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_Weak, he was and is weak. Cast him away, go it alone. He is a liability, hopelessly in love with Gerald. Weak! _

_ _ No! Harry is not weak. We do not work alone. Not alone, never alone!

You stand alone, Francis. All alone against my unimaginable power. How can you stand? I batter you with forces beyond your feeble comprehension. You cannot defeat me: you do not even know my name. My name that whispers secretly in the depths of your soul, tempts you away from your pointless morality_. They call me Mother Moon; they make their sacrifices to me. Mam Lleuad! Hah! No mother, I. I do not bring life, but death and the power that comes with death._

_ You are only worthy of mockery, but you did not surrender my tribute to me - that I have to salute. Forcing me to compel him to come to me, across the miles. I salute that, but you will pay for your insolence!_

The voice that re-echoed around my mind was full of loathing for me. Not just loathing, but something else - fear, perhaps. Not fully fledged fear, but a nervousness, not even that, but something that had the potential to become fear. Slowly I forced my paws together (whether in my mind or physically, I could not tell) and began to pray aloud:

'O God, to whose holy care I am committed by thy divine mercy, defend and protect me from all sin and danger. Amen.

'Visit, we beseech thee, O Lord, this place and drive from it all the snares of the enemy. Let thy holy angels dwell herein, to preserve us in peace. Amen!

'God the Father, bless us; God the Son, defend and keep us; God the Holy Ghost sanctify us in this hour and forevermore. Amen!' My voice reaching a desperate scream with the last few words.

The world came flooding back, sounds: Harry's voice repeating the prayers I had said; the sound of Anna moving. Shivering, I sat up from where I had fallen.

'Another attack, Nerd?'

I nodded, then shook myself.

'Yes, it was your turn Harry. I'm sorry, you really did have to go through hell.'

'Fuck.' Spoken softly, burning anger in his voice. 'Look, they're all inside the temple now. We have to move.'

We moved towards the metal doors of the temple. They stood slightly ajar granting a view of the now empty vestibule. Harry signalled for us to stop as he scouted the interior of the strange building. This was also my moment to pull my phone out of a pocket and send a text message to Charlie Hopes, that he and Kiniun should start repeating the rite in the church. That done, I followed Harry and Anna inside.

The temple was set into the side of the hill, just like my visions. The demon had not seen fit to show me the inside of the vestibule. It was a space of two distinct halves: the front was formed by the boxy shape of the temple; the back, cut out of the living rock. The entire space was floored with flagstones, worn smooth by countless paws. The walls of the front-half were finely worked stone, covered in intricate carvings showing the downfall of the Abbey of St Meinrad.

While I was distracted inspecting the carvings, Harry had made his way to the back wall and the opening of a tunnel that led further on into the hill. From the tunnel came the sound of chanting, the strange acoustics of the cave system muffling the voices and blurring the words. A quiet clink came to my ears, making them twitch - the metallic sound seeming unnaturally loud. Harry looked over to us, one of Natasha Fuchs' flashbang grenades in each paw. He inclined his head to us and we crossed the space to him.

From this distance, the grenades were full of machine-like menace: each one a black metal tube with a cap on either end. Between Harry's claws, I could make out a series of printed warnings, and could see a short lever jutting out over the back of his paw.

'Listen in.' He said, I couldn't help smirking at his return to army jargon. 'I'll go first and check what we've got facing us. Nerd, you know that we have to stop this, this ceremony before they kill Gerald, but you need to know the demon's name. Once we've found that out, I'll start chucking these grenades around. Be warned: they're not called flashbangs for nothing, they're packed with magnesium and explosives. When I throw them, screw your eyes tight shut and press your paws over your ears - these things are designed to confuse, disorientate and knock you out. Understood?'

Anna nodded, I followed suit. I've never been a massive fan of loud noises - which made my gaming career at Anskar's rather interesting.

