Asena had been a law-abiding citizen of a commonwealth with a different political framework. A commoner, she had the same rights as the Premiers or Elites.

'Not anymore. Now, you're a rogue! Sena, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore!'

All she took for granted did not exist. Here she was, an illegal migrant, on a temporary visa.

'That catfight was a mistake. It put you in the limelight. If they discover who you are and where you're from...' Moggie ranted.

Here she'd be arrested for espionage under the Treason Act. Hence, she had to underplay her diction and outlook on the dumpster fire called Europa.

'Glad you accept you're not international, super spy material, Ms. Bond.'

Moggie shared Papa's obsession with the human movies. Vic and she grew up with an idiot box. Fascinated by that world, they both had wished to be skinwalkers. Asena spectacularly flunked the sensory resistance assessment. Vic dropped out; she wouldn't leave with her 'sister' or mother. Yet a decade later, she discarded them without so much as a goodbye.

In the evening, a tailor came for their measurements. Asena expected Zane to summon her for a dressing down after the altercation with Bebi. But there were no ramifications. Instead, an odd silence had descended on their wing.

At night she crept into the ground to let Moggie out. After that, in the early hours, she raided the pantry. Finally, she could eat to her heart's content without the matron dictating her food intake.

Duma found her in there and snickered at her chomping on the leg of the roasted rabbit she had retrieved from the slow-cook ember oven.

"Bebi not wrong. You play a role, to attract the male who suits your terms," he said, stealing the roasted ribs from her plate.

She tore a chunk of meat from the bone and chewed. After swallowing, she sipped the ale. "Someone who can respect my boundaries," she muttered.

Duma huffed and used a napkin to wipe the fat on her chin. "Why use Eros? You hate them."

"I don't... Once I'm reunited with Victoria, this will be easier... depending on how she's faring."

Slack-jawed, Duma stared at her. "So you're here for her?" he yelped.

Asena didn't confirm or deny his accusation. "A familiar face might change my mind. Don't disappear on me, please. All I ask is for a note."

He reached out to ruffle her hair. "Ha! You won't get rid of me if you tried. Thank you. I couldn't... have said all that to Bebi." He tucked her messy locks behind her ear.

Asena hissed, but Duma ignored her warning and grinned.

Resigned, she laid her head on his shoulder and groaned, "You're a pest."

Papa said she needed a gentle shifter such as an elaphocentaur, faunoid, centurion, or snawfus. But there weren't any herbivore shifters or omnivore primatoids around her. And Moggie and she gave big predators, in both forms, a wide berth. They were too gregarious, and often bossy.

"Let's see how the viewing goes. There is no telling who'll be interested in me. Maybe no-one. For now, I'm content to stuff my mouth. And listen, do not listen to Bebi. She's got fermenting dung for brains."

"Whatever!" Duma flicked his wrist and swung his hips while executing a melodramatic exit.

Duma's optimism infected Asena. The prospective suitors were a means to an end. She was after one who had a computer connected to a network. In ten minutes max, she could find out if Victoria was in the system. If not, their social connections or willingness to reunite her with a childhood friend, which was technically the truth, would be ace.

Just no dragons. She had to get over the dastardly Prince Nassau. The memory of him had robbed her of her appetite.

'And what would their assistance cost us?' Moggie asked.

Asena refused to brood on that and counted the milestones of her journey ahead. Find Victoria. Hightail to the Americas, with Vic if required. Accept the punishment for her actions. Beg for Papa's forgiveness. Pick up the fragments of the life she had shattered to smithereens. Maybe even be gainfully employed in her field someday.

In the games of snakes and ladders, she'd reached the top, and then stepped backward, allowing the snake of fate to send her tumbling to the bottom—to begin again.

'You dived into the deep end and took me along for that freefall,' Moggie groused.

What if Victoria chose this and was okay? If so, everything she'd gone through would be in vain.

'She ain't okay! My gut never lies.'

Her beast's instincts were usually spot on.

'It was stupid of her to abandon Nessie, but it doesn't change—Vic is in trouble.'

A knock disturbed her speculation about Vic's motives. Outside, the sour matron held out a massive cloth bag.

She peeped inside. It contained textured sheets, rolls of tissue paper, cans of sealant sprays, boxes of charcoal sticks, graphite pencils, and oil pastels, not the cheaper wax crayons. "Who—"

"Ask Zane or Duma," the disgruntled matron said and waddled off.

Duma deserved a kiss for such a sweet, and she suspected an expensive gift. Except the Hyenoid was nowhere to be found.

"He's gone. His Lord flew him to his summer lodge in Switzerland," the French chef said in all seriousness.

"Lucky him," Asena replied. She went to her quarters and unpacked the art supplies, but the ledge by the window was too small for her to draw.

The library was empty as they had a curfew to catch up on their 'beauty sleep'. She spread the things on the large table that seated twelve.

Alone, she drew a rough outline of a face, one whose dimensions were tattooed on her memory. Her first drawing had been of her Papa. Since, she'd improved, and captured nuances of him in were and beast forms, but never his essence.

