Well understood problem is a half-way solved problem. 

So, I just need to understand her. 

LoG, 297

Drian was covering his nose in disgust. He lay next to two Y-shaped sticks, each pounded vertically into the ground on either side of their little improvised campfire. The light on his Viewstone shone with a distinct dark blue colour. He was aware that The Dark was approaching.

The unbearable smell of charred, skewered meat was hanging all around him in the air.

Drian placed a piece on a wooden plate, out of courtesy. The taste wasn't any better than its smell. It made him gag. He gave in to a strong feeling of revulsion and disapproval. The meal before him went on offending his nostrils.

"My super exquisite stunning deeply flavoured culinary gourmet dish got burnt." Damona pushed her bottom lip forward, looking petulantly annoyed with herself.

"You mean, your Barrens rat got burnt," Drian specified.

"And I was really trying hard here!" he thought she looked cute when she was sulking. "I was going for Rat Rotisserie and then ... then that damned butterfly appeared out of nowhere."

"You got distracted by a butterfly? That's why the meat got burnt?"

Damona shrugged. "My giant cat instincts overwhelmed me, what can I say?" She smiled.

Grumpiness erupted from Drian. "It's easy for you and Malik to say; you hunt and he eats whatever he can peck on. What about me? I haven't had a decent meal in Lights."

"Yesterday's meal was much better than today's," she noted.

"Of course, because I prepared that one!"

Damona had a dreamy oblivious look on her face. "And you did a wonderful job. The dandelion leaves had a peppery kick to them, didn't they? And was it chickweed I sensed? And lemony flavoured wood sorrel?"

"I found all those salad ingredients yesterday when I went gathering with Malik, along with some shrooms, hazelnuts and walnuts. As a matter of fact, let me see if there are some hazelnuts left from the previous Light." Drian rummaged through the rucksack.

"Hey, I helped to gather yesterday as well! I brought dandelion, primrose and wild violets you used in that salad of yours. All edible and nutritious stuff."

"Sure." He acknowledged Damona's assistance a bit brashly but then added. "Still, I think it's better that I handle the preparation of my own food in the days to come. In other words, I will cook from now on."

"Suit yourself." The female Shape Changer harrumphed. "I only wanted to surprise you with a nice meal, seeing how you have been complaining a lot lately."

"This journey is taking too long." Drian instinctively pulled the shard of the mini ViewWall from his pocket, staring at the pale face of his father. "Also, we have been marching non-stop, almost without taking a break."

"Well, that's contradictory." She stung him with a remark. "First you whine about how the trip is long and then you are all like 'why aren't there any more breaks?'"

"I know. I'm sorry," Drian replied after a short pause, defeated. "It seems like I am bothered by everything lately. The truth is ... I can't stop thinking about my father."

"That, I can understand. But you know you can't help him yet. First, you have to figure out who you are. Then, when you finally accept yourself, you go back to your settlement and aid him, spend time with him."

"Is The Place of Power still too far away?" Drian wanted to know anyway. "This rucksack I have been carrying around non-stop is incredibly heavy. It's laden with cutlery and a change of clothes."

"We are here, actually. We will see Belka as soon as the next Light appears. Do stop complaining about the rucksack. Would you prefer Malik or me to carry it? How ridiculous would an antelope look like with a rucksack on her back? Or even worse, a cheetah? That would slow me down so much. Not to mention that my prey would stop to laugh at me instead of running away from me. Actually...." Damona was now deep in thought. "Puzzling the prey might not be such a bad battle tactic. I should try it out." She stretched lazily by the fire.

That movement revealed her perfect, milky pale thighs and what was between them. 

Damona, apparently, wasn't wearing any underwear. She didn't miss the moment when his cheeks heavily reddened. "What is it, Abbot?" she poked fun at Drian.

"Don't call me that." He turned his head away from her but his excitement was obvious, emphasized by the glowing embers of an already half-doused campfire.

"You got a bit eager down there, I see? What happened? Never seen a cunt before?"

Drian didn't reply, staring at the flames and willing himself to calm down. He thought of his father prostrated in The Curatory bed.  That successfully banished his erection.

"Actually," Drian heard her go on. "I know you have never seen a cunt before. Mine is the first you saw and fucked."

"Listen, about that ..." Drian said, still not looking her in the eye. "Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe we shouldn't have done it. I got carried away by ... It was the moment, and my painting. We were bathing ... To be fair, I didn't know who you were back then. I had no idea you were Belka's granddaughter and that you were the one to be my guide."

"It was no mistake. It was your cock getting hard and my twat getting wet. Nature and instinct did the rest. We both relished in it."

"I am not saying that I didn't enjoy it, it's just that I ... Maybe it wasn't the right time nor the right place. We didn't think it through."

"I should jump on your tool whenever I feel like it, you prude Abbot, and you should dive between my legs whenever you feel like it. And you know what? I can tell you feel like it right now," she smiled. "Once you learn how to Shape Change properly, not only you will move a lot faster, along with Malik and me, but we shall also be able to reap all the benefits that The Formshift brings." Damona winked at him.

