That also worked against her. She was a manipulator, cunning and dangerous, and he knew it. She had easily manipulated him into trusting her when he didn't really trust anyone, had even won the trust of his parents, who were not fools. She was very good. He would let her be nice to him, but he wasn't going to fall into that trap. Until he knew beyond any doubt where she stood, he'd be very careful around her.

That was one side. The other was the feelings he got from her through the bond. Her fear and anxiety were genuine. The anger she displayed towards her former employers was very genuine. Her terror of going mad again was so obvious that he didn't even need the bond to know that it was sincere. The relief she felt when she realized that he was going to help her was also genuine, as was the resolve he sensed from her. She was serious about being his bond-child and conquering her instincts. She would do whatever it took to stay sane. The question was what she would do after she didn't need him anymore.

In truth, he didn't care. When she didn't need him anymore, he would release her. He never had to see her again, and so long as she stayed away from him, they never had to cross paths. As long as she didn't go back to working against him, they could both live peacefully.

They stopped at an intersection and waited for a wagon to amble by, being pulled by a large, humped beast. "What do your instincts tell you right now?" Tarrin asked abruptly.

"Nothing," she replied. "Just to be careful. I feel… unsettled, being surrounded by so many humans. It's almost like they mean to trap us here."

"That's a normal reaction," Tarrin told her. "What have they told you while we were walking?"

"Nothing so strong it stood out," she replied after a moment. "It's hard to sense them through the barrier you placed. Things are clear only when they have a very strong reaction."

"That's going to change," he told her as they started walking again. "The weave will unravel as the days pass. Every day, the Cat will be stronger, and you'll need to learn how to cooperate with it every day, like it was the first time. After the spell wears off, you should be ready to achieve your balance. By then, you'll have an understanding of what the instincts tell you, and how to listen to them. There are just a few things you'll need to learn to help you cope."

"Like what?"

"You'll find out tomorrow," he told her. "Right now, we're going back to the circus. We'll have a long night, so we need to get some sleep."

"What are we going to do, exactly?"

"Hunt," he said with a strange eagerness in his voice. "Tonight, you see what all your instincts are geared to do," he told her. "By tomorrow morning, things are going to be much clearer."

He left her sleeping in Renoit's tent.

Jula. Stranger things had happened to him. Teaching her had brought him into closer contact with his own inner self, the Were-cat within him. Telling her the things that he had learned reinforced them in his own mind, and in a strange way, it was helping him as much as it was her.

He was feral. He knew it, he accepted it. In a way, he even preferred it. But there was a price, just like Triana said there would be. He had come to despise what he had become, because his feral nature had finally crossed the line of propriety to his human morality. For a very long time, his balance had been owned by his instincts, by the Cat. Now, his balance was beginning to shift, to sway back towards his humanity. It would never go all the way, but he didn't want it to.

He was a Were-cat. It may not have been how he was born, but it was what he was. He had accepted it long ago, because he didn't have a choice. Then he embraced it, because it hurt less than accepting it, to not feel responsible for the things he was doing, but the changes it created inside him caused him a pain that never made it feel right. Now, there was no more acceptance, no more embracing. It merely was. He was a Were-cat. It was what he was, and it was what he would always be. It had caused him pain, but it had also enriched his life. It had been a double-edged sword, cutting him more than once. He knew that, and he accepted it.

He could admit it. Whether he hated himself or he despised himself, it was what he was. And now that he admitted it, he could take steps to change it.

He didn't want to be anything other than a Were-cat. That much was plain to him. He had found his path. It was what he did as a Were-cat that he wanted to change. He accepted that he was feral, but he didn't want to end up like Mist. He didn't want to be totally dominated by his emotions, his rage. It was what he had attacked when he fought Jula, it was what he saw in her that struck a chord in himself. It was something towards which he had steadily been progressing. Faalken's death had intensified it, brought it out of him in a powerful display that he could no longer deny. Faalken had shown him what he was starting to become, and it was another reason for him to thank his departed friend. He had been on the path to total isolation, and that would have driven him mad.

It was still all so new. Just this morning, he had had his eyes opened to the truth about himself. He knew now what had very nearly befallen him. He couldn't change overnight, Jula had proven that to him, but at least now he knew what he was up against. He had to be strong, like Mist. She had overcome her instincts and reached out to him. He was nowhere near as bad as she was, but he could do the same thing. Not to reach out to a stranger, but to reign in his rage, to tone down the aggression and anger. He would always be afraid of strangers, and the lives of those strangers would never mean as much to him as the lives of friends. He just wanted to be able to consider the consequences before he acted.

If that wasn't bad enough, now he had Jula to deal with. He felt the weight of that duty, but talking to her, explaining to her the secrets of living with the Cat, had eased his concerns as much as hers. Jula had a strong mind, and he was pretty sure that she could find her own balance. He had hopes that she could find a place in Fae-da'Nar. Spending a morning with her, talking to her, being exposed to her had shown him that he could control himself. He didn't like Jula, but he could supress it to fulfill his obligation to her, his duty. She was his child, and she was his responsibility. He doubted he'd ever like her, not like he liked his friends, but he could tolerate her.

Tolerating Jula. The one person to which he could point and blame for all his pain. Life was full of ironies.

Teaching her was teaching him, too. It was reconnecting him to his own nature, reminding him of who he was and what it meant to him. At least in that regard, he didn't regret taking her as his child. He only hoped that he could teach her as well as Triana, his own bond-mother, had taught him.

Tarrin found Allia sitting in the field, well away from the tents. The circus was performing, and every once in a while, he could hear the applause or gasps of delight issue from the huge performing tent. There were a good number of people walking around on the huge field, a park inside the city, but they gave Allia's place a wide berth as the Selani sat silently facing the setting sun, her face serene and her eyes closed. He sat down beside her without a word of greeting, waiting for her to respond to his presence.

"You're growing, my brother," she said in a serene voice. "Why did you take Jula? Why didn't you kill her?"

"I wanted to," he replied honestly. He had stopped hiding from her a long time ago. There was nothing he wouldn't tell her now, just as it had been back when they were in the Tower. "I was totally enraged. But when I had her down, when I had her, all I could see when I looked at her was myself. That's when it hit me."