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The thump of the loom was hypnotic. Aidan moved in a series of well-rehearsed motions without any conscious thought. Push one pedal, schick goes the frame as it rises, changing the pattern. Flick the shuttle across, clack! Tug the yarn to just the right tension. Push the second pedal, schick! Flick the shuttle back, clack! Tug the yarn, then forward with the beater, thud! Back to the first pedal, schick!

He repeated the same series of motions over and over in a steady rhythm, until the sounds were like his own heartbeat and the working of the loom like the working of his lungs. His mind drifted, thinking idle thoughts. Master Weaver had traded with the shepherds today for woolen yarn. That meant there would probably be lamb tonight. He liked lamb better than fish, they had fish far too often. He was glad that Master Weaver was wealthy enough to have something else now and then.

As if summoned by the thought Master Weaver came in. Aidan paused in his weaving, and the other feline came over and rubbed his cheek against Aidan's in an affectionate greeting. "Master Weaver," said Aidan warmly.

"Aidan." Master Weaver smiled. He was possibly the only person on the island who never called Aidan by his by-now accepted second name, Rihalon. After three years on the island Aidan had stopped blushing every time he heard it, but he still wasn't entirely happy with it, and Master Weaver knew that. The name made his status into a big deal. He was still a virgin, even after three years among the felitan, who made love as casually as humans exchanged hugs. Aidan couldn't help but think of a book he'd read that talked about bonobos, the apes that looked like chimpanzees but were not, because chimpanzees solved conflict with violence, and bonobos solved it with sex. The felitan were like that. Male or female, old or young, they didn't care. All but the smallest children engaged freely in sexual play at the slightest of excuses. The word rihalon, in fact, carried with it a connotation of the strange, rare, and nearly unheard of.

Most of the villagers were completely baffled by the fact that he had turned them down repeatedly, though they always respected his refusals. Their culture enshrined consent and willingness. But so many of them kept asking! He knew that at this point half of them were asking just because he would be a trophy. There would be some status to being the one who'd finally made the virgin take another name. Not that Aidan wouldn't have changed his name if he could, but that wasn't how it worked. Names were bestowed by common consent, and so until he did actually bed somebody, Rihalon was his.

Master Weaver gave Aidan's cheek another nuzzle, then stepped away and went to his own loom while Aidan resumed work. Soon a second, faster, and more intricate rhythm joined the sound of Aidan's steady weaving. He was an apprentice, and still only did the simplest of patterns. Master Weaver, however, did some incredibly complicated things, producing work that was unrivaled by any of the felitan. His cloth was traded all over the southern islands. Yet the beautiful works of art he made took so long to produce that the high price he charged for them was still only enough to pay for what was, to Aidan at least, a modest living. Though by the standards of the islanders he was fairly wealthy. But he had few possessions, and fewer still frivolous luxuries. None of the people here had much in the way of toys or other fripperies.

That situation had had the unexpected effect of curing Aidan of his kleptomania. With so little to steal, and all of it important articles belonging to friends or friends of friends, he simply could not bring himself to take anything. And anyway, his hands were too often busy with weaving to have time to itch after other people's things. That too was new, but not unwelcome. He liked the work nearly as much as he liked his master.

The pair worked in companionable silence, other than the sounds of the looms. Talking while weaving was a good way to lose track of the pattern. Eventually, however, the sun began to sink towards the horizon. Master Weaver was the one to stop first, but Aidan immediately followed suit. There were no electric lights here, and lamps were expensive, oil was hard to come by. So when the sun set, the weaving stopped. Aidan rose and stretched the kinks from his shoulders. Master Weaver came over and rubbed them a little, which made Aidan purr.

He could remember being startled the first time he'd had that particular reaction. It was totally involuntary, he couldn't help it, nor do it on purpose. He also remembered how he'd jumped the first time Master Weaver had touched him. He was used to it by now. Felitan were if anything more casual about touching than about sex. Even near strangers might exchange a cheek rub, and those who were close friends, as he and Master Weaver were, often touched and caressed more than human lovers might, at least outside of their bedrooms.

Though Aidan didn't think much about humans any more. He'd put his past out of his mind. He stuck to his amnesia story and never mentioned where he had come from. Even in the privacy of his own mind he'd mostly stopped thinking about the felitan as strange creatures. They were people, and looked and acted just as people should. Their way of life was his now, and his refusal to make love was the one thing that still separated him from them.