Drian was trying to banish the image of a giant black panther mounting the voluptuous cheetah, when, luckily, he heard Malik screech. 

"Hey, did you hear that?" Drian was glad about the possible change of subject. "It sounded like Malik was talking to someone."

"Nope." She strained her cute little antelope ears, leaning her head and her horns towards the bushes. "I don't hear a thing."

Malik appeared right after the remarks they exchanged, landing on top of the improvised barbecue spot. 

To an untrained eye, it looked like he was preening his feathers. Drian thought he saw him hide a tiny object under his wing.

"Eeeew," Malik commented, sniffing the air. "We have been travelling for too long. You two need a proper bath. It smells rancid as if something had died in here."

"You are not far from the truth," Drian replied. "A rat died, and then it was charred up to the point of unrecognition. Where have you been? I heard you talking to somebody." He inquired suspiciously. 

Malik looked caught by surprise. "Who, me? Why I was just over there, in the shrubbery. Giving you two lovebirds time to get acquainted." He winked at Drian saucily. "And chasing some birds to love on my own." He sighed.

"Any luck?" Damona leaned towards him, her eyes sparkling.

"Alas, none of the posh shrubbery she-sparrows gave in. That's who I was talking to." He turned to Drian giving him an explanation. "The first thing they asked me was if I had already built my own nest. The next thing was: how big my stocks of worms and insects were. Can you imagine that? Such materialism! I won't be emptying my balls tonight," Malik chirped, resigned. "Unlike someone I know," he added, giving Drian a friendly push with a wing that hung at an awkward angle.

"Do birds even have balls?" was Drian's follow-up question, and yet another topic changer.

It's hard to continually come up with different conversation topics, but I guess I've gotten a lot of practice with these two, what with constantly trying to avert their perverted hints. Still, Drian instantly regretted having asked that. The following minutes were spent in Malik's indignant explanations and clarifications, which was not how Drian wanted to spend them.

It's my fault, after all. I put my foot in it. Drian sarcastically congratulated himself. 

He let his mind float around for a while, disconnecting from the conversation.

More like a monologue.

When he tuned in again, Malik was just commenting on how he missed alcohol. That piqued Drian's interest. "Alcohol? How can you miss alcohol? My father and I never gave you any."

Malik stuttered. "Well ... I ... I ... That is ... The owner!" he screamed. "It was my previous owner, a cruel, cruel man, I'm telling you. He would take me to the tavern and boast in front of all of his friends how his bird drank alcohol. He would force various brands of alcohol down my throat. At first, I hated it but in time, I acquired a taste ..."

"Are you The Shape Changer, Malik? Have you ever been human before?" Drian asked him for the second time.

"Why, I am just a harmless talking bird, brought to you for your entertainment." Malik shrugged and that human-like movement looked amusing on the mynah bird.

"I sense you are hiding something from me. I think I liked you better when you were just Mina." Drian sighed. "Things were a lot more transparent and less complicated back then."

Malik looked hurt after that sentence. "Well guess what? I've got news for you! You don't get to choose, snotty snot!" Moments after, Malik darted to the shrubbery again, without even turning back and giving them a second glance. Poetically, just as Malik was flying away from them, the Dark fell on the tiny encampment. The black bird was quickly out of their sight.

"What did I do now?" Drian frowned, not comprehending Malik's reaction.

"You have to understand him. You upset him, obviously." Damona shook her head in disapproval. "It must have been hard for him not being able to communicate with you for ...How long did you tell me it was? Twelve Big ones? And just screeching and what not? Above all, you thought he was a she! That would unnerve anyone!"

"I guess." Drian sighed, cracking a handful of hazelnuts, pensive. "I'd better apologize upon coming of the first Light," he decided. 

He murmured a quiet "Glory to The Mind, Gratitude to The Fount" oration. That earned him a surprised look from the antelope cheetah girl.

She didn't expect I would still pray after The Third Meal. I didn't either. Some habits die hard, Drian thought.

Just as he was placing a plate in the rucksack, Damona's hand stopped him, slowly and with caution. "What are you doing?" she whispered, alarmed.

"Putting ... a plate... in my backpack." Drian stared at her as if she were out of her mind.

Honestly, is she blind?

"You haven't washed it."

"Washed it? I barely used it. I just put a piece of meat on it. Then I threw that same piece of meat away. I haven't even eaten anything out of it," Drian chuckled.

"But you did use it." Her voice was coloured with a hint of fear. "We are to wash all our dishes before we fall asleep."

"Or what?" Drian didn't comprehend what she was so afraid of.

"Or Dish Terror will come for us."

"A Dish Terror?" Drian didn't know whether to burst out laughing or cry at her ignorance. "What in The Mind's name is a Dish Terror?"

"In The Village of The Shape Changers, a Dish Terror is a Terror that haunts the abodes that haven't washed their dishes before The Dark. It mostly looks like an old hag with a knee-long tongue."

