Shireen and her Friends: Pages from the Life of a Persian Cat

Chapter Nineteen
In a Cat-Dealer’s Den

“The cattery then,” continued Stamboul, “in which I was born, was really a very pleasant home, chiefly I think from the fact that dear old Mrs Rayne studied our ways and habits. She didn’t stint us in food either.”

“Gave you plenty of fish, I suppose?” said Cracker.

“Well,” said Stamboul, smiling, “I do not deny that cats do like a bit of fish; but, bless you, my dear Cracker, it is a mistake to think they don’t like flesh far better.”

“Mrs Rayne had no less than seven female or queen cats, and two beautiful Toms. One of these lived in the house constantly and was Mrs Rayne’s especial favourite. He was my dear father, but, alas! like many a beautiful cat, he got caught in a trap one day, and came home with a terribly lacerated leg. It got better for a time, but in his struggle no doubt, my father had hurt himself internally, for he became sickly after this, grew thin, and lost all appetite. Then his coat fell off in patches, and one day he was missing.

“Yes, he was found again, but dead. He had only gone down the garden, feeling, I suppose, that his end was near, and crept in under the dark shade of a bush to die.

“But the secret of Mrs Rayne’s success in rearing nice cats with wondrous coats, just like mine and yours, Shireen, was this – she fed her pussies with regularity and gave them plenty of variety of course. A little porridge and milk was our regular breakfast, but there was some variety as regards the dinner every day. Nor did she forget that cats like a little nicely-mashed greens now and then, and even a bit of tomato and any other raw fruit and vegetable, if it be but a potato paring.”

“Many cats many tastes, I suppose,” said Warlock.

“That’s it, Warlock, you speak like a book; but then you have enjoyed the not slight privilege of having had a cat as a companion, the cat being the superior animal.”

Cracker looked at Warlock and Warlock looked at Cracker, and I rather think their thoughts were very similar, only they said nothing. It wouldn’t have been polite.

“Well, my friends,” said Stamboul, “such was the home in which I was born and reared up to the age of two months. Then the show came round.

“Mrs Rayne said that we – the four kittens – were all very, very beautiful and fascinating, and that if her purse were only half as big as her heart she would not part with one of us. ‘However,’ she added, ‘those who buy you must pay your price, and having done so, they will value you all the more.’

“So mother and I were placed in a nice roomy box, not a wretched little reticule of a thing such as I have more than once travelled in to cat shows. The guard was warned to take precious care of us, and so he did.

“Mrs Rayne was at the station to meet us herself, and conveyed us in a cab all the way to the show.

“We were in good time, so that our dear mistress had an opportunity of arranging our pen for us before putting us in, and also to speak a bit of her mind to the manager and promoter.

“‘The pens are too small, Mr Silk,’ she said.

“‘Very sorry indeed, madam,’ said Mr Silk.

“‘Yes, but sorrow will hardly give the poor pussies anymore room.’

“‘Then there is no sanitary box of earth placed behind each pen, and you, Mr Silk, ought to know that a well-trained cat is the most cleanly animal on earth. Why don’t you take a lesson from Mr Cruft?’

“‘I’ll have that seen to another year.’

“‘Thank you, Mr Silk, and now will you have the goodness to send me a man to sweep out that abominable sawdust from my cat’s pen?’

“‘The sawdust, madam! Why surely – ’

“‘I said the sawdust. Nothing worse could be imagined. It gets in the cat’s fur. It gets in their milk, and if they have a morsel of meat, that also is rolled in it, and they are probably half poisoned.’”

(This, however, was properly arranged at Mr Cruft’s great Aquarium Cat Show of 1894.)

“Having had the sawdust removed, Mrs Rayne put down our pretty cushions, gave us a little warm milk sweetened with sugar, patted our mother, and left.

“The judging was over by the time she returned, and she was very pleased to note, that she had won first prize for the cat and first for the kittens.

“Mother was half asleep, but we – the kittens – were lively enough and full of tricks and fun. There was quite a crowd of well-dressed people around our pen watching our gambols, and so Mrs Rayne was not surprised to be told soon afterwards by the secretary, that two of her kittens were claimed at catalogue prices.

“Mrs Rayne sighed. She would just as soon have taken us all home again, she said.

