The next morning Bast helped her father hobble out of the cave, at least she thought it was morning. She explained to him what she had seen in the night and that she had not truly seen the sunshine since the strange clouds appeared. Her father did not know what to think about this, but he saw it for himself and said nothing.

The two hopped and scraped their way to the small stream where she sat the old man down on a
large stone.

“At least the water is still cool and clean,” he said and began to drink. He stopped when he saw what else had been drawn to the stream.

“Meow!” He exclaimed.

Bast sprang like a cat in wait to her beloved animal who once again allowed her to consume him with far more affection than he would usually tolerate. Bast looked him over and found that part of his tail was singed, and he had bits of dried blood in his fur, but all in all, was still a very healthy cat.

“I would like to recover at home, Bast. If there is any part of it left,” he said standing and beginning to make his way towards the glade where they both had lived their entire lives.

Bast and her cat followed, playing their silly games from days passed and generally forgetting what the world had been like for the past few days. Bast nearly ran into her father where he had stopped on the small ridge overlooking the ancestral farmstead. It was still there. A few of the outbuildings had collapsed, and a field had been burned, but for the most part it was in one

piece. The part that troubled her and her father, however, was that where a hill should be in the distance, there was none.

There was nothing.

The strange darkness still hung in the sky and lingered too close to the ground like fog but with a greater weight somehow. Perhaps that was the reason? They made their way down the small hill and once again entered the courtyard. The statues were all broken from their pillars and the small pond was now dry, but it was still their home. The old man wandered into his living room and Bast and Meow headed for hers. Everything was still the same as it had been when Bast left. A bit more shaken but still there.

What had happened was strange and she wanted answers, but she wouldn't get them today.

She slept.

That night Bast dreamt of a beautiful window of stained glass. The spirals were perfect, with blues fading into greens and oranges to red. The design was of a perfect system where each color was dependent on the color next to it and so on and so forth for all time. It was a perfect wheel of balance. Then, someone threw a stone through its center and the entire structure came tumbling down. Before the glass hit the floor and her scream reached her ears, she felt a pull on her leg.

She shot awake and saw a man in her room, and he had a hold of her leg. The scream she had held was released. But instead of a reaction of anger or fear, the dirty face she could see and smell in the dark only laughed.

“The world is over. No one can hear you scream, rich girl.” The ruffian sneered and grabbed her other leg. Bast could hear the jingling of buckles as the man prepared to assault her, and her fear blossomed into a wail for her father.

The man laughed again.

“He won't be helping anyone,” he said and grabbed a hold of her bed clothes. Bast's struggle felt weak as she tried to resist the toughened and calloused hands that ripped at her.

Just when she thought she would pass out, the man's laugh turned to screams.

Meow had come from the dark and launched himself on the man's face. Bast scrambled from the bed and ran into the courtyard. She could hear the laughing of other men around her and the destruction of everything she held dear. Running to her father’s living room, she found him in his chair.

He had been strangled.

Her father had survived dozens of battles. He’d lost his wife and raised a daughter. Everyone he employed was killed by something from the skies, and now he died alone strangled by ruffians in his sleep.

The fear and helplessness she had felt before was over.

She only felt rage.