Several years went by, time only noted by the passing of the seasons.

The redhaired woman frolicked together with the little thing the whole time; she showed it every nook and cranny of her lands, from the summit of the mountain to the bog in the heart of the valley.

As they sat in a tree, she stroked its fur, kicking her legs.

" Such a lucky thing, you are," she said. " I will wither away when the new mortals come to dwell here, and clear away all my vestments; but you were born with them, so they can't harm you. All you need now is a name."

It was as she said, then.

Not long after, humans came; a small group of them took to the valley.

The little thing couldn't sense its master growing any weaker, but watched them closely, just in case. Some humans were good; it had known warmth and kindness from one before, after all. However, it seemed just as many were bad.

The redhaired woman, despite what she had said, didn't seem to think them bad at all. A young boy came to the same creek that had once nearly claimed the little thing, and drank from it, then began to fill his water pouch; seeing this, the hand glided forward, its body unseen, and began to beckon him.

As if in a trance, he reached out; but the redhaired woman grabbed him, yanking him back as the hand became scaled, clawed.

She hid herself again, in the next moment; but that was enough. He ran crying back to his tiny settlement.

The little thing wondered why save him at all; why indeed, when the hand was just trying to eat? The redhaired woman fed the little thing her mice and birds all the time.

" There are certain things we can't let cause harm, little cat," she said, airily drifting along beside it. " It does not eat out of hunger; it will not starve. It eats only for the pain caused by eating, and should not exist in this world."

In this way, she continually meddled with the humans, even as they cut her trees, built their homes. The little thing felt some nostalgia upon seeing the tiny village form; human kittens ran between the houses, scarcely younger than its first master, and they brought more cats, the first the little thing had seen in a long time. It found it quite easy to communicate with them, but none of them quite understood it; why not live off the fat mice in the houses, eating scraps from the children? Its wild way of living held no appeal for them.

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