Harry grunted and stepped into the tunnel. Inch by inch we worked our way deeper into the hill. It is common knowledge that underground temperatures tend to be relatively stable, and that it gets warmer as you go deeper. But, this tunnel was heating up like someone had turned on an oven. I found that my tongue was lolling out of my mouth, as I tried to adjust to the heat. As we went deeper and deeper into the hill, the tunnel became narrower and began to twist and turn through a series of demented switch-backs, leaving me with the distinct feeling that, although we had walked a long way; we hadn't really gone all that far.

After some ten or fifteen minutes of walking, Harry froze. Anna, who was paying better attention, also stopped and I walked straight into her back. This meant that my first 'real' view of the actual temple in the hill was beautifully framed by Anna's ears. It was as if an entire hill had been hollowed out to create a domed chamber some twenty yards across. Here, the rock had been cut and faced by skilled workers, and then set with chips of crystal: there were streaks of carnelian, as red as blood; sickly green splashes of vermarine; and everywhere blotches of amethyst, deeply purple like the fire that had destroyed St. Meinrad's and marked the ascendancy of this evil. The light in the chamber came from hundreds of torches and candles set in a great pool. The inconsistent, flickering fire-light made the crystals in the walls sparkle and dance, casting their colours across the crowd of animals.

Behind the pool of light was a raised dais with a stool in its centre. There, at the focal point of the room was were Gerald would sit, not knowing what was to come. On a short plinth set behind the stool was a knife; although it lay some yards away from where I was standing, I knew that it would be an exact copy of all the ones that had gone before it - all the knives drenched with innocent blood; used then broken, both the knives and the lives of their victims.

Up until that point, the crowd of cultists had stood in silent expectation, then the singing started. At first, just the sound of one voice, belonging to a redwing who I thought I had met once. One by one, each animal took up the song with her until the sound filled the domed cavern, the candles and flares flickering, the melody reverberating from the walls. They repeated the same verses again and again. The same, seemingly innocent, song from my dream:

Join us and sing, love;

We'll dance in a ring, love,

For the summer is coming, love,

And the tribute shall die.

Harvest will bring, love;

Our hearts all to sing, love,

For the summer is come in, love,

And the god shall be nigh.

The song rose to a terrifying crescendo and, as if some silent command had been given, dropped away to silence. From a masterfully hidden doorway set into the far wall of the cavern, Gerald appeared. He was dressed in a white shift, a circlet of gold on his head. Moving as if in a daze, he walked slowly to the dais and sat on the stool.

It was at this point that the events of the night differed from what I had been shown through the demon's power. Oxfold stepped out of the now silent crowd, threw back his hood and began to speak. He spoke in a low, measured tone, the tone of someone who had long ago learnt his words by rote.

'The sky is wide, the earth is wide, one lifted up, the other set down. In former times, long ago. Supreme god, who rules below the earth, upon whom animals lean and fall not: we serve you.

'When the god below the earth shows anything, we profit by it. It is he, it is she who addresses me and I shall understand.'

There was a collective sighing.

'Our mother,' Continued Oxfold, 'When you eat, we eat: come now to the banquet we have prepared.

'Let your anger at our meagre offering be stayed!

'O that the anger of your dark, mysterious heart would still! Oh that you, unknowable darkness may be satisfied. Let your anger turn from us, your faithful servants and turn instead to this one who has denied you.

'Take his purity! Take his faith! Take his life!

'Come, O dark lord! Come, O lady of the moon! Come and devour the life we offer to you!

'Hear us, we call to you by name! Come, our lord and our lady! Come, O Cwn Annwn! Come, O Cwn Annwn! Leave your haunts in the netherworld and come to us, O Cwn Annwn!'

'Come!' Roared the assembly.

Beside me, Harry twitched, I put my paw over his.

'Wait, Harry, not yet.'

Oxfold stepped forward, around the pool of light and onto the dais. He took up the knife in one great hoof. The song returned to the mouths of the throng. Oxfold raised the knife to strike; silence fell. The flames in the light-pit were snuffed out, then I shouted:

'Now! Harry, now!'

