It was when the humans began worshipping his master in earnest that she grew weaker.

No longer could they run through the forest, catching birds; no longer did she dance across the surface of the bog, laughing. She moved through them, unseen, listening to their garbled speech and answering their prayers.

Even if he did not see the sense in it, he loved her, so he followed her patiently. The other cats, too, liked that he was worshipped alongside her, since it meant that they were treated better. There was truly nothing to complain about.

At first he was Helna's little thing; Helna's cat. As the yearly festival grew more elaborate, he found them to speaking of him more often. The words became garbled in their tongue, twisted together. Soon he was not Hélna sif reln chaut, but Hélna relnsif, and then Relnsif, who Helna carried.

" Such nice new people," Helna lamented, wearing a gown and a crown of flowers; her method of dress had changed as she was worshipped.

She noticed his confusion at her words, and smiled softly, a little bitterly.

" Little thing, magic can only run on blood," she told him. " As the blood thins, so too does magic's grip on Holm itself loosen. But even if these people sacrificed each other, they could not return the Silver Lake to what it was; I'm afraid that only my body guards it, and that, too, shall soon disappear."

He flicked his tail; she ran a hand over him.

" You'll never be alone, my Sif," she assured him. " Even if my soul leaves this world, to travel to the next, you may have the rest of me."

<- .....->