“Well, my friends, I sigh when I think of my pleasant home with Mrs Rayne, and I think I see the dear old lady now, with her snow-white hair and sunny smile. I never saw my country home again, and I never saw my mistress more. But a cat that I met at a show the other day, and got conversing with in the evening when all the people had gone, told me that she had come from Mrs Rayne’s cattery, which was now no more, they having carried the old lady to her grave a year ago. Heigho! there is a deal of sorrow in this world to cats as well as men.

“Well, at the first show we were all sold to different owners. I never knew where my brothers and sisters went, but I live in hopes of some day meeting them at a show.

“That first show was not a well-conducted one, and though it was held at the Crystal Palace, the cages were placed in a draughty place, and the pens they told me at another show, to which I was sent afterwards, had been used for other animals. I don’t know how this may be; but I do know that something was wrong, for nearly a score of cats at that show caught infectious ailments, which speedily carried them off after they got home.

“Alas! my friends, I was now to have a new experience and one of a very painful nature. I had been bought, not by anyone to keep as a pet, but by a woman – I cannot say lady – who kept cats for profit and profit alone. She had no love for them, all she expected was to pocket gain by them.

“My heart sunk when I was taken into this filthy den, for it was nothing else. It was a room in a small suburban cottage, and contained no less than twenty cats and kittens of all breeds and ages. Many of these were confined in cages of the most crampy and filthy kind.

“The poor inmates indeed seemed in a woeful plight.

“I got talking to one of them in an adjoining berth to my own after it was dark.

“‘I suppose,’ I said innocently, ‘I shall soon be taken to a real home?’

“‘A real home!’ said the silver tabby I had addressed. ‘Well, you may, but I very much doubt it. Why, some of us have been in this dismal prison for three long years, and may be for years and years again, unless we have the luck to die or to get sold, for escape seems impossible. We are kept for breeding.’

“‘You are well fed, I suppose?’

“‘Well fed? Ah! you’ll soon know how we are fed. Why, we never get a change of any kind; it is milk and bread, milk and bread and half-putrid lumps of horse-flesh from one month’s end to another, and never a blade of grass to cool our blood and to refresh us. And we only have one little run in the backyard yonder once a day, when mistress happens not to be busy elsewhere.’

“‘Yet, nevertheless,’ continued my informant, ‘mistress is supposed to be a celebrated breeder, and sometimes a lady arrives at the door of her cottage and is shown into a nicely-furnished room. She has come most likely to buy a cat or kitten. We are all kept groomed and ready always, and not having any exercise, we are moderately plump and fat. Well, soon after the carriage stops, mistress herself, better dressed than usual, hurries in and picks up one of us, and takes a brush and comb and goes rapidly over the coat. Then she enters the best room, petting and hugging the poor pussy. Ah! well does the cat know that it is all false affection; but she sings and looks pleasant, the prospect of leaving this vile den making her happy and hopeful for a time.’

“‘And then,’ I said, ‘when a pussy is sold she is taken away in the carriage to some pretty and refined home, where she will be well cared for, and have good food and toys, and maybe beautiful children to play with, and – ’

“‘Like a dream her life will pass away!’”

“‘Ah!’ sighed the silver tabby, ‘would it were so. But it is far often the reverse.’

“‘Indeed!’

“‘Yes, and I am going to tell you why. You see cats like us, that have been dragged up in a den like this, and without human companionship, never learn manners. They are never cleanly in their habits, and just as often thieves as not. So the new purchaser soon finds out her mistake, and pussy, instead of becoming a parlour pet, is thrust out of doors, ill-used by the servants, and in time becomes a nomad and helps to swell the great army of vagrant cats, that commit depredations of every conceivable sort and render night hideous by their howlings.’ The sentences I place in italics should be remembered by all who think of buying a beautiful cat for a companion.

“My young heart sunk when I heard this intelligence, and, alas! I soon found it was all too true. Yes, my dear Shireen, and more than true, for not only were all the cats in this great prison-house treated as if they had been wild beasts, but sometimes even with systematic cruelty. I myself was soon the subject of this. You see, that having been used to good food in variety, with plenty of fresh air and exercise, I fell ill. I could not drink the thin skimmed-milk, and I loathed the high half-putrid horse-flesh. Then my skin became irritable. So one day my mistress hauled me out of my cage and slapped me across the head till my eyes grew almost blind, and I was dizzy.

“‘I shall lose by you, confound you,’ she cried.

