“Cats are. They may seem standoffish, but once one has claimed you, it’s up to you not to break that trust. They aren’t,” she hesitated, searching for the right word, “intelligent. Not the way we are. They can’t understand, if we hurt them.”
Helios increased the volume of his purr, narrowing his eyes to slits. “But they understand our emotions,” she continued softly. “Helios is saying, don’t hurt, I’m here, I care. Maybe that’s why Macrowafter came to you.”
Loki was staring down at the cat with a look of perplexed concentration, his hand still moving with calculated care over the silky fur—he found he had no answer for a long moment, and instead focused on the cat.
“…I found Macrowafter in an alley. He was hurt. I took him home and bathed and treated him, and he stayed.”
Summer reached out to lay her hand over his. “He must have known you had a good hear—” A storm of emotion blazed through her mind, pain and anger and desperation and longing — she jerked her hand away and sat for a long moment, breathing hard. Helios laid his ears back, his purr dimming.
Loki’s hand went rigid under hers—and he pulled his own hand away as she jerked hers back, his eyes fixed on the cat.
Summer swallowed hard. And then again. “Excuse me,” she said faintly, turning away slightly. She cupped her hands, and a flame grew inside her palms, flickering against her face and filling the room with the smell of fire. A single tear tracked down her face as she closed her eyes.
When she reopened them, the fire vanished. Apparently without self-consciousness, she smeared the tearstain from her face and turned back to Loki. Clearing her throat, she said, “I’m sorry, where was I?”