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There were still lights burning in the vicarage as I walked up the path. I slipped into the hall and followed the sounds of talking to the living room. Both Gerald and Harry looked up as I entered the room. Harry smirked and pointed at me.

'Look at that, he's dressed like the normal!' He said 'how did it go, Nerd?'

'Oh fine, fine. Although, it's none of your business.' I replied. 'Anyway, how was your trip?'

'Not bad. We found a nice restaurant near the castle.'

'Good.' I said. 'Gerald, will you be ready to leave tomorrow morning?'

Gerald nodded.

'Yes, Father.' He said.

'Good, we'll have to leave early. It's a fair drive to the Borders.'

What remained of the evening passed, until I called it a night. As I was drifting off to sleep, I'm sure that I could still hear Gerald and Harry talking.

The following morning broke bright and clear, as if the almighty storm the day before had not even occurred. The only reminder of the rain was a certain freshness to the garden, in fact it was growing rampantly - more jungle than lawn. I swung my legs out of bed and wriggled my claws in the pile of the carpet. I moved slowly to the wash basin in the corner of the bedroom. I looked in the mirror and tried to tidy up my fur. The cut on my nose was less angry looking than before. I pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.

I padded downstairs and began clattering about with the coffee machine. While the machine was whirring into life, I wandered across the hall and into the living room. I walked across the room and opened the curtains. As my eyes adjusted to the morning light, the first thing I noticed was the detritus of the night before. I tutted and picked up the empty wine bottle and glasses. The second thing that came to my attention was the fact that neither Gerald nor Harry had made it to their respective beds. They were both sprawled at either end of the sofa in the most awkward positions. Harry was half dangling over one arm of the sofa, his tail sticking out between his legs. Gerald had taken over more than half of the available space, lying on his front with his foot paws sticking up over the back of the sofa. As I stood there, Harry shifted position with a kind of snorting-grunt. I crept theatrically out of the living room and put some more coffee in the machine.

That done, I picked up the largest saucepan I could find and quite deliberately let it drop on the kitchen floor with a resounding crash. I have always been the first to admit that there is an irrepressible imp of mischief in my character. The pan had the desired effect: from the living room I heard some muffled moving and muttering, as my guests started out of their respective slumbers. I walked briskly into the living room and said:

'Oh! Sorry, that pan just slipped out of my paws.'

This, I said, with the cheekiest grin I had plastered across my features. Feline friends of mine would often say things about someone grinning like a hound, and I could see why - no one grins better than a dog after a mischievous practical joke. I looked at the two of them and was met with a pair of sleepy stares.

'There's coffee brewing in the kitchen.' I said to fill the silence. I turned on my heel to go back to the kitchen, there had been something unexpected in the scene in the living room, I just couldn't quite put my claw on it. After a moment's thought it came to me: Harry had been sitting with one paw in Gerald's lap, kind of protectively. I had known that Harry was gay since the day we met at seminary - he had been very proud to be one of the first openly gay commissioned officers in the army; but, I hadn't realised that Gerald was gay as well. I shrugged to myself, it was none of my business and Harry was a good guy. He was also an excellent judge of character: even if I had needed it, this was the best vote of confidence in Gerald and his story about the goings on at the Oxfold Estate. Had I asked, I couldn't have hoped for a better recommendation.

Ahead of me, in the kitchen, the coffee machine began to beep shrilly. This was followed by the enticing aroma of coffee - the coffee was one of my indulgences: I had it imported specially; it was hellishly expensive, but it was the finest cup of coffee I had ever come across. I poured myself a mug and settled into my favourite chair looking out over the back garden. I sipped my coffee and fiddled absentmindedly with the tip of my tail. Behind me, I could hear the sounds of movement, claws clicking on the tiled floor and paw steps up the stairs. I twisted around in my seat as Harry entered. He helped himself to some coffee and then dragged a chair over to me. He settled down next to me and said:

'Morning, Nerd.'

'Morning, Harry.' I replied. 'Do you want to come with us to my mother's farm? I know Mum would love to see you and you can get Gerald settled in.'

'I would, he's a nice guy.'

Harry lapsed into silence. A couple of minutes later, Gerald appeared. He had changed out of his suit and for the first time I saw the fox in casual clothes.

'Morning, Father.' He said, walking across the kitchen and resting a paw on Harry's shoulder. 'I'm packed and ready to go.'

'Thanks, Gerald.' I replied. 'If you want some breakfast, help yourself. We'll set out in half an hour or so.'

The half an hour had turned into an hour by the time we actually left - mostly because I couldn't find my keys (I have never been good with keys). After some frantic searching, Harry found them on top of the fridge and we set off.

