He’s Catkin.

“Really?”

I can’t lie either.

Croi turns and looks at the boy a little closer. He is Catkin! A type of fae who alternate between fae and cat forms. Uaine called fae with secondary forms Lesser Fae, which makes no sense to Croi. Unlike the so-called Higher Fae, the Lesser Fae have two forms, so shouldn’t they be regarded as the superior beings?

The overgrown Meow is observing Croi with his head tilted to one side and his face filled with amusement.

Why is he amused? Is he amused by her ugliness? Croi sneaks another look at him and sees his lips twitch.

I don’t like him.

Cats play with their prey before they eat them. Croi has helped many mice escape their predators in the human city. This Meow shouldn’t think she’s helpless. No matter what her inner self says, she’s going to be a dragon.

“What makes you think you’re a dragon?” the Meow asks in a perfectly nice tone that makes Croi dislike him too.

“I breathed fire, didn’t I?” She tries to be as polite as she can. He can still attack her with those sharp claws.

“The dragon world is closed off to the Otherworld. All contact with dragons is forbidden. Especially after Nuala the Brave defeated their king,” the boy points out.

“Who?” If the dragon world is unreachable through the Otherworld, how is she going to get home?

The dragon world isn’t home.

“Nuala the Brave, the heir to the Forever King, the one who should be the queen right now,” the Meow elaborates. His words make Croi think of her dream visitor. She wonders if he knows about Nuala.

“What happened to her?”

“She disappeared. Perhaps she, too, was the Usurper’s victim.” The sorrow in his voice is deep. “Anyway, you can’t be a dragon.”

“Why not?” Croi scowls at him.

The boy smirks. “Dragonlings are hatched from eggs.”

Croi pauses. She came from an egg?

“And they don’t change forms,” the Meow finishes.

“Why are you so determined to destroy my dragon-ness?!” Croi jumps to her feet and glares at him. The boy is leaning against a pack that is much like hers except that it is larger and the same color as the ground it is resting on.

“How can I destroy your dragon-ness when you didn’t have any to begin with?” The Meow folds his arms.

Croi’s eyes fill with tears. They’re angry tears, she tells herself. She does not appreciate the catkin breaking her hopes.

“I’m sorry. I’m just teasing you. What are you doing by yourself in the woods? Didn’t your parents tell you about the dangers that lurk here?” The amusement trickles out of the boy’s eyes, leaving him stern and disapproving.

“I’d need to have parents before they can tell me what to do,” Croi replies, sniffing. “They threw me away when I was born,” she adds, just in case he asks something else.

The boy’s eyes widen and fill with what suspiciously looks like pity. Croi doesn’t want his pity. She doesn’t want anyone’s pity.