The Orange Cat and Other Cainsville Tales (Cainsville 3.5)

I knew that look. And it explained why he wasn't making any noise as he moved.

As I thought that, a dark shape crept up beside him. A giant hound with faintly red eyes. The man idly scratched the beast behind the ears and murmured to it in Welsh. The hound grunted and rubbed against the man's hip before gliding back into the forest.

Cwn Annwn.

How was that possible? A Huntsman showing up in this remote area when Arawn was here?

I squinted and got a better look at the man's clothing. A leather jacket, yes. Timeless in style, like Ricky's. But under it, he wore a vintage western shirt with a couple extra buttons undone. And the jeans? Bell-bottoms, which as far as I know, have yet to come back in style, particularly for middle-aged guys.

A vision of the past. That's what I was seeing. A time when a Huntsman and his cwn came here.

Great. Not that I don't appreciate a little historical drama, but I had better things to do. Like getting back to my own time, watching out for Ricky and finding a fae-stolen baby.

The problem with visions, though, is that they're like being at a show where ushers have locked the doors, forcing you to endure the entire performance.

The gwragedd was long gone, the Huntsman having never realized she'd been there. He continued along like a professional tracker, checking broken twigs and scuffs in the dirt, assessing and changing direction and sometimes, just standing, his eyes half closed as if relying on a sixth sense.

Finally, he made his way to the swimming hole. He crouched beside it, his fingers dangling in the water. The hound approached again. It looked at the swimming hole and whined.

"So, am I right?" he asked, and I presumed he still spoke Welsh, but now I heard English. "Is this what it seems to be?"

"You actually expect her to answer, don't you?"

The second voice startled me, but the Huntsman just kept running his fingers through the water. "But she does. Doesn't he?" He nodded at a second cwn coming from the forest.

A younger man stepped out behind the hound, dressed in jeans and a denim jacket and what looked like a bowling shirt.

"He only tells me if he's hungry or needs to take a shit. I got ripped off."

The second cwn growled. His Huntsman chuckled and patted his head.

"So, what did she say?" the second Huntsman asked, nodding at the other cwn.

"She agrees with me. As usual. Because I'm usually right."

The second Huntsman rolled his eyes and hunkered down on a rock to stare into the dark depths of the swimming hole. "Is it even possible? Out here?"

"I've heard of such things. It feels like it, doesn't it?" The first Huntsman closed his eyes. "Closer than it's ever been. Closer than I've ever felt it."

"Hmm."

The first Huntsman opened an eye. "You disagree?"

"No, I'm just not sure I'm as thrilled by the idea as you are. Passages are dangerous. You never know what will get in. Or out."

"Nothing leaves this one. It's sealed."

"Dare I ask how you know that?"

"The same way I know that humans aren't likely to wander in. Don't you sense her?"

"Her?"

The first Huntsman sighed. "You are such a child, sometimes. That's what happens when you lose your connection to the old world, become too immersed in this one."

"Blah-blah-blah."

The first Huntsman raised a middle finger.