Fool's Errand
“Then they are bred, these hunting cats? I was told that they had to be captured, that they would not breed if tamed.” Lord Golden fastened his attention on the Bresingas' Huntmaster.
“Oh, the gruepards will breed, but only if they are allowed to carry out their mating battles and harsh courtship without interference. The enclosure Lord Grayling has devoted to this purpose is quite large, and no human must ever enter it. We are quite fortunate that his efforts in that regard have been successful. Prior to this, as you perhaps know, all gruepards were brought in from either Chalced or the Sandsedge regions of Farrow, all at great expense, of course. They were quite rare in this area when I was a boy, but the moment I saw one, I knew that was the hunting beast for me. And I hope I don't sound a braggart in saying that, since the gruepards were so expensive, I was one of the first who thought of trying to tame our native ealynex to the same task. Hunting with the ealynex was quite unknown in Buck until my uncle and I first caught two of them. The ealynex are the cats that must be taken as adults, usually in pittraps, and schooled to hunt as companions.”
This all spouted from the Bresinga Huntsman, a tall fellow who hunched forward earnestly as he spoke. Avoin was his name. The topic was plainly his passion.
Avoin's voice suddenly faltered. If some sign had passedbetween him and his mistress, I had not seen it. Was the Huntsman involved, then, in the circumstances that had brought such a cat to the Prince?
“I fear not, Lord Golden,” Lady Bresinga replied graciously. “We have none in our hunting pack. They are quite rare. To see a mistcat hunt, you will have to ask the Prince himself to take you along on one of his outings. I am sure he would be delighted to do so.”
Lord Golden shook his head merrily, tucking his chin in as if taken aback. “Oh, no, dear lady, for I have heard that our illustrious Prince hunts afoot with his cat, at night, regardless of the weather. Much too physical an endeavor for me, I fear. Not at all to my taste, not at all!” Chuckles tumbled from him like spinning pins in a juggler's hands. All around the table, the others joined in his mirth. Climb.
I refused the touch of her mind without, I hoped, seeming to. At the table, Lord Golden had led the conversation to what types of cats they might use tomorrow, and whether or not they would damage the plumage on the game. Feathers, he reminded them all, were what he sought, though he did enjoy game bird pie.