In the silence, all that could be heard was the plink, plink of two metal rings bouncing on stone. I screwed my eyes tightly shut and pushed my paws over my ears. Even through my closed eyelids, the flash was nearly too much to bear, and the detonation made my head ring. Still with my eyes closed, I edged towards the end of the tunnel, then felt the second blast. Once the ringing had faded, I lowered my paws and opened my eyes.

The carnage that I had expected wasn't there. Some animals lay where they had fallen unconscious, Gerald was slumped half on and half off his stool. The rest had fled through exits unknown to me. Only Oxfold remained standing, a nasty looking flash burn still smoking across his chest. Slowly, it dawned on me that there shouldn't be any light. The sickly purple glow of demon-light filled the cave. The same stench of rotting as at the abbey ruins.

Walking swiftly, I pulled a stole out of my bag along with my copy of the Book of Freaky Prayers. Standing foursquare before Oxfold, with Harry behind me, we began:

'Come to our aid, O God, for thou hast redeemed us at great price from the tyranny of the devil. Thou art the only protector of your Church; grant, O God of peace to crush Satan beneath us, that he may no longer retain creation captive. Grant, O Lord that we may do as thou hast charge thine Archangel, to take hold of "the dragon, that old serpent, which is the Devil and Satan, and bound him a thousand years and cast him into the bottomless pit".'

'Come to our aid, O God...' Taunted the demon through Oxfold's mouth. 'Useless, weak! I died and yet I live still, how can you defeat the powers of a god?'

I changed tack, using the sequence for the dead - my father had written: 'The reminder of the day of judgement does not just call the demon's awareness to the one who makes exorcism possible; it concentrates the mind of the exorcist, reminds him that it is not his power that does this.'

'Save us! O save! And comfort bring. Remember what our ransom cost; let not our dear-bought souls be lost! Reject not our unworthy prayers; preserve us from all danger's snares. Hold before us that Cross which bought our lives!'

At this, I drew out a metal cross from my pocket, and held it before me, clasped in my right paw.

'Behold the Cross of the Lord, flee before it thou defiler of souls!'

Harry said the response: 'The lion of the Lord hath conquered!'

A deep rumbling came from Oxfold, the demon laughing.

'Therefore, we adjure thee, unclean spirit, spectre from hell, satanic power. We cast thee out, every unclean spirit, every satanic power, every attack of the infernal adversary...'

I was sent tumbling backwards as a lance of purple flame struck my chest. I hit the ground with a sickening thud. Groaning, I turned onto all fours, and then hauled myself back onto my paws. As I tried to stand, there was a sudden sensation of pressure. My whole body quaked and shook until I was forced back to the floor. A shadow fell across me, and, looking up, I saw Oxfold standing over me. Forcing my head to one side, I looked to Harry. He looked back, helpless concern in his eyes, anger twisting his mouth up at the corners.

'You have no hope there, little priest.' Said the demon. 'See, he is locked in his own past, reliving the horrors you escaped.'

The demon placed on of Oxfold's hooves on my back - my tail flattened and my hackles began to rise. With a massive heave, I was able to work one paw free from under my chest. Still clutching at the cross, I swung my paw and the cross up and against Oxfold's leg. Screaming he staggered back and away from the contact with the Cross and the small phial of holy oil I had been clutching in my paw. I brought my legs up underneath my body, and came up into a low crouch.

The demon lashed out again: whipping its power across my mind. There came an unimaginable pain, then nothing. Once more, I was elsewhere - elsewhen.

Another floating vision, high above a trunk road, traffic gliding along in either lane. The sibilant rushing of the cars over the tarmac came to my ears. The road was familiar, although I could not place it. Slowly, a sign resolved into my vision: A157 - Newton 30 (Michaelstown 185), it was the trunk road that ran from the Borders to Newton. A car I recognised passed beneath me: my father's pride and joy, his immaculate classic RMF Panthera 1, a vehicle of glorious sweeping lines and shining blue metal. A coldness passed over me, I was watching the last moments of my father's life.