Drian listened to her, astonished.

"It skulks around the house, like a shadow," Damona's voice became dramatic. "And then it sticks her hard, dirty, venomous tongue into the unwashed dishes, poisoning them; causing them to crack and become unusable."

"Oh, come on!" Drian snorted. "Village superstitions. They were probably telling you that to force you to wash the dishes before falling asleep. Just like when mothers tell their children that if they don't behave, a monster will take them."

"Maybe, but can you wash it just in case?"

Drian grunted, pulling the plate out of the rucksack and wetting it with a bit of water and cloth. "There. Are you happy now? Look at us wasting our water reserves just to get back at those Dish Terrors. We might not have water for drinking, but there always has to be some for dishwashing, am I right?"

"There will be plenty of water once we get to The Grove, don't you worry about that. And have you never heard a story of The Dish Terrors in your settlement? Sorry, I just can't believe that." Damona looked genuinely astounded. She was now lying in the grass, relaxing in her antelope shape.

"The Script of The Mind teaches us about the 'Dark Terrors' slash 'Abominations', yet not in such primitive way."

"And what does it say about them, then? Enlighten me, you almighty intelligent higher being!" the antelope mocked him.

It amused Drian instead of hurting him. They had gotten comfortable enough with each other and he didn't feel offended by her stings anymore. It was her way of joking around, he realized. Especially when it came to the religion of The Mind. "When The Squareworld was young, and The Mind was just beginning his Fount Moulding ... Some of the beings he was creating didn't turn out quite as well as he would like them to. They looked more like a ... Combination of two or three creatures that we would consider 'normal' or 'customary'. Abominations, if you will."

"I am a combination of three creatures. That doesn't make me an Abomination." Damona insisted stubbornly.

"You are different," the words flew out of Drian's mouth faster than he could think about what he was saying.

That dumb reddening again. Damn it.

"You know, during this little time that I have known you, apart from being clumsy, in a cute way, I can see that you are stiff. Unmalleable. You don't accept change. I wonder how you would've turned out if you had been living with us in the first place." Damona caressed him with her warm gaze. "I don't understand why you weren't raised in The Village of The Shape Changers, instead of in that ... Bronze Cliff, as a Man of Cloth."

Drian was surprised she remembered the name of his village.

"I think this is why it must be hard for you to give in to your instincts. If you had been trained by our Elders ever since you were a child, everything would have been different," Damona added.

Drian had a nagging feeling she was right, yet he didn't want to go down without the proverbial rhetorical battle. "I could say exactly the same for you," he argued.

"What do you mean?" Damona's eyebrows went up in surprise.

"Well, um, you would have turned out differently had you been raised in my village. You know, Bronze Cliff."

"How so?" Damona leaned forward with a curious gleam in her irises.

"The villagers would probably accept you but you would Shape Change less, for starters. You would live in a proper house, not in an empty ruin filled with straw. There would be a double bed, and soft linen for sheets. You would have a lot of clothes, and your own wardrobe. Your Meals would have been different. There would be um ... Utensils for food. There would be more water for you to drink whenever you wished for it. You would have a bath more often, I suppose." Drian finished his expose.

"Oooh, sounds princely. Then I would be a polite little missy who bathes twice per Light and smells like hyacinths. I would eat all prim and proper, in a ladylike way, with a knife and a fork and change my gowns every so often, and have my servants do my hair," Damona bleated. "Do you really see me like that, prude Abbot? Can you imagine me, leading such a life?"

Drian smiled mirthfully. She was right, after all. 

Damona was a wild field flower, not a cultivated begonia. 

"Fine, you win." Drian raised his arms as a sign of defeat. "Well, at least, when this is all over, you can join me on my way home. You can see Bronze Cliff, and meet my father, Nalon. When he gets better and when he has no reason to fear me anymore."

"Sorry, Mindlubber. My answer is a 'no'. I promised to take you as far as The Grove, slash 'The Place of Power'."

Drian smiled at hearing Damona repeat his "slash" expression.

The antelope went on. "My guiding days are over. I am not going to some ordinary stupid village. To become a normal girl with a bed and wardrobe and fork; to care about fine clothes. I want to remain me." 

Her bleating voice was becoming louder and louder as she was making her point, her horns somehow looking sharper and more intimidating. "Open your eyes. The whole Squareworld is at war yet again. And in war, everyone wants to prove their stance. Everyone wants their opinion to count. I for one, wish to wage justice for the Shape Changers. We were ridiculed, forgotten by the rest of The Squareworld. Forced to mask our true nature; forced to live like all the others. There we were, peacefully on our land, when other humans came. They drew us away with sticks and weapons and they even mocked our hideous appearance. Without accepting us for who we were!"

Drian easily interpreted how upset Damona was. He understood the girl. 

After all, it's her people she's talking about. It's normal she is all emotional regarding the topic. I am more worried about the volume of noise she is producing.

Drian's preoccupations proved to be true when five Terrors attacked them out of nowhere.