That too would probably not last much longer. It was true that as a human boy he had not been as sex-obsessed as many of his peers, and it wasn't only his reluctance to be a trophy that had fueled his refusal of the many offers he got here. He hadn't felt ready. He hadn't felt comfortable, nor had he felt particularly interested, truth be told. He never even masturbated.

But of late he'd started to entertain a few thoughts about the subject. Master Weaver's hands kneading his shoulders reminded him again of the one small resolution he'd made. When the time came, he knew who he would choose for his partner. It would not be any of those who had persistently chased him. Not even New Flower, as pretty and as good a friend as she was. It would be the one person who hadn't acted as though he was a trophy. It would be the one person who'd always treated him with respect, from the very first. It would be Master Weaver.

"Time to get some food cooking," said Master Weaver.

Aidan smiled "Yes. I'm hungry enough to eat a whole sheep!"

Master Weaver laughed. "You still eat like a growing cub. But you're as tall as I already, lad. If you keep it up you'll be a giant. Or you'll be as wide as you are tall, which would make it hard to sit at the weaving stool, so you'd best not eat the whole sheep!"

Aidan chuckled. "Aye. But I still..." he paused as he heard a distant cry of alarm. Somebody down at the harbor was shouting. He and Master Weaver exchanged glances, and both headed for the door. Outside the peaceful evening had erupted into pandemonium. People were running frantically, spilling into the crooked dirt streets, headed for the forest beyond.

"Slavers!" was the cry. "Slaver sail!" Aidan squinted at the horizon and saw it, red with sunset light. At this hour the fishing boats had been already in, so there had been no early warning. And here, so close, there was no way it was a trader using the westerly winds to go from one human land to another. There was only one reason for a human ship to come into the harbor. Aidan headed for the forest, knowing he would not wait in hiding and come out to find that it had been a false alarm and all was well. Not this time.

Suddenly a new cry went up from the forest, where most of the villagers were fleeing. Aidan froze, his ears swiveling to listen. There were screams and shouts, but he could not make out any words. Words, however, were not needed, he knew what must have happened. The flat crack of a gunshot only made him more certain. There were no such weapons on the island, but he knew humans had guns. The slavers had circled around and approached from the far side first, landing a party there, before returning to approach the harbor where the village sat. There would be no safety in the forest.

Most of those around him didn't seem to have realized this. Aidan wondered, with a horrible, wrenching feeling of guilt, if he'd been able to guess what the humans must have done because he himself had once been human.

"Master Weaver! They're in the woods already. We have to hide somewhere else."

"Aye. The loft."

Aidan nodded and followed his master back inside. As they climbed the ladder Aidan wished that there were time or tools to tear it down. The loft would not be much of a hiding place with the ladder pointing the way up to all who saw it.

There was just enough room for him to crawl under his bed. He did so, while Master Weaver wedged himself under the other bed.

Then they waited.

They could hear the screams and cries outside. Soon they were coming not just from the forest, but from the town all around them. It was a bedlam sound, the sound of hell itself, and Aidan wished that his ears weren't so sensitive. He would rather be deaf than listen to the sounds outside.

Far too soon there was a sound inside. A heavy tread, a sound Aidan hadn't heard in years; the sound of booted feet. Felitan went barefoot. But the intruder here was shod. The footsteps explored the room, while Aidan held his breath and prayed that the slaver would miss the ladder.

He did not. There was a creaking groan as the human began to climb upwards. Aidan could see just well enough to glimpse a bearded face. He hoped that the human hadn't seen him, but it was a futile hope. Even if he hadn't, there were only two places to hide.

Soon booted feet stood beside the bed. They looked huge. Then the man dropped to his knees. His grinning face stared at Aidan. "Found you," he said. His hand reached beneath the bed.

Aidan reacted without thinking and lashed out, raking both sets of claws down the human's arm. The man yelped in pain and withdrew. But a moment later the bed suddenly flipped up, exposing Aidan completely. The man grabbed him, a lightning-fast strike, and in one motion pulled him to his feet and twisted his arm up behind him. A moment later he'd slapped something that tingled like magic on Aidan's wrists. The spell pulled them together behind his back, binding him with swift efficiency. "Damn. Didn't expect so much fight out of one of you little things," he said, glaring down at Aidan. Even with Aidan standing it was very much down. The human was huge, Aidan didn't even come up to his shoulder.

