take good care of them, even when I'm traveling, but it's hard work. You're lucky your kind can still fit into sandals and the like, there isn't a cobbler alive who's figured out how to make shoes for birdkin, and I can't fly everywhere, much as I'd like to."

 

I laughed, nervously at first, but when he joined in with some light chuckles of his own, it turned more genuine. For some reason, I'd half convinced myself that so casually discussing either of our more obvious animal-like traits would be in some way rude or taboo or something, but that seemed not to be the case.

 

"How, uh, how do you keep them in such good condition?" I asked, since that seemed like the most logical follow-up question.

 

"Oh, I have a little kit I carry with me," Peter said brightly, patting one side of his little red vest. "It has everything I need; specially made clippers, a few high-grade files, and even a honing stone, though I rarely have cause to keep them that sharp."

 

Peter laughed again, and I smiled, feeling more and more confident that I was nailing blending in as a completely ordinary cat person.

 

"Huh, I wonder if I should see about getting one of those kits myself," I said, dropping my eyes to one of my hands, resting on the bar as I leaned on one elbow. I turned it over and curled my fingers, my claws resting against my palm. They looked as sharp as ever, but I had no way of knowing if they'd stay that way. Not for the first time, I found myself wishing I had another catkin to talk to for advice.

 

“Oh, I would have thought—” Peter spoke up, before suddenly cutting himself off and starting again. “Ahem, what I meant to say is, I don't know if you'll be able to find one in this village, but I'm heading back to the capital in a couple of days, I can pick you up one while I'm there and give it to you the next time my route brings me back here.”

 

“W-what?” I said, blinking, having to go over his words a couple times to fully digest them. “Oh, no, I couldn't ask you to do something like that, I barely know you.”

 

“Well, then it is a good thing you didn't ask me,” Peter retorted, chuckling. “Consider it my way of apologizing for my earlier rudeness.”

 

“I…” I opened my mouth to protest that it really hadn't been that big of a deal, but shut it again with a sigh. It really was hard to get used to just how damn nice everyone was in this village, barring a few notable exceptions. It would probably be more rude to insist against it, so, with a shrug, I gave in.

 

“Alright, if you say so, thank you very much,” I said, then, tilting my head, I went back to the one part of his statement that I was still confused about. “But, uh, what do you mean by your ‘route?’” 

 

“Oh, I'm a courier!” he said cheerily, and I once again struggled to hold back an incredulous laugh. “I make regular stops at just about every major town and city on Torgard, so it's really no trouble at all.”

 

“I… I see!” I said, feigning excited interest to cover the fact that I'd been fighting back laughter. It wasn't even that funny, but the idea that he was some kind of literal giant carrier pigeon refused to leave me. “That must be nice, getting to travel all around.”

 

“It certainly is! I can't recommend it enough, if you ever get the opportunity, though I imagine it won't be as easy for you as it is for me,” he said, rustling his wings behind him to show what he meant.

 

Oh, of course, he could fly. That would definitely make traveling easier.

 

Dang, why couldn't I have been turned into a bird girl, huh?

 

I chuckled a little at the silly, not-actually-serious complaint in my head, before I realized I'd not wished, even jokingly, to be a bird man instead.

 

Hmm…

 

“Sam?” 

 

Peter's voice shook me out of my suddenly racing thoughts, and I blinked.

 

“Uh, sorry, what?” I said. Had I missed something?

 

“Ah, you suddenly looked very perturbed there, I was worried I'd said something to offend again,” Peter said, and I quickly shook my head to reassure him.

 

“Oh, no no, it's nothing you said, I was just thinking about… something,” I said, quickly sweeping the thought under a rug in my mind. That was something I would have to come back to sometime later. Or never, never was a possibility too.

