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Road safely crossed, I struck out across the green. Part way across the green, I had to field an errant rugby ball that had escaped from the less than complete control of a group of children.

Much to my own surprise, I managed to catch the ball before it hit me in the face. From the rugby players came a shout of:

'Sorry! Can we have our ball back please, Father?'

I flipped the ball so that I had the middle between my paws, the pointed ends towards earth and sky - just like I had seen professional players do, and sent the ball back the way it had come with a hefty drop kick. There was a cheer from the children as the ball went sailing through the air. My tail was wagging contentedly for the rest of the walk to Anna's door.

A moment's pause on the doorstep was enough for me to collect my thoughts before ringing the doorbell. There was the faint sound of pawsteps and Anna opened the door. A smell of cooking wafted out to greet me, mingled with the subtle scents of her perfume. She smiled broadly, her whiskers sending the smile seemingly beyond the edges of her face. Anna plucked at my shirt with a proprietorial air.

'Very smart, very dashing.' She said, smoothing some of the creases on my shirt front. I coughed nervously and she laughed quietly.

'Come in.' said Anna. 'No pudding?'

'I, er, no.'

'Very erudite, Father! Never mind, I'm sure there's something in the fridge.' She laughed, then added: 'I'm glad that there's some typical vicar-y things about you, I was beginning to think you were perfect.'

Anna ushered me into the hallway and pointed me to the living room. The small room was cosily cluttered with ornaments, photographs and glossy books on mammalian biology. I was settled on a low sofa covered with a peony-patterned material. All around there were black and white photographs and even some early sepia-toned prints. It seemed as if the entire history of Rayton-in-Amble since the invention of the camera was hanging from Anna's walls. Many pictures of village events - pictures from an era when every animal looked stern and forbidding; a symptom of having to hold the same pose for minutes at a time during long exposures.

'They're photographs of the harvest-home, the oldest must be from over a hundred and fifty years ago.' Explained Anna, following my gaze. 'My great-grandmother had one of the first cameras in the district. These photos were all taken just before the last sheaf of wheat from the last field to be cut would be taken and burnt in a fire during the home-fire ceremony. The members of the church's congregation were never allowed to attend, not even allowed to see it, it is only for the "old-believers".'

Anna paused for a moment and looked longingly at the pictures.

'Anyway, dinner is about ready, shall we go through?'

We went in to the little dining room, lit with soft candlelight, silverware gleaming on white linen. Anna padded through to the kitchen and shortly, she returned bearing a pair of plates. She placed the plates on the table and took her seat opposite me.

'It's trout in a herb crust with fresh veg.' She said.

I sniffed enthusiastically at the food.

'It smells wonderful, Anna'

'Do tuck in.'

We ate in silence for a few minutes, I looked across at Anna.

'So, tell me about yourself: it seems silly, I've known you for six months and I know next to nothing about your background.' I said, embarrassment tinging my voice.

'Well,' Said Anna, quiet laughter in her eyes, 'You know already that I'm a born and bred Raytoner. My family's been in this village since I don't know when.

'I was born in this cottage and went to the primary school up the road. I suppose that I had quite a lonely childhood, because we were a church family. Most of the families in the village adhere to the local customs and weren't happy with me getting to know their children - they thought I was somehow "tainted".

'Any road, I was sent to Amblehead Comprehensive School. I loved that school, mostly because the rest of the year from the village school all went to Amblehead Grammar - I got a new start. I still keep in touch with my friends from ACS. It turned out that I had a flair for mammalian biology and I won a scholarship to Tal University. Got my degree from them, first in the family. Mum was over the moon, sadly she was too poorly to make the degree congregation.

'Well, I came home to look after Mum and took the school secretary's job for a while. Then the diocese hired me as the parish administrator. A couple of years later, Mum died and I inherited the house.

'Not much more to say, really. Anyway, you know my life story, what about Father Francis, Ascension College dishy-dog? I only know what's in Catford's Clerical Directory.'

I nearly dropped my knife, I had been called many things up to that point: Nerd (more times than I care to remember), Taonta (but only by my parents), Fran (only once, and we were all quite drunk), even scrawny, but never before had I been called 'dishy'; I coughed and speared a carrot with my fork.

'Umm,' I started, 'I was born in Newton and we lived there until I was six or seven. We moved to my mum's farm in the Borders when Dad decided to resign as a canon at Newton Cathedral to concentrate on his academic work.

'I did a year at the junior department of Newton Cathedral School and the went to both primary and secondary school in Coombe Dare. Then, I went on to Anskar's University near Ridding to study Ancient Languages and Linguistics. After that, I did my three years at Ascension College. The rest, I think you know.'