“Then I was taken to a dirty back kitchen and scrubbed, yes, literally scrubbed with hot water and soap, then roughly dried and put in a cage near the fire. When half dry I was smeared all over with some vilely-smelling ointment till I loathed the very smell of myself. After this I was put in the hospital cage in another room. Here there was a cat in a worse plight than myself by far.

“She didn’t care to talk at all.

“‘I’m too sick and ill to speak,’ she said. ‘Besides, I’m going to be drowned to-night. I do so wish the night was come.’

“I shuddered with horror and fear.

“The night did come, and with it the executioner. He seized my poor companion and thrust her roughly into a sack, in which I could see there were some old bricks. Then he tied her up and left the room.

“I got worse instead of better, and there came a day when, from something in my mistress’s eye, I knew that I too was doomed.

“I received no food or drink of any kind that day; my inhuman mistress no doubt considering it would be mere waste to give meat to a cat she was going to drown.

“I determined, however, that I would make a struggle for life.

“The day passed wearily by, and how very, very long it did seem to be sure.

“At last – ah! how my heart did beat – the door of the room opened and the same horrid ragged man came in. He carried a lantern and a sack with bricks, just as before.

“I pretended to be asleep.

“He cautiously opened the door.

“In a moment I sprang up, and he speedily withdrew a badly-bitten hand. Before he could shut me up again I had dashed out and darted from the room.

“I knew not where to run; but here was a window. I was a powerful kitten for my age.

“So the window flew into flinders and I was free.

“Yes, I was free. A homeless, wretched nomad. Now some cats are possessed of the homing instinct, as it is called, in great perfection. But, alas! I felt none of it, else you may be sure, my friends, I should have found my way back again speedily enough to Mrs Rayne’s.

“But I was free. Oh, how glad even that thought made me.

“The fresh air blew in my face, and I felt better and stronger already. I glanced up and down the street. Far up one end of it were many lights, the other was all dark and so I chose that.

“I ran on and on and on, and soon found myself in the country, and tired at last, I crept into a shed and went to sleep among some clean hay, the fragrant smell of which seemed to curl round my heart and revive me.

“I was hungry when daylight came, and was lucky enough to find a mouse, on which I breakfasted, and then went to sleep again.

“It was dark when I awoke, and so I resumed my journey, still going in the same direction, guided by some instinct to place as great a distance as possible ’twixt myself and the cat-dealer’s den I had escaped from.

“Before daylight I came to a great forest, and being tired, I crept in under a bush of furze, and, on a warm dry bed, slept long and sweetly.

“I idled about the forest all night – and a lovely moonlit night it was – finding plenty of food, but seeing no men and no dogs.

“I determined, therefore, to make this forest my home for a time, at all events; but I must not sleep on the ground, for dogs would be sure to find me out and worry me. Luckily I found a comfortable shelter half way up the trunk of a grand old oak, and so I concluded to live here. And a most perfect shelter I found it to be.

“For many, many months, I could not tell you, my friends, how many, I lived in this tree, becoming entirely nocturnal in my habits, for when I ventured out during the day I sometimes saw rough-looking men with dogs, and was glad to escape into the branches of some oak or beech, where I sat trembling with fear until they had gone.

“I found plenty of food in the forest, and my drink was the pure soft water from the purling brooklets. The only thing I ever did long for was a drop of milk.

“The summer and autumn passed away, and winter came wild and dreary. The birds no longer sang in the forests, and many had flown south and away to summer lands beyond the seas. I missed many of my forest friends too; they had gone away, or had hidden themselves in cosy corners and gone to sleep for the winter. This kind of long sleep was denied to me however, and now I often felt cold and wretched, and would wander for hours through the snow and under the stars or moon, that used to glimmer down through the leafless branches, and fall in patches of light on the ground beneath.

“One evening, while wandering thus, I came upon a little country cottage, and, listening near to the stackyard, I heard the voice of a young girl raised in song coming from one of the outhouses.

“I crept nearer and nearer, and presently came to the door of the byre, where the cows were. The girl’s song was a very simple and a very sweet one; but far more sweet to me was the sound of the purling milk as it fell in rich streams into the pail.

“The temptation to enter was irresistible. But I did not venture too far in.

“‘Oh, what a pretty pussy!’ said the girl.

