Jesmind certainly seemed fearless. And she was very strong. Kimmie was very feminine, the most feminine-seeming of the four adult Were-cats he'd met so far. After all, she wore a dress. But he knew that she'd put aside that femininity in a heartbeat if it was necessary, and from what he knew of Kimmie, she was very smart and very, very brave. In her own way, she was fearless. Jesmind seemed rather calm to him most of the time, very much unlike the stories he'd heard of her. Jesmind was supposed to be wild, hot-tempered, fiery in nature and very confrontational. Kimmie was the opposite of that. She was calm, mellow, and she avoided such confrontations whenever possible. It wasn't that she couldn't win those confrontations, she simply preferred to avoid them. She was the most peaceful of the three Were-cats he'd known long enough to compare. Thinking about it, he could see qualities in Kimmie and Jesmind that would have attracted him to them The fact that both of them were very attractive didn't hurt, either.

Weird. The last thing he ever expected to have happen to him when he left home was to have girls chasing him around. He wasn't used to it… and in a way, it felt oddly appealing. They were going to give him a big head, with them virtually fighting over him the way they were.

But it was sunrise, and despite the fact that he hadn't had much sleep, it was time to get up. He wanted to find his sister and she if she could teach him any magic. He had the feeling that it was going to come in handy in a very short period of time.

"Hold on hold on hold on!" came an excited call from down the hall as Tarrin trekked the distance towards Jenna's office. It had certainly taken long enough to find someone who knew where it was, mainly because he didn't want to ask anyone who may willingly or unwillingly get that information back to Triana. It wasn't that he was worried that she'd find out that he went to see his sister, but he certainly didn't want her to know that he was trying to learn how to use magic again. At that moment, though he liked her, he had to think of Triana and the other Were-cats as potential enemies. It was only wise, mainly because if they did resist if he chose not to be changed back, they would definitely become enemies. It pained him to think so, but something deep inside him warned him over and over again not to underestimate anyone. That had to be the feral nature that was gone now, some memory of it that echoed inside of him. The last vestiges of paranoia.

The speaker was Phandebrass, and the white-haired Wizard, who was a riot of contradictions, jogged up holding his old gray robes up so he wouldn't trip on them while he ran. He was alone, his white hair flying behind him, that ridiculous pointy hat somehow managing to stay on top of his head when it would be best for everyone involved if he'd simply lose it. "I say, hold on there, lad!" he called, running up to him. "I've been looking everywhere for you, I have!"

"What's the matter, Master Phandebrass?" Tarrin asked curiously, stopping in place and waiting for him to catch up.

"I need to check some things before I can continue, I do," he answered, reaching him and pausing to pant a little after his exertion.

"What things?"

"I say, I need to get a better understanding of the kind of memory loss you're enduring, I do," he answered. "And for the best results, I need a Sorcerer to help me, one good with Mind weaves. Do you know of a good one, lad?"

"I don't really know anyone, Phandebrass," Tarrin reminded him.

"Oh dear, that's right. I guess you wouldn't at that, would you?" he grunted. "Ah well, let's go find someone who can point us in the right direction, lad. We need to get this done, we do. I can't move any further."

"Alright," Tarrin said. "I was going to see my sister. She'd know who could help us."

"Capital idea!" Phandebrass said happily. "Lead on!"

Tarrin led the white-haired Wizard along the passages, trying to remember the exact directions that would take him to his sister's office. "How is it going with that, Master Phandebrass?" he asked curiously.

"Call me Phandebrass, my boy," he replied. "I don't need all those frilly titles, I don't. As to the research, it's going very well," he reported. "Thanks to the very extensive library here in the Tower, I've found no less than four possible approaches to restoring your memory, I have. I say, that's why I need to do some checking on you, so I can decide which would be the most effective approach to utilize, I can."

"Oh. Any idea how much longer it's going to be?"

"I say, not really, lad. Depending on which technique I use, we could be trying to reverse the damage as soon as next ride or as late as next year. It's all going to depend on what the tests reveal, it will."

"How can there be different approaches? I mean, I lost my memory. Why would there be differences?"

"I say, you're right, you lost your memory, but the how of it is what's important," he said. "I need to determine as closely as I can exactly how the magic attacked your mind. That will tell me which approach would be most effective in restoring it. After all, you haven't completely lost your memory, you know. It's buried deep in your mind, it is, so deeply that it's going to take some very powerful, very specialized magic to bring it back out."

"I haven't forgotten about that," he answered as they came up one of the long spiral staircases. "How many different ways could there have been for it to affect me?"

"Well, several of which I can find," he replied. "I say, firstly it could have simply erased it from your mind, like blotting out ink. It could have put something in its place, like filling a pie pan with clear water. There's something there, but you can't see it unless you look at it the right way. It could have left it there, but placed a block over it, like laying a blanket over a mirror. You can't see yourself in the mirror because the blanket is in the way. It could have buried it-I mean to say, it could have pushed those memories so deeply into your mind that even you can't find them. Or it could have not done anything at all to the memories, but tricked your mind into thinking that they weren't there."

"Wow, I didn't think there would be that many ways."

"I say, those are just the ways I can think of, lad," he grunted. "The magic that did this to you was very powerful, and it was done by a god. Gods can think in ways we can't even imagine, they can. It may be that I simply don't have the intelligence to undo it. Just to warn you, lad. I think it's fair that you understand the full situation, I do, unlike some of the others."

"I appreciate that, Phandebrass," Tarrin told him sincerely. "You're one of the first people around here that isn't treating me like a child, or an invalid."

"Whyever would they do that?" Phandebrass asked curiously.

"That's what I'd like to know," Tarrin agreed.

As he expected, they found Jenna in her office. The office of the Keeper was a remarkably spartan affair, with just a single banner on the wall behind her large rosewood desk with a multicolored shaeram -the symbol of the katzh-dashi- on it, and portraits on the two walls to each side holding a dark-haired man and a blond woman, each holding a strange staff and with an amulet looking like it was carved out of diamond around their necks. They had to go through another office to reach hers, the office of Duncan, who had faithfully served three Keepers with quiet efficiency over the years. Duncan rarely spoke, and when Tarrin and Phandebrass had entered his office, he simply led them into Jenna's private domain. Jenna looked a little piqued, sitting there chewing on a tendril of her hair as she read from a scrolled parchment in her free hand.

"What's wrong, Jenna?" Tarrin asked as Duncan bowed silently and withdrew.