I don't own these characters.  If I did, I'd be the happiest 
person alive.  Universal owns them, and THEY'RE the 
happiest people alive.  I just wrote a story to show how 
much I love Roar, and if you sue me you  won't get 
any money, 'cause I'm broke.  Thank you.
____________________________________________
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>DREAMING 
   Catlin sat by the light of the bonfire, watching Conor.  
The Samhain celebration had ended with most people 
staggering away, singing drunkenly, or just sleeping 
where they fell.  Conor rarely drank, so he was still 
pretty much one of the only halfway-sober people left 
from the party.  The same held true for Catlin, so she 
could not blame the ale for her wayward thoughts that 
night.
   Conor was sitting on a low stool, near the edge of 
the "heat wall" the 7-foot bonfire formed.  Catlin sat 
nearby and stared at him(not TOO noticeably, she 
hoped), admiring his every feature.
   The firelight danced over his hair, turning his blond 
curls to molten gold, little licks of yellow flame that 
loved his brow, temples, and ears with scorching kisses.  
His eyes were distant, dreamy; warm limpid pools of 
youth and vitality.  His skin was smooth, marred by 
very few battle scars, and bronzed by the sun.  She 
noted the way the knotwork tattoo on his right arm 
worked its way around the muscle, clinging tightly as 
if it feared abandonment.  His fingers were long and 
graceful, yet his hands looked so appealingly strong 
that Catlin's mind began to imagine them gripping a 
sword tightly, powerfully.
   Conor WAS strong, she realized, her eyes coming to 
rest on his right hand, yet he was also very gentle.
   Gentle...
   All she'd ever known of a man's touch was brutality, 
belittlement, and hatred.  She began to wonder what it 
would be like to be touched, GENTLY, by a man's 
hand, the strong, powerful hand of a sword-wielding 
warrior.  Catlin's mind drifted into dangerous 
territory - and for once she did not try to hold her 
wayward thoughts in check.
   What WOULD it be like?  To have a man's hand - 
CONOR'S hand, perhaps - touch her face gently, 
stroke her cheek tenderly, trail his fingertips across her 
lips...?  To have him hold her close, his breath on her 
neck, his soft golden curls tickling her skin as his kisses 
wandered over her body...?  What would it be like to 
run her fingers through Conor's hair, to pull him closer 
to her for a kiss, to feel his skin against hers,  feel the 
weight of his body upon hers as he rolled atop her and...
   "Catlin?"
   The voice startled her so badly she nearly jumped 
out of her skin.  She looked up in utter shock to see 
Conor's face not a hand's breadth from her own.  He 
was grinning broadly and his eyes sparkled with a certain 
mischievous twinkle that made her flutter uneasily.
   "You're a million leagues away," he said, grinning 
impossibly wider, "What were you thinking about?"
   Images of him flooded her mind, images of him 
touching her, kissing her, caressing her..."Nothing," she 
answered, a bit too hastily, averting her eyes from his 
searching gaze.
   "'Nothing'?  You were thinking about 'nothing' awfully 
hard."  She was sure if he grinned any wider, he'd hurt 
himself.  "That was the third time I said your name."
   Guiltily, she searched the area for somewhere, 
ANYWHERE to look...anywhere other than that 
curious face so tantalizingly close.  "I had a 
little too much ale," she defended lamely, "And my 
brain is wandering the skies a bit."
   "A likely story."  He leaned closer, trying to see 
her face.  He was so close now that she could smell his 
scent, a vague mix of leather and lavender.  Conor 
ALWAYS seemed to smell of lavender, she mused.  
Maybe it was his soap.
   "Catlin?  Where are you?"
   For she had begun to drift silently away again, 
fancying the sweetly scandalous thought of running a 
bar of lavender-scented soap over Conor's bare, wet 
skin...
  Catlin snapped her treacherous mind back to reality 
with a guilty start.  Conor looked VERY curious now, 
and he was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek.  