 

“I would like to try that, actually. I have to stay here until I win the Midsummer Fishing Competition, after all. But after that, I wouldn't mind seeing more of the island,” I said, putting on an air of confidence and grinning. Peter laughed along with me, then turned in his seat as Felda finally returned from the kitchen. She was carrying a small bundle wrapped in brown paper in one hand and a plate in the other, the latter of which had a thick slice of slightly-steaming bread, its surface liberally smeared in something pale yellow and dotted with flecks of herbs.

 

“Here you are, Peter,” Felda said, passing both items to the bird man, who gratefully accepted them. “Sorry for the wait, but I wanted to have a portion toasted for you. I put a bit of that goat's butter you like on it as well.”

 

“Oh, that's certainly alright!” Peter replied, beaming, taking the buttered slice from the plate and taking a large bite from it, chewing languidly. “Mmmh, exquisite! Thank you ever so much, Felda.”

 

Seeing him enjoy the snack so much reminded me that I still had food of my own that was getting cold while I'd been caught up in conversation. Following Peter's lead, I grabbed one of the chunks of fried perch from the basket in front of me and tossed it into my mouth.

 

Immediately, the flavor hit my tongue, and it was mercifully mild compared to some of the other dishes I'd tried before. The breading was just barely there, a whisper of crunchy texture with a hint of spice, wrapped around pearly white flesh that was firm to chew, but flaked easily, the savory taste of fish accompanied by a subtle sweetness. It was a light, but irresistible flavor, and I knew the rest of the basket was not long for this world.

 

After I finished scarfing down the small pile of perch portions, washing them down with hardy gulps of lemonade, I was finally able to focus on my surroundings again. I found Peter, standing now, having long since finished his toasted bread, and apparently waiting patiently for me to finish.

 

“Ah, uh, sorry…” I mumbled, a bit more embarrassed to have been seen eating the way I usually did, probably purring the whole time, by a total stranger, but he just tilted his head and tipped his little red cap at me.

 

“No worries at all, Sam!” he said cheerfully. “I just wanted to bid you farewell for now. If you need to find me again before I set off, you may come visit me at the post office anytime, or wave me down if you see me about town.”

 

With that, he tucked the bundle of bread into his shoulder bag, hustling across the tavern’s floors with a light clicking sound as his talons tapped against the wood. He paused halfway out the door, turning back to offer a quick, “Ta ta!” to the whole room before taking off. Literally, as soon as he’d closed the door behind him, he spread his wings and disappeared into the sky with a single flap.

 

Chuckling, I spun back around to finish the last of my lemonade, finding Felda leading back against the shelves behind her, smiling down at me.

 

“What?” I asked, bringing the glass to my lips.

 

“I'm just pleased to see you making more friends,” Felda explained, and I paused mid-sip, quickly swallowing and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

 

I opened my mouth to protest that Peter and I couldn’t really be called friends yet, as we’d only just met, but thought better of it. I kept having to remind myself that I was in another world now. I knew it wouldn’t be the same story everywhere I went, but the people in this little village were a lot nicer, a lot more friendly, than I was used to. In all likelihood, I would end up becoming friends with Peter, just like I would probably end up becoming friends with Elle and Mel, if the former didn’t consider me one already. Whether I liked it or not, there were probably a lot of new friends in my future, and it was just another thing I was going to have to get used to.

 

“Yeah… me too,” I finally said, before the silence could stretch on any longer. I felt the smile return to my face and for a moment felt that, maybe, my ending up here in this world wouldn’t turn out to be such a bad thing after all.

 

Then, my mouth parted and I let out a protracted yawn that had me tilting my head back and squeezing my eyes shut, almost tipping backwards out of my stool.

 

“Wow, that was a big one,” Felda said with a chuckle once I’d managed to pry my eyes open again.

 

“So-sorry,” I stammered, leaning over the bar and rubbing at my cheeks, trying to push off the wave of lethargy that had suddenly settled over me like a particularly aggressive blanket. “I don’t know where that came from.”