“Her voice re-assured me, and I began to sing. She tried to get me to come indoors with her, but I was too wild and suspicious for that. Yet I accompanied her as far as the cottage door, and I even peeped in.

“A cheerful fire of wood was burning on the hearth. How pleasant it looked! And near it sat an old man smoking, and two pretty children – a girl and a boy – were playing by the fireside.

“They brought me bread and milk, and I ate it coyly and hungrily. But when they would have taken me up I ran out again, and once more made for the forest and for my cold bed in the tree.

“Next night, however, I returned to the cottage, and was treated with equal kindness; and so for night after night, till the children used to quite expect me. I allowed them to smooth and pat me now, and sometimes I went indoors and sat a little by the fire.

“But one dark and stormy evening some dogs and men discovered my tree. They had traced me by my footprints through the snow.

“It was, however, too late for them to do anything to me that night, but I knew they would come and rout me out when morning broke, so I made up my mind now that the forest was no longer safe for me in winter. That night I left the tree, and wandering away to the cottage, I took shelter in the outhouse above the room where the cows dwelt.

“Next morning I astonished and delighted the children by appearing among them to breakfast. I had captured a huge rat, and, bringing it in with me, I laid it on the hearth to show my prowess. By so doing I quite ingratiated myself with the old man.

“And so it ended by my taking up my abode with these good people.

“When summer came again I used to go roving in the forest, for a very delightful life I found it. Nevertheless, I invariably came home in the evening, and did my best to keep the outhouse clear of rats and the rooms indoors free from the plague of mice.

“I was a great favourite with this humble family, and many people came from afar to see the wonderful wild cat as they called me, who had been tamed by the power of kindness.

“I loved the old man, and used to sit on his knee of an evening, as he sat and smoked his short clay pipe by the fire; and I loved the children too, especially little Alfred, the boy who would never go to bed at night until I was ready to go with him.

“Poor wee fellow, he fell ill at last, and this was the beginning of the end of life in the grand old forest.

“Alfred died, and they took him away to his long home, and I never saw him more. But I used often and often in the bright summer days to go and sit on his little grave and think of him. People said I expected he would one day come again. Nothing of the sort. Cats know what death is, and I felt sure that Alfred would never, never come again.

“I knew these people were very, very poor, because one day, when a lady came to see the wonderful wild cat and took quite a fancy to me and offered my master a long price, he reluctantly agreed to part with me.

“He sat silent for a long time.

“But I could see the tears silently coursing down his cheeks.

“Then he turned to the lady.

“‘Take him, then,’ he said, ‘take him and be good to him. He were my wee lad’s cat like that be dead and gone, but a ten-pun’ note’s an’ awfu’ temptation to poor folks like we, and will get the children many a little comfort for the comin’ winter. Pay the lassie,’ he added, ‘I’ll no touch it.’

“He gave one glance at the fireside, and then went out and stayed away for hours.

“He could not bear to see me leave.”

Chapter Twenty
Hand Met Hand in a Hearty Shake

I do not think that Shireen would have been quite happy, had she not been able to go now and then and see her village friends, especially perhaps Emily and the blacksmith.

A rough-looking and a rough-voiced sort of a man was Mr Burn-the-wind, as the villagers called him; but it will be readily enough admitted, I think, that there is always some good in people whom cats, and dogs, and children, are fond of. You see, it is like this: we grown-up people are very apt to judge others by their speech, and by what people say about them; while the children, and the creatures we are so fond of calling the lower animals, read one’s character often at a glance, or if not, by one’s actions at all events. Well, Mr Burn-the-wind was actually beloved by dogs and cats, and seldom during the day could you have come into his shop without finding a crowd of merry children there, with whom the good fellow laughed and romped, or chased round and round the anvil.

Lizzie and Tom looked in pretty often to see the blacksmith, although they were what the people called gentlefolks’ children, and although Burn-the-wind did not take the liberty of romping with them, he told them many a droll story, and sometimes sang them a song.

Then Shireen used to be found there, and if Tom and Lizzie came in and waited awhile, she went trotting home with them, and sometimes they met Cracker, and so they all came back together.

Tom admired Burn-the-wind very much, and sometimes insisted upon being taken up on his sturdy shoulders, that he might catch hold of the bellows handle and blow the fire. And how he used to laugh, to be sure, when the coals got red and hot sparks flew!

“What are you going to be when you grow up?” said Burn-the-wind one day to Tom.