Images flooded her again, and, panicked, she blurted, "I 
have to go to bed!" and stood up.  In fact, she stood up 
so fast that she didn't give Conor ample time to stand 
away, and her shoulder-armor plate smacked him square 
in the forehead.
   He stumbled backwards, one hand clamped to his brow.  
"Owwww..."
   Catlin scurried solicitously to his side.  "Oh, Conor. 
I'm sorry!"
   "If you didn't want to talk to me," he said in a teasingly 
pained tone, "All you had to do was tell me to go away.  
You didn't have to whack me one!!"  He grinned at her, his 
eyes sparkling merrily.
   "Oh, you big baby.  Here," she crooned, trying to pry 
his fingers away from his injured forehead, "Let me see."  
She finally succeeded in getting his hand away and peered 
at the small, darkening red spot in the center of his brow, 
half-covered by one drooping curl.  "Oh, it's just a scratch."
   "A scratch?  That HURT," he whined playfully.
   "Awwwww," she crooned in a patronizingly sweet tone, 
"I'll kiss it and make it better."
   Before he could respond, she cupped his face in her 
hands and pressed 
her lips to the tiny red brow-mark.  When she pulled 
away to look at him, her hands still framing his face, 
his expression looked to be somewhere between 
stupification and pleasant surprise.
   Something in those eyes appealed to her, something 
sweet, innocent, and vulnerable, and Catlin suddenly 
found herself pressing her lips to his, drinking in the 
sweet leather-and-lavender scent of him, kissing 
him fervently as she had so recently dreamed of doing.
   Conor, for his part, was heavily startled.  He hadn't 
expected her to kiss his forehead, much less his lips!  
She pressed closer to him, twining her fingers in his 
hair, her breath hot against his face.  Something in 
Conor jolted suddenly, his heart slamming against his 
ribs, his breathing quickening, his eyelids drooping 
for an instant...two... three... and he was leaning into 
the kiss, looping his arms about her waist to pull her 
still closer, pressing his lips on hers just as fervently 
as she.
   Catlin's eyes snapped open, and she pulled away 
quickly, as though she had just suddenly realized what 
she was doing.  "Oh... Conor... I... I'm... I'm sorry!" 
she blurted, kissed him fleetingly one last time, and 
scurried to her chamber, somewhere between 
laughing and crying.
   Conor, still breathing a bit heavily, gulped hard and 
chalked her odd behavior up to too much ale.  However, 
he hadn't seen her drink that much, and she hadn't smelled 
of ale... actually, she had smelled more of wildflowers.  
Catlin ALWAYS smelled of wildflowers, he mused. 
Maybe it was her soap.  His mind suddenly drifted 
away, fancying sweetly scandalous thoughts of running 
a bar of wildflower-scented soap over Catlin's bare, 
wet skin...Conor shook the thought away violently, 
silently cursing his over-active imagination and physical 
desires.   It would NEVER do to be thinking about Catlin 
like that.  She certainly didn't think those kinds of thoughts 
about HIM, now did she?  Of course not.  She would be 
SHOCKED to know his mind had even dallied in that line 
of thought. Conor felt a little like smacking HIMSELF.
   He thought of Catlin's hands, framing his face tenderly, 
her nice, cool fingers soothing his burning skin, heated by 
an intense blush.  He thought of her leaning toward him, 
kissing him.  His lips still tingled from the contact, and he 
ran his tongue over the to try and quell their insistent 
burning.
   He smiled.
   Catlin had been eating honey-soaked bread, he could 
tell - his lips tasted of it, sweet and nourishing.  He 
sighed, thinking of Catlin blurting an apology and 
racing off to her chamber.  It suddenly struck 
him that she could have been crying as she ran.  Crying?  
And why would she apologize?  Why had she acted so 
oddly?  Was she drunk?  No, he reasoned, if she'd been 
drinking, he would have tasted the ale on his 
lips as he had the honeyed bread.  So she WAS truly 
upset, not just ale-fogged.
   He decided to go and make sure she was all right.  After 
all, was it not the job of the leader to look after his people?  