As we drove up the High Street, we passed Anna coming out of the shop. I waved as we passed and she blew me a kiss in return. This caused me to swerve a little and Harry to snort with laughter and punch me lightly on the shoulder. We sped along the main road heading west stop as we travelled, the landscape became increasingly mountainous and greener. After an hour or so we started to see the warning signs the border with the Republic of Menefwy.

The closer we came to The Borders the greater the number of military vehicles we saw on the road. This was an unwelcome reminder of the war thirty years before. It was a war that had started due to a terrible confusion of treaties and negotiations. A few hundred soldiers and aircrew had died and nothing had changed; except for a lingering distrust between the two governments and the military presence in The Borders.

The most obvious reminder of the war, though, were the checkpoints. We had not gone much further when the road ahead was blocked with concrete barriers and a light tank. A young mouse in a corporal's uniform (he couldn't have been old enough for the war to be anything but an historical event) signalled for us to stop. I obediently pulled into the side of the road and wound down the window.

'Security check, sir.' Said the mouse, ducking his head to peer into the car. 'May I see your ID cards please?'

The soldier took the proffered ID cards and walked over to the concrete pillbox that appeared to serve as the checkpoint's command post.

The minutes crawled past. Gerald fidgeted in the back seat, Harry drummed his claws on the dashboard and I watched as a pair of soldiers paced back and forth either side of the wooden pole that had been placed across the gap in the middle of the barricade stop ahead of us, I saw as another car approached the checkpoint - it was subjected to the same routine, but one soldier stood with his rifle ready while the passengers' documents were checked. All this, I thought, because that car has Menefwan number plates. Eventually the corporal returned. He passed our ID cards back to us.

'Thank you. You may continue.'

He waved a paw and the barrier rose. Gingerly, I put the car into gear and threaded our way around the concrete barricades. A few miles down the road, I left the main route to Menefwy and we climbed up into the hills. We wound along the tree-lined roads until we reached the head of the Dare Valley. I could just make out my old home nestled against the hills. The farm dropped out of sight as we made our descent. Here, the road wove its way along the contours of the hillside. It was a place full of memories - the little waterfall that sent a curtain of spray across the road; the copses of evergreens that I used to explore as a puppy.

After fifteen minutes we reached the valley floor. The farm lay on the far side of the valley, off to the right. As we neared, the sun broke over the hilltops, bathing the farm in a pool of golden light. The little River Dare gleamed like a line of quicksilver against the lush green of the surrounding fields and meadows.

I smiled to myself as we came to the turning for the farm's driveway, the wooden sign was just as I remembered it: a testament to my father's skill and deeply hidden lighter side. It was a real wooden finger post that my father had fashioned into the shape of a pointing claw.

Fferm Bugail

Olekalan v'daltan Or-engatatan.

As I turned across the road and onto the driveway, I announced:

'We're here. Welcome to Bugail Farm.'

'What did that sign say?' Asked Gerald. 'I got Bugail Farm, but the rest was in a language I haven't seen before.'

I glanced at Gerald in the rear-view mirror and smiled even more broadly.

'That's in En-gal,' I said, 'The language of one of the Wildcat Tribes. It means: "welcome, beloved traveller" or "dear traveller". It was my dad's idea.'

We bounced along the driveway until I pulled the car to a halt next to my mother's ancient and battered ex-army 4x4. We all piled out of the car, stretching our cramped limbs. I stretched luxuriantly, feeling my muscles ease from my neck right to the tip of my tail. Once Gerald had retrieved his luggage from the boot, I led our little group around the side of the house and into the cobbled farmyard. The kitchen door was open, so I poked my head inside.

'Mum?' I called. 'Anyone home?'

There was no answer, so I shouted again. I think we all had the shock of our lives, when my mother appeared from the outbuilding where my father had kept his study.

'Francis!' She cried. 'You are looking well!'

This was followed by a white and black blur as my mother ran across the farmyard to hug me.

'Mum!' I said. 'You're being embarrassing!'

'Rubbish, I'm just being your mother.'

I sighed, which earned me a gentle clip around the ear.

'I thought I was getting just the one guest.' Continued my mother. 'It's lovely to see Harry again, but you must introduce me to your other friend.'

'Yes, Mum.' I replied. 'This is Gerald Vulpes, he'll be staying with you. And of course, you know Harry from seminary, he's mostly just come for the trip out.'

She hugged Gerald and then Harry, by now her tail was a blur - as I have said: my mother loves having guests. Once she had finished hugging, my mother said:

'You must meet Mister Kiniun.'