'Your Dad was a priest?' Anna asked. 'He must have been proud when you were ordained.'

'He would have been, I'm sure.' I answered. 'He, well, he died when I was at Ascension, a car accident.'

Anna squeezed my paw, she was looking directly into my eyes.

'Sorry,' She said, 'I didn't know.'

'You weren't to know, and you're right: he would have been proud.'

There was a gentle pressure on my cheek, Anna had reached up with her paw.

'Good.' She said. 'I'll go and see if I've got anything for dessert.'

There was a rattling from the kitchen, the sound of crockery and of a door closing.

'Ice cream?' Anna asked.

'Wonderful.' I replied.

The ice cream arrived in tall cut glass sundae coupes, the kind that I thought only existed in ice cream parlours. A sheen of damp covered the glass, the ice cream already starting to melt in the evening heat. We ate our dessert in silence, the ice cream really was excellent.

After dinner we decamped back to the living room. I saw that Anna was hiding something behind her back, her tail was swishing from side to side, her ears were twitching and flicking excitedly. A smile played across my muzzle at Anna's excitement.

'What are you hiding?'

Anna laughed and winked at me.

'That's for me to know and dishy vicars to find out!'

There was a pause and, with quite a theatrical flourish, Anna revealed a bottle of Champagne.

'Ta-da!' She exclaimed. 'I've been saving it for a special occasion, and I think this counts.'

She passed the bottle to me and turned to a cabinet for a pair of Champagne flutes; as she turned, her tail brushed across my knee. I fumbled with the foil wrapping around the cork, eventually giving up and tearing through the foil with a claw. Foil removed, I prepared to do battle with the wire cage that strapped the cork down in the bottle's neck.

Just as I had finally wrestled the wire free of the bottle, Anna turned back with a Champagne flute in each paw; the facets of the crystal glass sparkled brilliantly in the soft light. She placed the glasses with great care on the low table and then looked expectantly at me.

'Right,' I said, 'Stand clear!'

I searched desperately for a safe direction to point the bottle, a direction where there were no photographs or breakables that would come off worst should the cork decide to do an impression of a tiny rocket. Taking the bottom of the bottle in my right paw and holding the cork firmly with my left, I began to twist: muttering 'twist the bottle, not the cork' under my breath. It all seems a faintly ridiculous thing to do, but (my luck with the rugby ball notwithstanding) my coordination leaves a lot to be desired.

The cork left the neck of the bottle with a faint pop; relieved, I poured the wine into the glasses.

As she took her glass, Anna asked:

'What were you muttering? Some prayer to the patron saint of Champagne?'

'No,' I laughed, 'Just a vital life lesson: "twist the bottle, not the cork"; you don't lose the fizz or break valuable objets d'art. Cheers!'

We brought our glasses together with a musical _ting_and Anna made herself comfortable next to me on the sofa. Drinking Champagne was always a delight (sadly, not a frequent one on my stipend) and I sneezed as some of the bubbles went up my nose. This caused my headache to return, just to remind me that it was still there, so I winced and felt the top of my head.

'What's wrong?' Asked Anna.

'Bump on the head, got a lump between the ears.' I said through gritted teeth, as the pain passed, I added: 'That's better, I've stopped seeing double!'

'Poor thing.'

Anna rubbed my back and took a sip of Champagne. A few minutes later there was a weight against my shoulder as Anna leant herself against me; she snaked her tail under my arm and let it rest across my chest.

Time passed and we chatted about nothing in particular. The level of the Champagne in the bottle sank as we relaxed and enjoyed each other's company.

As the Champagne ran out, I reached up and began fiddling with my collar. This made Anna sit forward and look round at me. Smiling, she reached up and pulled the insert from my collar; I loosened the top button with a contented sigh. As I watched, Anna held the long strip of white plastic to her neck. The shirts I wore were of an old design with what my tailor (a mouse by the incredible name of Eustace Henry Gloster) called a tonsure-collar: unlike more modern priests' shirts which have a little strip of white across the top button, mine had a long strip of white that reached all the way around the collar and a square cut out over the top button at the front; consequently my collar insert was the best part of eighteen inches long - it overlapped at the back of my neck; on Anna's neck she was able to wrap the plastic strip around twice.

'Suits you.' I said.

'I didn't realise that these things were so long.' Said Anna, waggling the strip of plastic with a paw.

On the wall the clock began striking.

'Do you mind if I put the telly on?' Asked Anna. 'For the news.'