And he was NOT about to let her hurt - especially if he 
was involved.
   He approached Catlin's little stone-and-thatch hut, and 
went over to the two heavy leather flaps that formed the 
door.  One of the flaps was a bit askance, forming a crack 
through which he could see Catlin's bed of furs, a small 
table-and-chairs setup, and an oak chest, all lit by the 
warm glow of the fire in the enormous circular hearth in 
the center of the room.  He did not see Catlin. 
   Where had she gone?  He stood, staring vacantly at the 
little sliver of room the crack showed him, thinking upon 
the matter.  He had SEEN her go in... Where could she - ?
   Suddenly, a figure stepped from the shadows and into 
his field of view.  A woman crossed the room, stopped to 
bask in the firelight.  Catlin.  And not only was it she, but 
a very HALF-DRESSED she at that!
Apparently, she had been changing for bed, and as Conor's 
young, fascinated eyes watched unseen through the 
crack in the flaps, Catlin lifted her brown homespun 
tunic (all that remained of her clothing) over her head 
and tossed it onto a nearby chair.
   Conor gulped hard, suddenly feeling as though his 
eyes were burning the image into his mind forever.
   Catlin stood naked by the hearth, arms outstretched 
to the heat of the flames.  Firelight flickered over every 
curve and swell, and her hair sparkled over her shoulders 
and down her back.  She turned, so that her back was to 
the flames, and swept aside her hair, trying to heat 
the rest of her body.
   Conor gasped.
   Her back showed the scars of old whippings, silver 
lines brutally cut into tender white flesh, and just above 
her left buttock was a white mark that looked to be a 
healed-over severe burn.  Conor had the sudden urge to 
kiss her wounds, to "make them better" as she had his brow.
   Catlin walked over to the oak chest at the foot of the bed.  
Bending, she opened it and began to dig through its 
contents.  Firelight and shadows warred over her body, 
accentuating every movement, every action that she made; 
one stray tendril of hair fell into her face and she flung it 
out of the way with one full-body movement that swung 
all of her hair over her left shoulder.  She found what she 
had been looking for: a white linen nightshift.  She raised it 
over her head, exposing every firelit curve to Conor's 
wondering eyes, then dropped it over her body.  Scooping 
up a leather-bound journal, Catlin sat at the table and 
began to write.
   Conor stepped back, his face burning with the WORST 
blush he could ever remember having.  He leaned back 
against the cold stone of the hut, breathing raggedly.  His 
mind relived the past few moments over and over again, 
filling his head with warm, fancied dreams of Catlin in his 
arms, his fingers tenderly stroking her scarred back, kissing 
her honey-sweetened lips.  He imagined sweeping her long, 
sandy-colored hair aside and kissing all those silver
slashes, healing them with the soothing balm of his own 
mouth.  Conor shivered in delight at this thought, 
suddenly realizing that she'd have to be naked for him 
to kiss her entire back like that.  Naked?  Once again, his 
mind's eye saw Catlin's bare form standing in the ruddy 
glow of the fire, arms outstretched as if trying to embrace 
the fire goddess.
   Oh.
   Conor's brain swam as his body reacted violently to 
this image.  His heart was thudding in his chest, his 
breathing grew shallow and rapid and, he realized with a 
great deal of embarrassment, his leather breeches were 
suddenly feeling too tight.  He could never talk to Catlin 
like THIS.  Better to wait until morning, when he'd had a 
chance to calm down.  Ye gods, but he was aching now, 
the leather of his breeches straining to control his body 
as he strained to control his emotions.  He decided to 
head for his own chamber and put as much distance 
between him and temptation as possible.
   He spun on his heel and headed in the direction of his 
hut, and in doing so, stepped on a large twig lying on the 
ground.  It broke with a loud SNAP.
   "Who's out there?"  Catlin's voice emanated from the 
inside of the hut.  A chair scraped and Conor heard various 
scuffling noises as she came to the doorway and threw open 
the lleather flaps.  "Conor?  What are you doing out here?"