“I haven’t twite (quite) made up my mind yet,” replied Tom manfully, “but I will either be a great general, and cut off lots of heads, or a blacksmith, and soo (shoe) horses.”

Tom thought it grand fun to see a horse being shod, and wondered at the animal’s patience in holding up foot after foot, while Shireen sat by and sang.

The snow was on the ground one afternoon when Lizzie and Tom, rosy and healthy-looking after a long walk, dropped in on their way home.

Warlock and Tabby were with them, and Vee-Vee also.

“Is Shireen here, Mister Blacksmith?” said Tom.

“Ay, that she is, my lad. Been singing to me, and I was singing to her. Oh, we’re fine friends, I assure you.”

So all waited with Burn-the-wind for some time and then all went home together, after bidding the village smith a kindly good-night.

Uncle Ben was just coming out of his gate as they passed, with Cockie on his shoulder, and the bird screamed with delight when she saw the party.

“Oh, Uncle Ben,” cried Lizzie, “you’re coming to the Castle, aren’t you?”

“Yes, my dear, that’s where old Ben is bent upon going for a game of chess and a long clay pipe.”

The little party were all assembled to-night around the low fire, which was burning and spluttering away most cheerfully. Even Chammy was squatting on a branch of his tree by the ingle-nook, holding up first one hand and then another to the welcome blaze.

“Shall I begin just where I left off, Cracker?” said Shireen.

“Oh, do!” cried Cracker. “I want to hear about more fur flying, you bet.”

Well, then, said Shireen, we left a sufficiently large army to guard the entrenched camp at Bushire, and went on with quite a small, and very daring fleet, to attack the large army of the Shah, in the town of Mohammerah.

I felt somewhat sad after we had reached the fortified town we were going to attack, to find that I was not to be taken on shore, and so you see, Cracker, I can give no personal narrative of the battle, because I was not in the thick of it, and didn’t actually see the fur flying.

But all I saw on the morning of the twentieth of March impressed me very much. Where do you think I went for safety, Warlock?

“Into your master’s bed, perhaps.”

No, Warlock, but right up into the maintop crosstrees, where I could be as far as possible away from our own ship’s guns. I had no fear of the enemy’s guns.

I had gone up there very early and at daybreak heard much heavy firing, for a raft had been placed quite close to the walls of a fort, with mortars on it. Then soon after all our ships began to batter the walls of the fortified town, and they got as near as possible in order to do this. But mind you, Cracker, the Persians weren’t slow at returning the fire, and some of their round shot crashed into our ship, and made her tremble from stem to stern.

“That means from head to tail, doesn’t it, Shireen?”

Yes, Cracker. One great shot came tearing quite close past me, but I took no heed. Indeed, despite the roar of battle that was going on on all sides of me, I couldn’t help thinking about my mistress. Everything beautiful always made me think of Beebee. And it was a lovely sight I saw.

“The battle?” said Cracker.

Well no, not so much that perhaps, but the morning was bright and clear, every puff of white smoke, with its tongue of fire, made me jump a little, but the smoke itself was borne quickly to leeward on the wings of a cool breeze. Then on shore were the low wicked-looking forts, and the greenery of trees, and the Persian horsemen in splendid uniform dashing hither and thither, and the ships themselves, with the loosely hanging canvas and their flags, on the river, glittering in the rays of the spring sunshine. All was beautiful.

Then further on in the day began the disembarkation, and I saw my dear master among his hilted warriors going on shore, and my heart sank with fear, as I thought he might be shot.

I even began to descend the rigging to go with him, but then I thought I could be of no use, and so remained.

All the while the troops were leaving, the battle of great guns raged on between ships and shore, and I was dreadfully alarmed once at a fearful explosion that took place on shore, for the enemy’s magazine blew up, and masses of masonry and timber, and mangled human beings were thrown straight into the air amidst sheets of flame and rolling clouds of smoke.

Well, Cracker, I did not see my dear master again for three or four days, and very anxious I was; but I had heard that the British arms had been everywhere successful, and that the town and all the forts were in our possession. The army of the Shah had fled far away.

When my master came back at last, and honest Jock McNab with him, how loudly I sang as I ran to meet them! It was one of the happiest days in my life.

But a strange adventure now gave hope and happiness to my dear master once more.