'Course not.'

Anna stood and switched the television set on. As the set came on, the brassy opening chords of the evening news' theme music filled the room. The music died away to a single tone, the time signal from the atomic clock housed in the Royal Naval Observatory at St-Michael's-Port: pip, pip, pip, peep. The national time signal was an Ironmont institution, in fact it had once played its part in defence policy: its failure to be broadcast would have been the signal to Ironmont ships at sea that the country had suffered some cataclysmic attack and they were to report to the nearest allied power. The news reader's voice cut through my mental ramblings:

'Good evening, this is the Ironmont National Broadcasting Service, it is nine o'clock. I'm Bill Turnbull and these are the news headlines...'

Anna came back to the sofa and picked up my legs by the knees and swung them onto the seat; having done that, she sat lightly in my lap and leant back into my chest. She wiggled herself a little into a more comfortable position and then pulled my tail across her legs.

In the background was the news reader's voice:

'...Yesterday two service personnel died after a road accident in the Borders Controlled Area. Their identities have yet to be released, but their families have been informed. In a statement, the Defence Ministry said that the incident had been regrettable and that there would be an inquiry into the causes...'

'That's awful,' Said Anna, slowly running her claws through my tail's fur, 'Those poor soldiers.'

I hugged Anna into my chest and gently laid my muzzle on her head; through the fine fur between her ears, I was aware of a little ridge in her skull. She moved her ears slightly, tickling against my whiskers. I felt, simply, comfortable; Anna must have been pretty comfortable as well, I could feel her purring vibrate against my chest.

'The Treasury Office today announced that a financial stimulus package in the region of 75 million florins was being created to support small- and medium-sized businesses across Ironmont. We can cross live to the Finance Ministry and our chief economics editor, Robert O'Hare.'

The image on the screen changed to show the imposing gothic sandstone bulk of the Finance Ministry Building. Anna shifted a little so that she could lay her head flat on my chest. Her paw rested by beneath chin, a gentle pricking sensation came from her claws through my shirt and fur. I could feel the slow rising and falling of Anna's side as she breathed, the constant gentle rumbling vibration of her purr und my paw. Very slowly, Anna's tail moved across my arm and then she drew it away and let it settle alongside my tail.

The news burbled away from the television, now largely ignored; we were lost in each other's company. Anna fiddled absently with one of my cufflinks. The cufflinks were favourites of mine: quite small, made of gold and black enamel; the enamel face of each link had been etched back to the gold underneath by some skilled artist into matching double-headed eagles surmounted with crowns and clutching a cross in each set of talons. They had been a gift to me from the Patriarch of the Holy Cross. The Holy Cross Patriarchate was an ancient Church in the Medved Empire, far to the north. Each little crown was set with a piece of amber.

'They're beautiful.' Breathed Anna.

'Thanks,' I replied, 'They were a gift from Patriarch Nikolai when I worked in Volgrad with the International Ecumenical Council.'

'What was Volgrad like?' she asked, her whiskers twitching.

Her curiosity was natural, the Medved Empire had been a sprawling absolute monarchy, closed to the rest of the world. The Ironmont armed forces had been sent out as peacekeepers as the edges of the empire crumpled - a deployment that had so scarred Harry. The churches had taken a key role in opening the Empire to the world and in negotiating the peace treaties that protected the new nations to the east.

'It's a beautiful city,' I said, looking into Anna's wide eyes, 'A great walled city on the River Vol. At its centre are the cathedral of St Kirill and the Imperial Palace. Unlike our cathedrals, St Kirill's is like a jewel, tiled and glazed in a riot of colour, topped with gigantic onion domes, covered in gilding. The great west doors are bound in pure gold; in the weak winter sunlight that shone on them then, they glowed the same colour as your eyes.

'Inside, the whole building is covered in mosaics made from precious and semi-precious stones. The whole place was sparkling in the candlelight. But, what really draws the eye is the iconostasis: a screen that blocks the altar from view, covered in the images of the saints; it towers above the faithful, forty feet or more, set with gold and pearls, suffused with the scent of incense. I was overwhelmed when I saw it first, my fur stood up all over my body - I had never seen something of such beauty before.

'My counterpart from the Patriarchate was a polar bear, just out of their seminary - Father Vladimir. I was taken aback by the way the priests of the Patriarchate dress, they're like something out of a history book: they all wear long flowing black cassocks and tall black hats with veils of material that cover their backs. Anyway, Father Vladimir showed me around Volgrad and its museums and churches. So many beautiful things.'