 

“I do,” Felda said, crossing her arms and shooting Bart a quick look across the bar. “You woke up before the crack of dawn and have been out fishing for hours, of course you’re tired.”

 

“I’ll be fine,” I said, bringing a hand up to my mouth and failing to stifle the next yawn that forced its way out. “I’ll just have another cup of coffee or something…”

 

“Not from me you won’t,” Felda said, her tone a little firmer than I’d expected. “Coffee is nice, but it’s not a potion, nor is it a replacement for rest.”

 

“And drinking too much of it can make you ill,” Bart added, helpfully.

 

“I know that,” I grumbled, heaving a sigh that turned into another yawn. “I guess I should get up then, go splash some water on my face, maybe do a few laps.”

 

Felda exchanged a glance with Bart before giving me a confused look, leaning forward and placing a hand on my shoulder.

 

“Sam, you don’t have to force yourself to stay awake if you’re tired,” she said, surprising me with how concerned she sounded. “Just go have a little more sleep.”

 

“What? No, I can’t,” I protested.

 

“Why not?” Felda countered.

 

I opened my mouth and half a dozen answers leapt to the front of my mind; because it was only a few hours after dawn, because I was a grown adult and didn’t actually need the extra sleep, because I didn’t want to make Elle and Mel have to wait for me when they showed up later, and so on. But, the more I thought about it, the more hollow each one felt, more like excuses than explanations. 

 

I’d already got in as much fishing practice as Bart was able to give me for the day, I had no other plans until later, and absolutely no one had any other obligations or expectations for me. It was freeing, actually, to realize that there really wasn’t anything stopping me from taking a nap in the middle of the day if I felt like it.

 

“Huh…” I said, my eyes having slipped off Felda’s face and into a corner of the ceiling as I thought. I blinked, refocusing, and turned back to Felda, letting out a surprised chuckle.

 

“I guess you’re right,” I said, causing her to look even more confused. I reached up, patting the back of the hand that was still on my shoulder. “I’ll go take a quick cat nap, wake me up when Elle and Mel show up.”

 

“Oh… okay, I will,” Felda said, seeming to take a moment to recover from my sudden turnaround and moving her hand from my shoulder to my head, just for a second. “I’ll see you in a few hours then.”

 

Relishing the far-too-brief sensation of another pat on the head, I nodded and slid down off the stool.

 

“I’ll seeya then,” I said, another yawn escaping my lips that I did nothing to stifle, making my way towards the stairs behind the bar. Then, pausing just before the corner, I turned back and met Felda’s and Bart’s gazes, both of them having watched me make my exit, and smiled at them.

 

“And, uh, thank you, both of you,” I said, not quite able to keep meeting their eyes directly as I spoke, looking down towards the floor instead. “I know I’ve said it a lot already but I’m just… really grateful for everything you’ve done for me so far. I’m gona do my best to make it up to you.”

 

God, was I always such a sap, or had I just become one since coming to this place? I felt my cheeks heating up a little at my embarrassingly sincere declaration, but it was just something I needed to say, and I knew neither of them would mock me for it either.

 

But, that didn’t mean I was going to stick around to hear their responses, so I quickly spun on my heels and hurried to the stairs, taking them as quickly as I could while still fighting the ever-increasing urge to collapse onto the rug and take my nap right there in the hall. 

 

On my way to the door to Felda’s room I noticed, perhaps for the first time, that the little hallway to her bedroom was decorated similarly to the one on the second floor. There was the rug, and a couple of paintings, but there was one object that stood out so much I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it before. It was a bookshelf, placed up against the wall on the same side as Felda’s room, situated almost halfway between her door and the stairs, but ever so slightly off-center. That slightly uneven placement was what drew my eye as I passed, and I had enough time to spare a thought to how odd it seemed before another yawn made me pick up my feet again and continue towards the bedroom. With just enough energy left to kick off my sandals, I fell forward onto Felda’s bed face first, dropping off to sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.