He had his window wound down and his arm was leant on the sill, the vision making clear how the slipstream ruffled his fur. Ahead was the car that caused the crash. Later, it turned out that the driver (who had left the scene) was several times over the drink-drive limit. Events unfolded in a series of vignettes:

The oncoming car swerved to the right, crossing the broken white line that ran down the middle of the road. Not just swerving, but accelerating at the same time.

The nose of Dad's car dipped as he stood on the brakes. The engine roaring as my father desperately shuttled down through the gears to slow the car.

The squeal of rubber on tarmac. How the back end of the Panthera began to slide, ghastly black smoke pouring off the wheels.

A crunch and tearing of metal as the oncoming car clipped the right side of the Panthera's bonnet and wing. The drunk swerving back again and accelerating wildly away.

Dad's car bucking then rolling. His muzzle locked in a grim scowl as he fought with the steering wheel, vainly trying to bring the car back under control. My mother's face etched with panic and fear.

Another crunch, a third, then a fourth. The Panthera settling on its roof. My mother unconscious, hanging limply against her seatbelt. My father's seatbelt had been ripped free of its moorings at some point, his lifeless body was pressed against the inside of the windscreen. Even to me it was clear that his neck had been broken.

Silence. Silence, made only deeper by the honeyed twittering of something in a bush and the _tic-tic-tic_of cooling metal. Five, maybe ten minutes until the stillness was ripped apart by the screaming of sirens. A police car closely followed by a fire engine. A flurry of activity as the fire fighters moved in.

Then, the whump-whump-whump of helicopter blades, the reassuring yellow bulk of the Newtonshire Air Ambulance. A cloud of dust and grass being swept up by the aircraft, an impressionistic whirl of brown and green, caught, for a moment, in the spring sunshine.

My mother being loaded into the helicopter, strapped tightly to a stretcher. The HeliMed doctor returning to the wrecked car, lying on her stomach, her long tail flicking from side to side: a metronomic pulse of orange and black stripes. The doctor reaching to my father's body, checking for signs of life. She pushed up off the ground and into a kneeling position, pulling a form out of a pocket on her uniform. She shook her head to the fire brigade commander: no, sorry, he's dead.

The vision dissolved, and was replaced by my mother, as I had seen her just after she had come out of her coma. I stepped towards her and she flung up a paw, her ears flat.

'You did nothing!' She snarled. 'Nothing! You were there and you watched him die. You waste, you little bastard!'

I shrank back at the outburst of vitriol. My mother began to change, her fur darkening, her ears changing shape. This snapped me out of my panic and fear. The demon was revealing its true form: a hell-hound. Still in my mother's voice the hell-hound chanted:

'Murderer.' Again and again.

Through my tears of rage, I fought back with all my might. Hissing snatches of prayer through my gritted teeth. Forcing my addled brain to visualise the cavern, how Oxfold was standing before me. Then, all of a sudden, reality flooded back. I was still in the low crouch, still just in front of the bull.

Oxfold swung wildly with one hoof, a slow, arcing punch like that of a drunk. I leant backwards out of his reach. Standing fully, I turned and caught Harry a hefty slap across the muzzle, which brought him out of the private nightmare the demon had given him.

'...in the name of Christ,' I continued, 'And in his power, we command thee to begone! By his holy and precious blood, by his single and saving sacrifice, we adjure thee!'

Oxfold's head turned, his eyes burning dully.

'Never.' Said the demon, a leadenness in its voice forcing Oxfold's body to breathe heavily. 'You cannot remove me from this world, little priest.'

I took a deep breath, and leant on Harry.

'We adjure thee, Cwn Annwn, hound of hell in the name of God the father, who commands thee, God the Son, who commands thee, God the Holy Ghost, who commands thee: cursed being, member of the diabolical legions. Cwn Annwn thou art adjured by the living God, the true God, the one holy God. Begone, Cwn Annwn, servant of the evil one, servant of all deceit, servant of the enemy of salvation. We invoke the name of Jesus against thee, Cwn Annwn; tremble and flee before the name above all names, the name which causes hell to tremble, the name which holdeth the submission of powers, principalities and dominions, the name which angels do admire and worship. In the name of Jesus Christ: Begone!