'I'd love to see Volgrad.' Said Anna wistfully.

'The Empire is thinking about issuing tourist visas, perhaps we could.'

'That would be nice,' She said, 'Specially with you.'

With a deft flick of my claws, the cufflinks were removed from my cuffs; the specks of amber glinted in the light. I sat for a moment with my cuffs flopping over my paws. This must have looked particularly daft, as Anna dissolved into a fit of the giggles. She grasped my wrist and flopped my paw and cuff about; it must have been the Champagne, but I couldn't resist laughing either. Once I had regained control of my paws from Anna, I pushed my sleeves up to my elbows. I brought my arms back around Anna and she began to trace patterns in my arm fur.

Outside, the evening began to darken and the first spots of rain dribbled down the living room window. Soon, the rain was hammering against the window pane, turning the world beyond into an impressionistic wash of colours and distorted shapes. In the distance there came a blue flash, and, after a gap, the deep, bass rumble of the thunder which shook Anna's cottage. The bolt of lightning must have earthed itself on an electricity substation, as the lights and television flickered and then died. Some old habits die very hard and I flinched and whimpered, my ears folding flat. Another flash, another crack - the storm was moving closer.

Anna moved, pushing my legs aside so that she could nuzzle her face into my neck. She ran her paw soothingly up and down my arm. Her warm breath on my neck and the tickling of her whiskers where they brushed my skin was more comforting than she could possibly have known.

'My Granny used to tell me stories about the lightning.' She said, her voice slightly muffled by my neck. 'She said that the lightning was the god of the land searching for those who would go against the old ways. And, that the thunder was the god's anger at them, and its vicious joy at their downfall. Granny used to lock all the doors and keep us inside for fear that we would be taken.'

'You know, I always thought that Granny was being silly -locking us in- but, after she passed away, Grandad Eric told me about the reaping gangs. He said that adherents to the old ways would comb the village and the fields to take animals who strayed out of doors, to take them to their temple. The police put a stop to it in the end, some went to prison; but it was never linked to anything or anyone else, Arthur Oxfold and that family have always been good at covering their tracks.

'Now it's just thought of as a harmless tradition.'

A third flash filled the room with blue-white light, freezing the scene as if in a photograph. I flinched again. Anna cradled my face and made soothing noises as the sound of thunder filled the air again. I felt foolish, a grown dog and parish priest scared of a little thunder. The next flash was less overpowering and its accompanying rumble fainter, the storm had passed over us.

Anna patted my leg as she stood.

'I'm going to get some candles - there's no point us fumbling around in the dark.'

I sat in the semi-darkness listening to Anna move around. She returned with a candle in a little pottery holder, the kind with a handle so that it could be carried about. She moved with speed and assurance around the room, placing candles and lighting them with the candle she had brought in. Soon, the room was bathed in a golden flickering glow. The clock struck again, ten o'clock.

'I really ought to be going,' I said, 'It's getting late and I don't want to impose.'

'It's still pouring down outside; you haven't brought a coat.' Said Anna. 'I don't want to be responsible for you coming down with a cold. Also, I want to hear more about Volgrad and the Medved Empire; I want to hear more about you.'

As if on cue, the rain lashed harder against the window. Anna's cottage was so cosy and warm; I didn't need any more persuasion.

'What do you want to know?' I asked.

'Tell me about Volgrad, describe it to me. I don't get much chance to travel, my last holiday was a week in Menefwy, in Aberâmbwl.'

'The city lies on a great bend in the River Vol,' I began, trying to channel my father's story telling style, 'And is home to the Medved royal family. When I visited the Tsar was Gregoriy XIV, a great black bear. Even to this day, the Tsar wields great power in the Empire, millions live or die by his command. He lives with his wife, Ekaterina Vera Dimitrievna Medvedva and his cubs in the great Imperial Palace; a complex that covers twenty acres in the centre of the city. Normally, the Imperial Palace is sealed from commoners, except for the court of St Basil, where the Tsar may grant hearings as the Empire's final court of appeal. I was granted special access to visit the Imperial Cathedral of St George. Father Vladimir showed me this great, secret church; a church the size of Newton Cathedral and just for the Tsar and his household. It is painted white with blue tiles on the rooves and domes.

'The Imperial Palace is surrounded by miles of high, white walls set with gates of green painted wood. Apart from the Great Gate of the Tsars which looks out on to St Kirill's Square, that is red and only opened on state occasions. This gate looks on to St Kirill's Cathedral and the rest of the city.'

