Everything was so big when one was so little. Dorothea had spent the better part of an evening dodging horseless carriages and avoiding the grasp of children. Running on all fours was a new experience: her chin felt so close to the ground, she was sure she would tumble tail-over-ears at any moment. Somehow, she'd maintained her balance -- and good thing, because the Marshal was quick behind her. She dove into a clowder of stray felines at a rubbish pail, scattering them in all directions, and she bolted as fast as her delicate paws could carry her.

The open window was a convenience: a house to hide in, and a sill to look out over to ensure she hadn't been followed. Her ears swiveled, her big eyes blinked, clear in the darkness. Nothing moved in the alleys. Nothing had noticed her. She was safe. She was also a cat.

The appearance of a gigantic person with a rolling pin, however, was another matter. She froze, and she stared up at the human with a regal air, fluffy chest puffed, daring her to take a step nearer. She had teeth and she had claws, and she was quite willing to learn to use them. It must have worked, because the human backed down and even set a bowl of milk on the floor. Dorothea was sure to stay exactly where she was, and she didn't let the human see her sneak up on the bowl and lap at the milk. She was very, very hungry.

Snuggling was not something Dorothea did. For awhile she stared curiously at the moving pictures on the magic talking box, but decided it was just light and noise. She set to exploring her new refuge, poked her head into corners and shadows, taking note of anything that could be used as a weapon -- not that she had hands to wield it, but maybe she could convince the human to stand her guard. She was worried by the size of the moon outside, and the big mirror against the wall in the hallway. There was a bristle in her fur that told her the Marshal wasn't far off.

She jumped lightly onto the couch and walked along its back to take a proper look at the human whose house she was sheltering in -- but a clatter drew up her head immediately, ears pricked and eyes wide in alarm. Something or someone was outside, smacking the trash cans with a sword. She knew a sword when she heard one. Her tail flicked violently.

Someone pounded on the door with a fierce urgency. Dorothea spread her fangs and hissed, hackles raised.

At the door was the Marshal and two guardsmen, clad in the Queen's violet and chainmail. They weren't here to talk.