I stared at her.

'Not the Kiniun from Dad's stories? I thought he would be dead by now.'

'He's younger than your father, Francis. I'll just go and find him. Take Gerald to his room, would you?'

She disappeared back into the outbuilding. I looked around the farmyard, taking in the familiar sights, sounds and smells. Revelling in the feeling of the cobbles under my paws. I looked over to Gerald and said:

'Come on, you can at least drop your bag in your room.'

He smiled and followed me into the house. I ducked under the kitchen door and Gerald and Harry followed my lead. Now, Bugail Farmhouse was laid out in a kind of reverse L-shape. The kitchen took up most of the short "bottom stroke" of the L. It was a large, square room: the wall that faced into the farmyard was dominated by a huge stone sink under a long window dotted with potted plants. The opposite wall was taken up by a cast iron range that was as old as the house. On the range top and equally ancient copper kettle hissed and steamed. I led Gerald with Harry in tow through into the hall-like dining room. We cut across the dining room and into the entrance hall. The entrance hall was entirely panelled in age-dark oak, the only light filtering through the small panes of glass in the front door.

Once upstairs, I turned right and led Gerald and Harry to my old bedroom. It was on the very end of the house, above the farm office and the windows looked out on three sides. Looking east you were rewarded with the view up to the head of the Dare Valley; westward one could follow the course of the Dare almost to the Menefwan border; the northern window looked out onto the rising hillside, offering a vista of green fields and little woods.

'Well, here you are.' I said. 'I'll leave you to settle in. Come down to the kitchen when you're ready, I'm sure that Mum will be preparing some great feast for lunch!'

'Okay, Father.' Replied Gerald.

I squeezed past Harry and went back downstairs. From the stairs I was able to hear muffled conversation, it appeared that my mother had found Kiniun. They both looked round as I entered the kitchen. There was something distinctly incongruous about seeing one of the characters from my late father's stories sitting at the kitchen table drinking a mug of tea. The scene became even stranger when I realised that Kiniun was drinking out of a chipped "Greetings from Fairport" mug with a twee picture of two smiling donkeys on it. Kiniun fixed me with a piercing stare and said:

"This must be Ben's pup! It is very good to meet you, Benedict used to write me long letters that were mostly about you. I'm Kiniun.'

I shook his proffered paw and noticed the clerical collar mostly hidden by his mane.

'It's good to meet you too, Father.' I said.

Kiniun burst into great peals of laughter.

'It was only Ben who would call me Father!' He laughed. 'Please, call me Kiniun, we are brother priests.'

I smiled broadly, I was already warming to the garrulous lion. I took a seat at the table and helped myself to a cup of tea. It was mildly disconcerting to hear my father called Ben, of course he was always "Dad" to me and "Father Benedict" to everyone else.

'Thank you, Kiniun.' I said, and then, overcome with curiosity: 'I hadn't realised that you were ordained, Dad only ever told me about how you met.'

'Ah, well,' Said Kiniun, 'I was baptised in the cathedral at Port-Saint-Christopher when I arrived there was Ben. Some years later I was trained and ordained. You could say I am following in your father's paw steps, just like you!'

I laughed as Kiniun reached across and thumped me lightly on the shoulder. A creaking of floorboards from above us heralded the return of Gerald and Harry. My mother jumped out of her seat to collect two more mugs and to top the teapot up with boiling water.

'Dear, Mrs Shepherd!' Boomed Harry as he entered. 'It is, truly, always a delight to see you!'

My mother replaced the kettle on the range with a clang and waved a paw at Harry.

'What have I told you about calling me Mrs Shepherd?' She said. 'It makes me sound like some old relic: call me Theresa.'

She bounded across the room and enveloped Harry in another massive hug. Once she released Harry, she turned to Gerald, who stuck his paw out.

'Thank you for agreeing to let me stay with you, Mrs Shepherd.' He said.

'It's Theresa to you as well, young Master Vulpes. And there is no need to thank me.'

She pounced on Gerald and he received the same treatment as Harry. Hugging over, my mother clapped paws together.

'Right, you lot,' She said, 'I've got to get a lunch prepared, so I need you out from under my paws. Harry, you know this place well enough: would you take Gerald on the tour? My darling son here would only get lost. Anyway, I think that you, Francis and Kiniun might have a lot to talk about.'

She surveyed us briefly, then said:

'Well, what are you waiting for? Shoo!'

We were herded, mugs and all out into the yard. It was a lovely sight to see Harry and Gerald wander off together both clutching my mother's favourite mugs with the delicate matching pattern of peonies on them.