Píp the cat was patrolling the rooftops of the city, stopping occasionally when something caught her eye. With her was, as always, Ból, the forest spirit.
You should tell him. Ból's words manifested in Píp's mind and carried a feeling of urgency.
"But he loves me as he knows me." Píp's tail twitched. "I don't want anything to change right now." She was now perched on the edge of a roof, watching the busy street below.
Ból filled the air around her and Píp arched her back, her hair standing up.
"I won't fall." she hissed. "Not again."
Sometimes it's not in your hand. Ból gave her space.
"I've thought about it, you know?" Píp's gaze returned to the street. "Could you take it back? Make me as I was?"
Yes, I can. Do you want me to? It would be like nothing ever happened. The words were tinged with an anticipation of sadness.
"No. Never. I'm perfect."
That's such a cat thing to say.