   Too late, Conor realized his treacherous body was nowhere 
near "calmed down" - and Catlin was staring at him...
   Conor was very close to panicking.  Catlin eyed him 
expectantly, smiling, and Conor could only pray to the 
Goddess that she didn't look *down*.
   He folded his hands in front of himself as casually as 
possible, and forced the waver from his voice as he said, "Oh, 
hello, Cat.  I wasn't sure you were still awake."
   She smiled.  "Conor - it hasn't been but a few moments 
since I left the fire.  What could I have done in THAT much 
time?  Surely not fall asleep."
   What could she have done, indeed.
   Conor folded one arm across his chest, clutching the 
opposite upper arm.  The other hand, of course, remained in 
its strategically-placed position.  "Well, I...uh..."  He was 
painfully aware of the flowery scent of her body, the sweet 
smile on her face...
   "Conor?  Are you all right?"  She stepped closer, put her 
hand on his arm.
   "I'm just...cold."  Cold!  What a lie that was!  In truth, his 
entire body burned, a flame that leapt higher and higher 
with every passing moment.
   Her face filled with concern, Catlin tugged at Conor's 
arm, pulling him toward her door.  "Cold?  Then come in, out 
of the night air!  You don't want to start the new year with 
an illness, do you?"
   Conor hesitated.  "Well, no, but..."
   "But NOTHING!  Now stop being so polite and come 
in!"  Her tone brooked no refusal, and Conor allowed 
himself to be led by one arm into her hut.  She showed 
him a chair, and said, "Sit down.  I'll get you something to 
drink."
   Conor sighed and sat in the directed chair.  At least his 
embarrassingly lusty state wasn't as obvious when he was 
seated.
   Catlin scurried to the far side of the chamber, opened an 
oaken cabinet, and searched through it till she found a 
flagon of wine and two silver goblets.  They were her best 
drinkingware, bought with the money she'd been saving for a 
new archery set.  She'd purchased them on a whim, with the 
wishful premise of using them on her wedding day, should 
she ever marry.  With a secretive, girlish giggle, she decided 
to let Conor drink from one, she from the other.  He didn't 
have to know the symbolism behind the goblets, now did 
he?  She brought the two cups to the table, filled them each 
with wine from the flagon, and sat down beside Conor, 
handing him a goblet.
   He took the proffered drink and drew deeply from it.  
The wine burned his throat and scalded his tongue, making 
his already muddled brain even more light.
   Catlin sipped her own wine, watching Conor's expression.  
He was hiding something, that was obvious.  But what?  
Oh...the kiss!  He must've come to tell her, in his good-hearted 
way, that her kiss was too soon pressed on lips that still 
whispered grieving prayers for Claire.  That HAD to be it.  
It was in the way he avoided her eyes, the way he 
shrank into his chair as if he wished to vanish.  He was very 
clearly uncomfortable, and it pained her.  She had to end this, 
to tell him that she knew he saw the love in her eyes, that he'd 
seen the pain in her heart.
   She stood up, leaving her goblet on the table, and walked 
toward the fire.  "Conor - I know why you're here."
   Conor said nothing, only drank a little more deeply of 
his wine.  
   Catlin paused, as if gaining strength, then said, "I know, 
Conor.  I know you...saw."
   Conor choked on half-swallowed wine, felt it burn his 
nose as struggled to regain composure.  She KNEW?  Oh, 
gods!  Surely she would think him a bastard now!  He 
stood, forgetting in his shock to cover himself with one 
hand.  "Catlin - let me explain!"
   "There's nothing to explain, Conor.  I know you saw 
me."  Oh, how long she had waited for him to see her 
true heart, to see in her eyes the REAL Catlin - the one 
that loved him!  "In truth, Conor, I had hoped you would."
   Conor stood, dumbfounded.  She had HOPED he would 
see her naked?  Did she know what it would DO to him?  
Or his BODY, for that matter?  Catlin  had been purposely 
enticing him?  But why?  And the scars on her back...  
