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A book about exmoors. Preferably one that would not only tell me more about how to care for one, but the history of the creature. They had been used in battle, but how? As mounts, I assumed. How did one train an exmoor as a mount? And what advantages would they have compared to horses?
I pictured riding Nightclaw. The prospect was both appealing and a little terrifying. I couldn’t imagine anyone putting a saddle on that exmoor.
I opened my eyes. I heard nothing. I sensed nothing. The books were not speaking to me. Perhaps I was doing something wrong.
Or, perhaps it was just plain foolishness to think I might be able to train an exmoor in the first place. After all, from what I’d heard, Draven wasn’t having much luck with Sunstrike.
And then I heard a faint whispering, like the pages of many books all turning at the same time, like leaves rustling in the wind.
Opening my eyes, I stretched out my hand, as an impetus propelled me forward.
I walked down the aisle, hand lifted, as a curious sensation beckoned me towards the end of the row.
When I stopped, my finger strayed as if pulled by some outside force, trailing along leather-bound spines until it touched a dark burgundy book embossed with gold lettering.
Lettering which I could suddenly read.
The title, written in faded gold scrolling letters on a worn leather cover, read: “The Legacy of the Fae Royals: Guardians of the Leap of Faith.”
I frowned. The book did not seem to be about exmoors. Nevertheless, it was the only one I could read. I pulled it down from the shelf. The volume was heavier than I expected it to be and I nearly dropped it. Glancing around to make sure Hawl hadn’t noticed, I carried it over to a table nearby and opened it.
I was pleasantly surprised as I glanced over the chapter headings and realized the book was not merely the annals of ancient fae monarchs but a history of the fae's connection to the exmoor. Gently I touched a black and white engraving depicting one of the majestic cats leaping through the air, its fur battle-scarred and its rider holding a glowing sword stretched high overhead.
The first pages of the book were a basic description of an exmoor’s geographical origins and physiology, perhaps written in mind for someone who had never encountered one before.
“The Imperator Felis Bellator Volans, called ‘exmoor’ by scholars in Eskira, and frequently known by the colloquial title of ‘battlecat’ is native to the continents of Myntra and Eskira.”
Apparently, this volume had been written quite some time ago as the author seemed to be unaware of the exmoor’s near total departure from Myntra.
“Standing at an astounding height of at least six feet at the shoulder, the Felis Bellator possesses a regal and commanding presence that demands awe and respect...”
Of this, I was well aware. I skimmed ahead.
“The Felis Bellator boasts a muscular and streamlined build, enabling it to move with unmatched speed and grace. Its fur is a lustrous golden-brown, accentuated by striking black stripes adorning its back and sides. This pattern serves as both camouflage and a symbol of its prowess. One of its most distinguishing features is a tuft of fur at the tip of its tail, which serves as a means of nonverbal communication, conveying its mood and intentions...”
Smiling to myself, I recalled how the exmoor we had found back on Eskira had made good use of her tail. I made a mental note to remember to pay close attention to Nightclaw's tail movements.
“Despite its formidable stature and fearsome reputation, the Felis Bellator is known to exhibit a strong sense of loyalty and protectiveness towards its chosen companion. These majestic creatures form deep bonds with their riders and will fearlessly defend them in times of danger. While they possess a regal demeanor, they are also known for their intelligence and cunning, making them both powerful allies and worthy adversaries...”
Well, now we seemed to be getting somewhere. I leaned forward over the page.
But to my disappointment, the opening section ended rather abruptly.
The next chapter was much less focused on the exmoor and more on the history of the Valtain monarchy. I read carefully, searching for any mention of battlecats. To my surprise, after reading the first few pages, I realized that the book made no distinction between the Siabra and the fae of Valtain. Groaning, I wondered why the stacks had directed me to such an outdated tome, surely at least hundreds of years old.
Still, I kept reading.
“Among the Fae Kings, High King Gorlois Le Fay, revered for his unwavering valor, stands tall in the lineage of the ancients. It is said that his mastery of the battlecat, his trusted companion and guardian, cemented his reign as a beacon of strength during the age of wars. The clash of steel and the thundering paws of the exmoors echoed through the realm, carving tales of heroism into the very earth...”
I was interrupted by the weight of a heavy paw on my shoulder and looked up to see Hawl standing over me, holding a plate with bread, sliced meat, and cheese.
“Breakfast,” the Bearkin grunted and dropped the plate on the table beside me with a loud clatter as if I were a prisoner in a cell.
But I was too hungry to be anything but grateful. “I’m ravenous, how did you know?” My stomach making noisy sounds of anticipation, I picked up a hunk of bread and bit into it, savoring the warm, pillowy interior. Hawl must have made it themselves that morning. “Mmmm,” I mumbled between chewing. “Thank you, Hawl.”
The Bearkin nodded towards the volume that lay on the table. “The right book found you then, I take it?”
I tilted my head doubtfully. “Well... in a sense. There is information about exmoors in here. Though I’m not entirely sure how much.”