Aidan snarled wordlessly at him and fought the bonds that held his hands. But it was hopeless, they did not yield at all. When the human reached under the other bed and dragged Master Weaver out, that small hope too died. Master Weaver didn't even fight, he just slumped limply, his ears down flat, his expression one of utter despair. They were both caught, and there would be no escaping.

They were taken down from the loft and herded, along with far too many of the other villagers, towards where the slaver ship now lay at anchor in the harbor. Aidan fought the whole way. He knew it was pointless, but he couldn't help himself. He was filled with panic and rage in equal parts, and the only tiny spark of pleasure he felt for a very long time was at the sight of the long, bloody scratches he'd left on the arm of the bearded slaver.

Most of the other felitan were as despairingly listless as Master Weaver, and they were simply set on their feet and herded along like so many sheep. A few, like Aidan himself, ended up bodily carried aboard the ship. All, in the end, were dumped into a single cavernous hold within the ship. Aidan finally gave up struggling and lay there, panting, despair starting to overcome anger and fear.

After a while he felt a hand stroking his fur. He opened his eyes and looked up to see Master Weaver there. He was unbound, since he had not fought. "Oh Aidan, my rihalon, I am so sorry," he whispered. Even as he spoke the door to the dark chamber opened, letting in a band of humans, who began to move among their captives. "I wish I had pressed you. I wish I had done as my heart insisted and not my head," said Master Weaver. "I am so sorry."

Aidan tried to make sense of what his master was saying, but couldn't. "I don't understand," he said. He had the sudden thought that all these years he had avoided any discussion of humans, not wanting to somehow slip and let it be known that he had been one. And not wanting too to hear the horrible tales that the felitan told of them. He did not want to think of himself as any kin to such monsters. Easier to avoid the topic altogether. But what knowledge had he missed out on by doing so?

"It is said that they do horrible things to virgins when they find them," whispered Master Weaver. "So I am sorry. I am so sorry."

"Here he is!" The deep bellow sounded nearly beside Aidan, as Master Weaver was pushed aside and rough hands picked Aidan up and turned him onto his back. "Might as well do this one first, since we already know he needs a red ring," said the human. The words flowed over Aidan without his really registering them. Too much was happening all at once, he couldn't think. Even as his mind tried to make sense of this new information he was also presented with the realization that the humans were not speaking Felitan. Nor were they speaking English. They were speaking some third language, though he understood it the way he understood Felitan.

He felt another tingle of magic wash over him. One of the humans made a grunting sound of surprise.

"What's his other ring?" asked another.

"Black," said the one who'd grunted, and the word sounded surprised too.

"What, really? A felitan black ring virgin? Didn't know there could be such a thing!"

"I'm sure of it. Which means we'd better get him out of the hold, else by the time we arrive he'll be no such thing."

"Aye." Hands picked up Aidan and carried him away. Behind him he could still see Master Weaver, kneeling, his muzzle moving in another "I'm sorry." Then he was carried out of the room and up onto the deck of the ship. From there he was taken to a cramped cabin and dropped on the floor. One human, large even for the giants that humans here seemed to be, held him down. Before he could register what was going on another man drove a needle through his ears, first one, then the other. Aidan cried out in shocked pain, though the sting of it faded to near nothing quickly. A moment later a pair of rings had been set in the holes.

"There, kitten. Don't touch those, else we'll whip you. They mark your status, black on the left for a virgin who's never been touched nor touched himself, red on the right for a slave who's dared to injure a free man. Both exceptionally rare things, I must add. Especially among you felitan, you're normally peaceable sorts. I'm not generally pleased to get a red ring, but the black more than makes up for it." The dark-haired man bending over Aidan was speaking Felitan with a smirking tone of satisfaction. Aidan glared up at him and would have ripped the rings out if his hands had been free. The man chuckled. "You've got some spirit, cat. It's almost human of you."

Aidan's glare turned to an expression of shocked horror. Gods. Human of me! After what he'd just seen and been through he felt suddenly unclean. He wished that his lie were the truth, and that he was merely an ordinary felitan who'd lost his memory. He did not want to be human. The man chuckled again, but then turned and left, shutting Aidan in the little cabin.

He curled up on his side and wept, hot tears of bitter despair filling his eyes. He wasn't sure if he was crying more for the shame of having reacted with the human violence marked by the red ring, or for the fear of what Master Weaver had hinted at, marked by the black. Black ring or red, both symbolized horror and despair, and he wept until he fell into a troubled and nightmare-ridden sleep.