'Coz' you paint him as you see him, not who he is,' Moggie said.

Moggie believed there was more to Papa than met the eye. Asena didn't. A delta, he trained teenagers to manage their transformation. And he ensured they behaved in either state of existence. Sure, he sparred with the Gamma warriors but never sought that position. All he cared about was Asena and his precious gardens, especially his bonsai collection.

Once she finished, she whispered, "I miss you, Papa," and ripped the sheet.

On a postcard notepad, she etched a side and front profile of Victoria. Satisfied, she sprayed it to set the charcoal.

Without realizing it, she picked up the graphite pencils. The hard 2H did justice to Prince Drach Nassau's sharp jawline and cheekbones. With the softer 2B, she illustrated his expressive deep-set eyes. Humming, she added depth to his defined bone structure with lighter and crisper shading and acknowledged, "he is gorgeous." With an A3B, she depicted messy, longer curls instead of his short, stern haircut.

Despite the validity of the reasons she rejected him, if only looks mattered, she would be smitten.

'Best ogle at him from afar. He is too hot to handle,' Moggie giggled.

Asena used a loose fist to swat her sensitive ears and rubbed her 'paw' along her mandible and ears; mimicking Moggie's grooming gesture. Even that didn't soothe her.

Vic's fate. Asena's homesickness. The vexing prince and his effect on her. Her precarious situation. Zane pressuring her into participate in the viewing. The counselor's warnings, and insistence she accepted the current offer. All these issues turned into a whirlwind of uneasy thoughts.

"Mog, I have no clue what I'm doing..." she confessed.

'You haven't for a while, Sena. We will find Vic. She's around. You've always been patient. As Papa says, 'a step at a time.'. For us, it's a continent at a time, and a hurdle at a time. We're closer to Vic. Once I catch her scent..."

She glared at Victoria's likeness.

Whenever she mulled on why Vic hadn't gotten in touch, fear gnawed at Asena's bones. Victoria hadn't even left her inconsolable mother a letter or sent a postcard. Nessi's grief had tormented her. Yet for months, she hoped for news through the private message board Asena created for them to chat.

Moggie tensed. 'She was happy. I want one reason why she went rogue. Any reason whatsoever! Can't think of one, can you? Focus on this. Vic wouldn't imagine Sena coming to her rescue. I doubt she'll believe it even after we confront her. She was never cruel... or uncaring. This is uncharacteristic behavior.'

"These are strange days, eh? The protectors need protection now and then." She always had Papa, Vic, and Moggie, and the establishment that nurtured her as a backup. Vic gave it all up for the orthodox Olden conventions of Europa.

'Tich! Stop overthinking. It is your nature to never give up, not me. You stood up to a dragon, yet won't concede you have a spine of steel.'

"Let's pray we've deterred him for good."

'I borrow a gem from your usual eloquence. 'That's irrelevant, no?'' Moggie miaowed.

It was. Asena switched to pastels to recreate the landscapes she'd encountered in her travels. It was a safe subject and reinforced her cover story.

The blended hues and layers took over. Asena might as well be in the sunroom with the drafting table Papa had built for her. Or the kitchen. The familiar rhythm of the strokes and smears reminded her of their final destination—her normal state of existence. She'd begun to forget how it used to be, how good she had it, until now.

Yet she fretted. Duma shouldn't have wasted money on her. Whoever shopped for him had not skimped on quality or quantity.

Asena unwrapped the biggest sketchpad, with royal-sized sheets to portray Duma. She chose to depict him in the attire she'd seen him in Puntland—faded brown pants, a vest, and wrapped in a colored shawl.

She shook her cramped fingers.

Moggie mewled, 'Hunt?'

Her beast fancied herself a hunter but was a rodent killer extraordinaire. Anything bigger than a hare, she retreated to the treetops.

Asena packed her stuff and disposed of the torn pieces of Papa's portrait. She knocked on Duma's room and peeked in. He wasn't back, so she dropped off her portrayal of him, along with the ones of Vic with her friend's name and Asena's real surname scrawled at the bottom. Berber wasn't uncommon in the Sahara region. It literally meant nomad, the same as Sahel.

'Our people aren't too creative, eh?' Moggie chirped.

Asena went through every area of the wing, searching for any devices connected to the internet, and failed again. Though tempted to break into the locked offices, she refrained thanks to the roof-mounted cameras.

Stuck in the doldrums, she shifted. Moggie was keen to snack on frogs and Asena had to check out for a while, else she'd go mad.

The next morning, she discovered Duma hadn't returned. Asena feared he, too, had forsaken her. She couldn't bear the idea of not seeing Vic or him again.

Defeated, she wanted to sob her heart out but had run out of tears.

The endless wait for a breakthrough had morphed into the silence before an impending storm. Even Moggie felt it—something was about to go wrong... very, very wrong.

***

Does this feel like a filler? Did you get bored? I wanted Asena to enjoy a moment by herself before...

So, you've met the Prince, now prepare to welcome the Spare... next week.

Original Quote: Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore. The Wizard of Oz, 1939 movie. I am sure if it was in the book too.