________  ________  ________
   2025-03-23                                   /        \/        \/    /   \
                                               /       __/         /_       _/
   the meadow  is  cool in  the low  evening  /        _/         /         /
sun,  the Earth soft with lichen  and fallen  \_______/_\___/____/\___/____/_
leaves.  the  King  of the Cats  points to a    /        \/        \/    /   \
patch of long grass and speaks.                /        _/         /_       _/
                                              /-        /        _/         /
   "this will do,  a place no different than  \________/\________/\___/____/
any other, here we are nowhere. no kingdoms,
no kings. no rulers, no masters. equals."

   the King of the Cats kneels in  the grass and places his hands on the Earth
and with  a nod he motions Connor to  do the same.  Connor joins him,  face to
face, eye to eye, equals in the meadow of nowhere.

   "take your sword, your shield, your mace,  your helmet, lay your weapons in
the grass between us."

   Connor  does  as  instructed,  placing  the  implements of  war,  relics of
violence, on the damp, warm earth.

   the King smiles.

   "place your hands on your thighs and close your eyes."

   Connor closes  his  eyes and rests his palms on his thighs.  around him  he
starts to feel the tall grass move,  hear the brush of cloth and the  creak of
leather as the witnesses circle the pair in the grass.  they say nothing, time
stands still until the King speaks again.

   "to be counted as one of the Feral Kingdom,  to be  part of the  Cat King's
court, you need to make an oath, if it is ever betrayed there is no punishment
but  there  is  no  retaking it,   you  will  simply  no  longer  be  part  of
the Kingdom."

   Connor hears the  crunch  of grass  under the  King's  knees as  he  shifts
his weight,  the soft sound  of  him gently placing something beside  Connor's
things laid neatly in the grass.

   "the  oath is simple,  I recount the tenets  of  the Kingdom and you repeat
them after me: Duty."

   as Connor repeats  the  word  he thinks of his family and his friends.  his
wife, his children.  his grandchild  and  his father who took the same oath in
his youth.

   "Generosity."

   as  Connor repeats the  word his grip tightens on his thighs,  finding only
cloth and flesh, pockets empty.

   "Humility."

   as Connor repeats the word he considers the King of the Cats,  now kneeling
in front of him in the still evening,  crownless,  two men with no  title in a
place with no name.

   "Patience."

   as  Connor  repeats the name of the final tenet,  the  witnesses  begin  to
leave, he hears them move,  say their goodbyes,  share thanks  and  gratitude.
time passes, an hour or a day as the pair kneel in the grass, until the meadow
is  quiet  and still  again and  the king  lifts his  crown  from  the  grass,
returning it to his head.

   "Open your eyes, Connor,"  the King instructs,  "gather your tools.  Knife,
bowl, hammer and cup."

   Connor does as instructed, the king smiles gently,  and with a nod the pair
stand together.

  the King,  now resplendent,  wreathed in the  gold of  the  low sun,  speaks
finally, all the authority of his title retuned to his voice.

   "I am  the King of the Cats, lord of the Feral Kingdom, and you are Connor,
now 'Connor of the Cats.'"




EOF