"Catlin...those scars..."
   "I *am* scarred," she admitted, "So badly I'd feared I'd 
never heal.  But then I met you...the day you saved me...
and from then on, I'd prayed you'd see me and help me 
to heal my scars."
   Heal her scars?  Sweet Brigit, was she a mind reader, 
that she'd seen his fantasy of kissing her wounded back?  
"Cat - I'll help you any way I can...those scars DO look 
so painful - especially the burn."
   Catlin turned to face him, utter confusion in her expression.  
"Burn?"
   "The one above your left...flank,"  Conor clarified, "The 
white, palm-sized one."
   Catlin's eyebrows shot up.  How did he know about 
THAT?  She'd never told him of it, and she never wore 
clothes revealing enough to show THAT scar!  He would 
only have seen it if he'd seen her while she was...
   Slowly, the realization began to dawn on them...they 
weren't talking about the same thing...


   Catlin approached him, eyeing him warily.  "How do 
you know about my burn scar?"
   Conor's mouth refused to produce any sound.  He'd 
been in many battles, fought against chieftains, defeated 
enemies... but how to defend himself against the righteous 
anger of the violated woman?
   Catlin clutched his arm, narrowing her eyes as she 
nearly shouted, "Answer me, Conor!"
   How had he gotten himself into this?  Conor was 
teetering on the edge of hysteria, looking down into the 
demanding face of Catlin.  "Well...I...uh...came to see...if 
you were all right...and...uh..."
   Catlin tightened her grip on his arm as if to spur him on.  
"And?"
   "The door was...um...ajar, and...uh...I saw you...by the fire...
and...uh..."  Here his voice faltered, and he looked away from 
her in shame.  He shut his eyes, expecting the stinging slap 
that would surely rain on his left cheek.
   "You saw me naked?"  Catlin's voice was disturbingly soft.
   "Yes."  Conor gulped back tears.  She hated him now, 
distrusted him.  He just KNEW it. 
   "I see."  She released his arm and walked away from him.  
She moved towards the fire, hugging herself, looking very 
small and lonely.
   Conor opened his eyes, surprised that she hadn't struck 
him.   Then it came to him - he was a prince.  And the 
leader.  She hadn't hit him because she respected him.  
New tears stung his eyes.  SO respectable. He could've 
kicked himself.  "Catlin..."
   "Do you want to know how I got that scar?  I'll tell 
you."  Catlin stared into the fire as Conor fell into stunned 
silence.  "It was a year ago this very night.  One of my 
Roman captors decided to...give me a Samhain present.  
He trapped me in a corner and..."  She stopped, gaining 
strength to say the coming words. "He began to force 
himself on me.  I tried to escape, struck at him, fought 
back...anything to make him stop.  Finally, I grabbed a 
goblet and used it to scoop up some embers from the 
fire - which I threw in his face."  A tiny bit of pride 
shone through her sorrow, and this did not go unnoticed 
by Conor.  "This allowed me to get away from him, but 
before I could get to the door, he grabbed my hair and 
threw me to the floor.  He ripped the clothes from 
my body and..."  She stopped, made a small sound Conor 
worried was a sob.
   "Catlin..."
   She sniffed, drew herself up again.  "I rolled to my side, 
trying to avoid him, and he grabbed the ember shovel and 
held it in the fire till it glowed.  Then he swung it at me."  
She took a deep breath.  "I managed to get over on my 
stomach, so he missed...his intended target...and burned 
my back."  She stopped again, and in a tiny, almost 
inaudible voice, muttered, "It's ugly, isn't it?"
   Conor stepped very close to her and whispered, "I 
thought you were beautiful."
   Catlin looked up at him, tears streaming down her 
face.  "Beautiful?  Do you really think so?"
   The tear that had been threatening to fall from Conor's 
eye dripped off his lashes and slid down his face.  "Aye.  
The most beautiful sight I've ever seen."
