by Sherry Allyn Norman

Nikolaus Ivanov sat beneath dark woods covering the mountaintop overlooking Columbia Falls, Montana. Tall trees towered above where he sat at the edge of the cliff and watched the small town below. Thick brush behind him, his position, and the woodlands camo he wore made him invisible to any who happened to look his way. His eyes, which saw so clearly at night, moved in a steady sweeping gaze. Cold wind blew dark hair across his face and he shivered.

Leaves driven by a restless wind poured in sweeping waves through the dim pre-dawn. Rustling, skittering, as they hit the ground, they flipped end over end, then slithered to and fro among the boulders where he sat.

Nikolaus looked up at stars beginning to fade and a sky so beautiful it was frightening. The sun, still below the horizon, cast red and yellow rays across the sky. Clouds raced overhead, stretching into streamers of dark gray and a softer gray. Wide ribbons of bright pink, lavender and orange, lengthened and spread into a tapestry of wild beauty as the sun climbed above the horizon.

Hot air balloons raced along just below the streaming clouds. From where he sat, Nikolaus could see a half a dozen of the intricately painted airships. No telling how many more had already gone on out of sight. Beautiful at any time, they were even more so with the morning's rising sun bathing them in rainbow colors. He wished he were close enough to see details, but knew they were much farther away than they looked. There was enough distance that, even with his far-reaching eyesight, although he could tell each balloon seemed to be colorfully decorated, he could not make out the designs. Three trailed behind, moving more slowly than the others. Those three looked a lot alike, seeming to have similar markings.

A solid weight in his lap shifted and fifteen pounds of orange and white Catling kitten sat up to peer over the cliff's edge. "Is it time yet, Niko?"

"Not quite, Rummy," Nikolaus murmured. "There's still one more car down there and it's not quite daylight."

Rumbler sighed and stepped from Nikolaus' lap, yawning and stretching to his longest length. Shivering suddenly, he fluffed long fur, and then ambled away from the cliff's edge and into the undergrowth.

Nikolaus cautioned, "Don't go far."

At some distance already, Rumbler switched to mind-speech to speak within Nikolaus’ head. "Just far enough away your sensitive nose won't be offended, partner mine."

Paws scratched and scuffled, digging through layered leaves and then dirt. Nikolaus smiled. Rumbler was nothing if not thorough about sanitation. It was the same with any Catling Nikolaus had been acquainted with in all his eighteen years of life. The Catlings his parents partnered with were certainly meticulous about such things. Callie, his mother's longhaired calico Catling partner, insisted on her own toilet for such things and only dug in anything when forced to do so. It was just as well. Litter boxes for forty-pound Catlings were hard to come by. Simber, his father's black Catling partner, weighed in at fifty pounds the last Nikolaus remembered. He had hopes Rumbler would be as large.

Rumbler returned to Nikolaus' side just as the faint sound of a motor starting up below reached his ears.

"Well, Rummy, that's the last of them."

They looked over the edge of the cliff and watched a battered SUV leave the nearly treeless plateau below commonly called Lover's Leap. Not that any of the locals ever used the slopes below to do anything so stupid as leap to their deaths; but the plateau was used by the local youths as a trysting ground. It was a romantic spot with a wide view of night sky and star washed heavens.

Turning toward the trees, Rumbler said over his shoulder, "I'll wake Chris and Rambler."

"'K." Nikolaus pulled a granola bar from an upper pocket in his camo wear and peeled back the wrapping. Munching, he got to his feet and continued watching the SUV as it made its winding way into the small town below. Only then did he follow Rumbler into the trees, the balloons forgotten.

He found his best friend, Christopher Connery, still in his sleeping bag, struggling with the bag's zipper and muttering words far from nice.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Nikolaus asked, "When are you going to give in and get a new bag?"

Christopher looked up, brown eyes red-rimmed, hair standing on end, and clearly nearing the end of his patience.

"I don't want a new bag,” he said through his teeth. “I want this one. I like this one. It's comfortable."