_ _ 'O Lord, hear my prayer, let my crying come unto thee. Amen!'

Reaching once more into my bag, I brought out a flask of holy water, and, wrenching off the cap, flung the contents at Oxfold. As the holy water hit the bull, there was a rising scream, and the purple light flared to an unbearable intensity. Silhouetted by the purple glare, I watched as Oxfold's body tensed and twitched, as the power that had been holding the great bull upright writhed within him. The light flashed and flickered, and then it came barrelling towards me, hitting me across the chest again. This time, I was braced for the impact and was still standing as the light began to die and the demon left.

Oxfold's body slumped to the floor. I slumped to the floor.

Now, at this point, if this were a film, the heroic priest would either make some terrible pun or launch into a mini-sermon. I'm not a hero, so I was a little bit sick on the floor.

I sat for a moment, trying to understand what I had just done. Slowly, oh so slowly a new thought appeared in my mildly exhausted mind: Anna. Using the edge of the dais for support, I levered myself off the floor, groaning and yelping as various bruises (and, what turned out later to be a cracked rib) sent stabs of pain through my body. Weaving slightly, I looked around the cavern for her in the dying purple light - the demon was still making the last of its presence felt, as the power of the exorcism thrust it out of the world. It appeared that Anna hadn't been as quick as I had when Harry threw the grenades, she was still at the mouth of the tunnel and unmoving. As soon as my legs decided that they wanted to be legs again, I wobbled over to her. Anna was breathing, thank God, so I gently put a paw on her shoulder and pulled her into a hug. I sat there with Anna's unconscious form in my arms for some minutes, my face pressed into her neck. Time passed, seemingly an eternity, and she began to move and make little mewling noises as she came to.

I kissed her neck gently, and this elicited a response: she turned her head slowly, kissed me and then said:

'I feel like death warmed over, my head is pounding.'

'It's probably the fact that you were knocked out by one of Harry's grenades.'

She laughed, then winced, wrinkling her nose.

'Don't make me laugh,' She said, 'It hurts. Where's Harry?'

We both looked around, the cave had returned to darkness with the expulsion of the demon, but Harry had pulled out an electric torch. He was sitting in a small puddle of light, crouched over Gerald's unmoving form.

'Shit.' I hissed.

Anna pulled a torch out of her pocket and clicked it on. We picked our way over unconscious animals to the dais. As we neared, the sound of sobbing could be heard. I knelt down next to Harry.

'He won't wake up, Nerd.' He said turning a tear-wet face towards me. 'He won't wake up.'

Indeed, Gerald was deathly still, his head to one side, tongue hanging limply from his muzzle. In the dim glow of the torch, my first thought was: We've killed him. Gingerly, I placed a paw on his neck. Faintly, so very faintly I could feel a pulse through his fur. The warmth of his skin just present.

'He's alive, I think that he's just very deeply unconscious. Come on, Harry, we have to get him out of here and call an ambulance.'

Harry wiped a paw roughly over his face, then lifted the fox up onto his shoulder. He set out towards the tunnel, his way lit by the glow of Anna's torch. I had relieved Harry of his light and quickly checked Arthur Oxfold as we passed, as I had thought, he was dead. His corpse was stone cold, I suspected that the demon had killed him some hours or even days before and worn his body like some kind of suit. Shivering, I knelt next to him; even though he had set himself against all that could be called good in this world, it felt wrong to leave Oxfold without prayer.

'Into your care, O most merciful Lord, we commend Arthur. Accept him with mercy, judge him with compassion. You, O Lord, only are immortal, creator and maker of all; you hate nothing that you have made, show him your love.'