   Catlin reached up and tenderly wiped the tear from 
his cheek, drowning in his earnest brown eyes, reveling 
in the glow of their sincerity.  Oh, how she loved him at 
that moment.  She put her arms around him and sobbed 
against his chest.  Conor held her gently and 
whispered into her hair, "It's all right, Cat.  It's all over 
now.  I'll never let anyone hurt you again, I swear."
   She raised her tear-stained face to look at him.  Their 
faces were so close their breath mingled as they gazed at 
each other.  Hesitantly, almost timidly, Conor lowered his 
head and kissed Catlin's lips.  He could taste the salt of 
her tears as he opened his mouth slightly, savoring the 
taste of her kiss.
   Catlin whimpered against his lips, clutching the front 
of his leather tunic.  Her arms came up to twine about 
his neck, her fingers stroking his soft blond curls.  Conor's 
arms pulled her closer to him, tenderly caressing her 
scarred back through the linen nightshift.  She pressed to 
his body, drinking in the sweet taste of his mouth, feeling 
the strength in his arms as he held her.
   Something in Conor leapt, and he suddenly opened 
his mouth on hers, slipping his tongue into her mouth, 
his breath hot on her cheek.  Catlin became aware of 
Conor's straining breeches, the hard eagerness of him 
pressed against her body.  She expected to be frightened,
but for some reason, she wasn't.  This wasn't like her 
slavery days.  Conor would not hurt her, would not force 
her to do what she did not want to.  He was a gentle, 
loving man who would not for the world harm her.  She 
was safe with him, and that realization made her want 
him even more...
   Catlin pulled away from him.  "Conor?"
   He blinked, surprised.  Had he done something wrong?  
Oh, he hoped not.  "What is it, Cat?  What's wrong?"
   "Your scar."
   Conor blinked again, wondering if her kisses would 
ALWAYS fluster him into incomprehension.  "My what?  
I don't - "
   "When you were shot with the arrow a few months ago.  
When we met Shannon."
   "Oh."  He felt as though his head were filled with oatmeal.
   "You saw my scars.  Now let me heal yours."
   Conor felt a blush seeping into his cheeks.  Was she being 
serious? "Cat - I don't..."
   "Please?"  She WAS serious.  Her eyes said so.  Conor 
didn't see any harm in it, so he agreed.  Slowly, he unlaced 
his leather tunic, unfastened the strap that held the vest 
tight to his body, and took it off.  He put the whole thing 
on the chair where Catlin's discarded brown homespun 
still lay.
   Catlin stepped up to him, placed her hands on his bare 
chest, almost timidly.  The fingers of her right hand trailed 
lightly over the round white scar just above his left collarbone.  
She wanted to heal it, make it better, make his pain vanish... 
She touched her lips to the mark, tenderly kissing the pain 
away.  Conor gasped, first in surprise, then in pleasure.  
The feel of her lips on his skin was nice, he decided, 
VERY nice.
   His reaction encouraged Catlin to trail her kisses up to 
his neck, his throat, the underside of his jaw... She could 
feel his heart beating wildly beneath her hand, his skin 
hot and flushed.
   Conor put his arms around her waist, stroking the 
small of her back, innocently coaxing her closer.  Catlin, 
now doubly encouraged, worked her kisses up the side 
of his neck, then nibbled lightly at his left ear, carefully 
avoiding the silver earring in the lobe.  This was almost 
too much for Conor to take, and he moaned audibly, 
clutching her closer to him.  Reassured, Catlin nibbled 
a little harder.
   "Ohhh..." Conor didn't know how much longer he 
could control himself.  No one had ever done this to him 
before, and the thrill of first experience made it doubly 
pleasurable.  He tightened his arms around her, holding 
her so firmly he could feel the heat of her body through 
her linen nightshift.  Catlin's tongue flicked lightly over 
the earring, then worked its way down to the hollow at 
the base of his throat.
   Pushed to the edge, Conor rained soft kisses over Cat's 
nose, cheeks, and forehead before finally covering her mouth 
with his own, once again tasting the sweet honey of her lips.  