One beautiful afternoon there he was, walking on the ramparts of one of the half-ruined ports of Mohammerah, in company with Jock McNab, his faithful Scottish servant. To-day, all being safe, I myself was permitted to come on shore with them, and I was seated on Jock’s shoulder. After gazing for a short time down into the silver, silent river – his thoughts, I felt, were very faraway – the surgeon of the ship came round.

“Ah! Edgar,” he said, “have you seen the ruins of the exploded magazine yet?”

“No, my friend. Is it worth beholding?”

“Well, yes, if you are not too nervous. But a sight so ghastly and awful I have never yet clapped eyes upon.”

“I’ll go,” said master. “Mac, just wait here for me a few minutes.”

Jock saluted, and seating himself on a block of masonry, look me off my perch and began to play with me.

While so engaged, a footstep fell upon our ears, and we both looked up.

Before us stood a tall and handsome dark-bearded man, in a semi-clerical garb, which, however, was sadly soiled with mud and blood, and very much torn in several places. The man was in the prime of life, but the paleness of his face contrasted strangely with the depth of colour in his beard. No wonder he looked wan and weary, for his left arm was in a sling, and there was a wound across one temple, which seemed to have been received but recently.

“Man!” said Jock, rising from his seat, “you’ve got a sad cloot (knock) there. I hope you felled the chiel that dang you.”

“He isn’t alive to-day,” said the stranger, smiling sadly.

“I have just come from Akwaz,” he continued. “Mine has been a remarkable escape. I am safe now, however, and would seek the assistance of your General Outram. I am told he is both brave and gallant.”

“Well, sir,” said Jock, “I can answer for it, he is baith. Just let him in front of the foe, and a braver man never swung a claymore, so early in the morning; but place him alongside laddies and bairnies, and he is the kindest, mildest lad that ever lived.”

“I am glad to hear so good a character of your great General, but an English lady is in great distress at Bagdad. I thought it possible he might help me. With one hundred men, if they could but be spared, I would take in hand to secure her release.”

“Pussy, pussy,” cried Jock, in some alarm, for I had been wistfully gazing at the new arrival since he began to speak, and now sprang lightly from the soldier’s shoulder on to his, and began to sing, and rub my head against his ear.

“Can it be possible?” cried the stranger, taking me down and looking at my mouth. “Ruby and all,” he added, as if speaking to himself.

You see, Warlock, that I had known the stranger at a glance. He was the good, kind priest who had nursed my master back to health, when wounded by the bandits in the wild forest.

“Soldier,” he said excitedly, “this is Shireen.”

“She’s nobody else,” said Jock. “But wha in a’ the warl’ are ye, that seems so weel acquaint wi’ the dear auld cat?”

But now the stranger had seen my master and the surgeon returning, and hurried off to meet them, I still retaining my place in the priest’s arms.

The recognition had been mutual and simultaneous.

“This is indeed a happy meeting,” both exclaimed.

Then hand met hand in a hearty shake.

“But you are wounded, my friend. Come, let our good surgeon attend to you at once.”

The priest was led to the doctor’s tent, and master would not let him speak until he had quaffed some refreshment, and had the ugly wound in the forehead attended to.

“And now I must speak to you at once, and alone,” said master’s friend.

“I am rejoiced to meet you, and I hope it will all end well. But Beebee and Miss Morgan – ”

“Yes, yes. Speak! Tell me the worst.”

“They have both been removed, under an escort, from her father’s palace, and are prisoners near Bagdad.”

“In a prison! Good heavens!”

“No, friend, no. Not in a prison. Their home is a beautiful villa on the outskirts of Bagdad. Their gaolers are women and eunuchs.”

“And the father?”

“It is the father who has done this, and at the conclusion of the war, or it may be before it, Beebee will be removed to the Shah’s palace, and Miss Morgan will be made a slave, if no worse fate befall her. I have escaped and come to tell the tale. It seems to me providential that I have found you.”

“It would appear so; but I am indeed in great distress of mind. We cannot, I know, spare a man, for an expedition is just on the eve of starting up the river Karoon to Akwaz. The enemy are falling back in force on that town, and the General wishes to be beforehand with him.”

The priest-surgeon put his hand on my master’s shoulder.

“Do not be afraid,” he said, pointing with a finger skywards. “There is One who rules all things for good. Trust Him. Be patient. All will yet be well.”

“Pray Heaven your words may soon come true!”