I traced a cross on his forehead and left. I jogged along the winding tunnel, back towards the surface. There was a sense of blessed relief to regain the clear and cool night air. Above us, the stars twinkled in a navy blue heaven. Out here, in the rolling lushness of the Oxfold Estate, it was as if nothing had happened; it was all too normal.

Harry still had Gerald draped over a shoulder and Anna was fussing round the both of them. Her training as a biologist had included some medical work, and she was doing a much more thorough job of checking the fox over than I had. She got Harry to lay Gerald on the grass, and then, after a certain amount of deliberation: she drew back one paw, extended her claws and clouted the poor thing across the upper arm. This worked: Gerald yelped, sat bolt upright and then snarled at Anna. He quickly came to his senses and looked embarrassed. Then, Gerald disappeared as Harry grabbed him into a hug and smothered him with kisses.

'Well,' Said Anna, 'That could have gone worse; I think he'll be fine.'

I coughed, nothing happened. I coughed a little louder, and Anna looked round, finished admiring her patient's recovery. In the end, I gave up and clapped my paws together and said:

'Sorry to break this up, but we need to not be here. Gerald, do you feel able to walk back into the village?'

He nodded, and then worked an arm around Harry, clutching tightly to the lynx, as if he would never let go again.

The walk back to the edge of the Estate took a lot less time than our stealthy approach of a few hours ago. Really, it was just a pleasant walk through the countryside. That said, we did come across one of Oxfold's guards. By this point, I had given up on tact, diplomacy and being a nice dog.

'Oi! What the hell are you doing here?' He shouted.

In response, I punched the brawny badger square on the nose. With a satisfying look of surprise on his face, he keeled over backwards. That was the first time I had ever hit another animal in anger, and certainly the first time I had knocked someone out. Some good came out of it, Harry actually smiled for the first time in forty-eight hours, then he said:

'Nerd, I didn't think you had that in you. I've never seen someone knocked unconscious with a single punch before.'

'Gngh.' I replied, clenching and unclenching my paw. I hadn't realised that hitting someone hurt so much.

Half an hour later, we returned to the vicarage and I realised I hadn't remembered to let Charlie, Kiniun and my mother know that we had finished at the temple. I flipped my phone out of my pocket and quickly dialled Charlie's number.

'Hi Charlie, it's Francis... Yeah, it's done, come home, I'll put the kettle on.'

Returning to the vicarage was quite something. As soon as I stepped over the threshold, a wave of relief swept over me. I looked at Anna, Harry and Gerald with a huge a, frankly, stupid grin on my features.

'You know what?' I said. 'Nuts to tea, I think we have all earned a gin. And I'm not taking "no" for an answer.'

The three of them, I herded into the living room, and I went through to the kitchen. Being a well-trained priest, I had a large bottle of very good gin, and plenty of tonic in the fridge. I poured four generous helpings of gin into tumblers, plonked ice and lime in after them and topped the glasses off with tonic water. Putting the drinks on a tray, I went back to my friends.

'Gin!' I announced, setting the tray on the coffee table.

'Thanks, Nerd.' Said Harry, picking up two of the glasses and passing one to Gerald.

I gave a glass to Anna, and sat down on the little sofa next to her. I put my arm around her shoulders and she leant against my chest. She started to pick idly at a rip on the front of my shirt. This made me look down, and actually take in that my shirt was only fit for dusters, during the night, it had been ripped, pretty much, to shreds.

'I think you need a fresh shirt, love.' Said Anna.

'Yes, 'scuse me.'

I gently lifted my arm off Anna's shoulder, and wandered upstairs; squeaking every so often as a bruise shot a little lance of pain through my body. I fished out an old t-shirt from the wardrobe and dumped my black shirt in the bin. It felt amazing to change into a fresh shirt. As I was there, I took off my formal black trousers and slung them over the back of a chair and pulled on an ancient pair of blue jeans. As I was hopping about halfway into my jeans, the sound of Charlie, Kiniun and my mother returning echoed up the stairs.