They clung together, each feeding off the other's body heat.  
Catlin eagerly matched the rhythm of Conor's mouth, kissing 
him as though she'd never stop.
   Conor leaned into the kiss, pushing her slightly 
backward.  Catlin's arms reached around him to clutch at 
his back, her short nails biting into his flesh.  For Conor, 
this hurt, but it also felt strangely good for some reason, 
and it goaded him into leaning still further.  Catlin's 
knees gave out, and Conor lowered her to the furs on the 
floor beside the blazing hearth-fire.
   Tenderly, he gazed into her dream-filled eyes, then 
lowered his head to kiss her cheek, her jaw, her neck.  She 
stroked his golden curls, whispering little endearments 
that she would've felt foolish saying at any other time.  
She ran her hands over his shoulders and down his back, 
loving the feel of his weight upon her.  Coaxing him closer, 
she kissed his neck and shoulders, delighting in his ragged, 
eager breathing.
   Conor had never been with a woman before, and the feel 
of her beneath him, warm and inviting, was absolutely 
maddening.  He dropped a kiss on the place where her 
neck and shoulder met, easing aside the neckline of 
her nightshift.  He pressed his lips to her newly-revealed 
shoulder, her collarbone, her upper chest, her...
   "Catlin!  Are you awake?  Come quickly!"  Tully charged 
into the room, shouting, "Catlin!  Your horse..."
   The young couple sat up with a start, Catlin clutching 
at the open front of her nightshift, Conor shielding her from 
view with his own body - and looking unmistakably guilty...
   Tully stood speechless.  What had he walked in on?  
From the looks on their faces, Conor and Catlin had been doing 
something they hadn't planned on interrupting.  A grin broke 
out across the dark-skinned boy's face, making him look 
like a true scamp.  "Am I interrupting something?"
   Conor was too embarrassed to be angry at Tully's 
impertinence.  "What's wrong, Tully?"
   Tully grinned still wider.  "Catlin's little mare is 
foaling.  We thought she might want to be there to see it.  
However, if you two are BUSY..."
   Conor stood up, the fury finally beginning to course 
through his veins.  "Tully...!"
   Catlin scurried to her feet, laid a soothing hand on 
Conor's trembling arm.  "It's all right, Conor.  Tully - my 
Alpha's foaling?"
   Tully's grin was dangerously close to a smirk.  "Yeah - 
if you want to see it, you'd better hurry.  That is, if you'll 
have TIME tonight..."
   Conor took a step toward Tully and the little imp nearly 
BOLTED from the hut, still grinning.
   Catlin was casting about for her clothes, gathering her 
skirt, boots, belt... "Where's my tunic?"  She wondered 
aloud, looking about the chamber for it.
   "On the chair," Conor said, "Where you threw it when 
you..." He stopped, bit his tongue.
   Catlin gave him a quizzical look, then laughed as the 
reason for his embarrassment dawned on her.  "When I 
took it off?" She asked, smiling.
   Conor flushed an appealing shade of pink. "Um...yeah."  
Catlin loved the way he said the word "yeah" - he made it 
sound as though there were an "r" on the end.  One more 
endearing little thing about him for her to love.
   "Here."  She picked up his leather tunic and handed it 
to him.  "Go on out and see how they're coming along.  I 
have to change."  With that, she scuffled him out the door, 
giggling.  Once he was gone, Cat undressed and began to 
put on her regular clothes.  As she pulled her homespun 
tunic over her head, she caught Conor's scent on the cloth. 
He had lain his leather vest on top of it, and now the fabric 
smelled of him.  She smiled, hugging herself, then hurried out 
the door to where her dreams stood waiting.
********************************************
Well, that's it, folks!!
I hope you liked it!
Special thanx to Alethea, Jenn, Lexy, StormWolf, 
hairbender, DSBlade, and DarkWolf for all their love 
and support.I hope you had as much fun as I did.
Thanx lots for reading, and don't forget to write and tell me 
what you think!
ConorSoul