I came back down the stairs to see a little group of upturned faces in the hall. My mother detached herself from the group and bounded up the stairs - almost knocking me over as she hugged me.

'Ooof, Mum, careful, I'm a bit bruised.'

'I'm just glad that you're okay, taonta.'

'Mum, I'm fine, there's gin in the kitchen, we're all having one.'

That worked, she shot off into the kitchen, to ensure that everyone had plenty to drink. I love my mother dearly, but I know her too well - she can't pass up the chance to be hospitable, even in someone else's home.

Charlie and Kiniun had settled themselves in the living room and were chatting with Harry and Gerald: Anna had fallen asleep in the little sofa. I perched on the arm of the sofa and collected my gin. It was cold, it was wet - it could have been stale pee for all I cared, it was, for me, nectar. After a while, I realised that Kiniun was staring at me. I decided that I was too tired to deal with staring lions, and announced:

'I'm going to bed.'

I was asleep almost before my head hit the pillow. For the first time in ages, I went to sleep without worrying about weird dreams. The only thing out of the ordinary to happen that night, was I was woken up at about three o'clock, as Anna slid into the bed beside me, and snuggled against my back, her arm lying across my chest. She wriggled around slightly, then began to snore, very softly. I was lulled back to sleep by Anna's gentle breathing.

That Monday morning dawned dry and clear, another beautiful day. It could have been snowing for all I cared, I was just glad that the evil that had been walking around in Oxfold was gone. I stretched a little in bed, and felt Anna move beside me. She rolled onto her back with a less than dainty grunt, and I used the chance to slip out of bed and start my morning.

It turned out that I wasn't the first to be awake in the household. Kiniun was sitting in the kitchen nursing a large mug of tea. He looked up as I entered. Nodding to him, I went to the coffee machine and concentrated on my morning ritual of filling the machine with beans and water, flicking the machine's switch with a claw and then hunting out my favourite mug. The coffee maker whirred into life. As it was going through its protracted set of gurgling and blooping noises, I leant on the worktop and stared out the window at the little huddle of wheelie bins that where always in the way on the path along the side of the house. My municipal waste container musings were brought to an end by the beeping of the coffee maker.

I sat at the kitchen table opposite Kiniun, a steaming mug of coffee in paw.

'Good morning, Francis,' Said the lion, 'I'm glad that you didn't have your brains sucked out by evil powers beyond all knowing.'

Kiniun let out a short laugh. I smiled wanly, still feeling wrung out from the previous night.

'Thanks, Kiniun, I'm glad to know someone thinks I've got brains!' I paused, scratched my muzzle and took a sip of coffee. 'Anyway, why were you staring at me so oddly last night?'

'Yes, that. Although your brains are intact and you don't appear to be in the thrall of some demonic power; I would not say that you came out of last night's battle unscathed.'

Kiniun was being irksomely obtuse. I let out a long, steadying breath.

'I'm a mess of bruises, and I've got what could very well be a cracked rib,' I said, 'But I don't see what you're getting at. Where you always this vague with Dad?'

'Ho, yes! And it wound him up just like that as well!' A huge and toothy grin splitting his leonine features. 'Look at your left upper arm.'

I looked down at the sleeve of my t-shirt. For a moment, I was just confused, then I saw it: an off-white line, puckering my fur. Curious, I rolled back the sleeve and revealed a scar, perhaps some two inches long by an inch and a half wide, in the shape of a cross.

'Well,' I breathed, somewhat at a loss for words, 'Blow me, that's new.'

'A parting gift from the demon no doubt. The result of it lashing out at you during its throwing down from this world.'

A memory came flooding back into my mind: the lancing purple light, its splashing impact across my chest. The thump of its power against my body. As if in a dream, I traced the shape of the scar with a claw.

Kiniun laughed again, I glanced at him, twitching my ears in puzzlement.

'What now?' I asked.

'It's just, now you're En-gal: you've received your tribal scar in battle. That's something Ben never had.'

That was more reward than I deserved. This is the point at which I must end this story.