I came to a stop, my descriptive powers exhausted - that and my memory was failing me. Anna said nothing, she simply snuggled herself in closer to me, her head on my shoulder. In the candlelight her eyes seemed to glow with golden light.

'How did you end up in the Medved Empire? They don't allow tourists and I thought that the International Ecumenical Council was just office work.' Murmured Anna.

'True, but I had special qualifications. And, this was the first time that the Holy Cross Patriarchate had ever officially made contact with another Church.'

'Special qualifications?' Said Anna. 'What are they, then?'

I thought for a moment about how to respond, thus far I had made sure that my parishioners didn't know about my work as an exorcist.

'I'm an exorcist, love.' I said quietly, 'The Patriarchate's chief exorcist had just died, and as part of the entire Empire's wish to be more open to the world, the Church asked the Council if an exorcist could be sent to inspect their formational programme. I was chosen because Bishop George had just appointed me to the post. Although the Eastern Wars were a while ago, things don't move very quickly in the Medved Empire, so I was just the right dog in the right place.'

There was a pause as Anna went back over what I said in her head. I could see the thought process happening, it goes in the same manner every time: what did he say... he said 'exorcist'... what, like the films?

'You're an exorcist?' She said, her nose wrinkling slightly. 'With demons and the undead and stuff?'

'Yes, and no.' I answered. 'It was mostly pastoral things, but, lately there's been more weird than usual.'

'The First Rite.' Said Anna, leaden tones filling her voice. 'The old ways in this village.'

'I think so, it all seems rather strange. These old ways, Arthur Oxfold dismissed them as historical traditions, but warned me off taking an interest. And then Harry found this bit of an old knife...'

'Old knife?' Anna interrupted. 'Like the one in the school's archives?'

'Yes, kind of red coloured.'

Anna shivered, her tail fluffing out. She looked at me with fear in her eyes.

'How did it look? Was it really old, or...?'

She trailed off into silence, gripping my arm.

'It looked newer than it should.' I said, confused by Anna's worry. She was, by now, so jumpy that I thought she was about to faint dead away. Anna took a deep breath before speaking again.

'They've made a new knife. You can't know what that means, no one would have dared tell you.'

She paused, gathering her thoughts. My mind was running a full tilt: Anna was deadly serious, as if there was some imminent danger to my life, and to hers.

'That knife, where did you find it?'

'In the woods, that old stone circle near the Abbey ruins.'

'The whole knife?'

'No, just a couple of pieces.' I was beginning to wonder where this unexpected line of questioning would lead; Anna was leaning forward now, an intense expression on her face, her paw still gripping my arm.

'You need to know more than I can tell you.' Said Anna, her voice quiet and tense. 'But, I think I can tell you more than you know already. They'll be trying to get to you, because you're a threat, because you won't stop - that's not the kind of dog you are. Have there been any threats, I saw the police on Abbott's Road this morning: were they there for you?'

'Yes, there was a threatening letter left on my door written on something called vellum. Whoever wrote it called me a false priest and accused me of stealing a tribute.' I said with indignation. 'The vellum has made the police launch a murder investigation, that's why they were there earlier. Something to do with a "missing" case from ten years ago. They wouldn't tell me any more about it.'

'Dear Lord,' Breathed Anna, 'They are serious, has there been anything else strange? Things that you couldn't explain away?'

'Like what? There's been a lot of weirdness lately.'

'Don't laugh, Francis, but things like dreams, hallucinations.'

Normally I would have laughed, the idea of interpreting dreams had, until the last week or so, come across as slightly mad. I sighed and took hold of Anna's paw.

'Yes.' I said. 'Yes, both dreams and hallucinations. I dreamt about some kind of ritual. I dreamt about the village, and the village's past. I think I saw the destruction of St Meinrad's.

'On Tuesday, when me and Harry went to see the ruins, we both saw the monastery like it might have been before its destruction. And, there was this awful, rotting smell.'

Anna put her arms around my neck and pulled me close.

'Oh, Francis, they are trying to scare you away. My family has been here long enough to know something about the old ways. The believers are secretive: when they are initiated into the cult they are sworn to keep the mysteries and workings of their beliefs to themselves. All the same, things creep out - an overheard word in the pub, a rumour around the village. Over the generations it has become a form of survival trait for my family, we had to be able to avoid the cult to survive.

'What I think is happening is that you've stumbled on to their most significant ceremony: The Offering. Once they start towards The Offering, there is no going back. They will have selected someone as the tribute, they will have selected someone to die. Someone who would not know what was going to happen, not truly. They need a tribute who will go willingly to their death, so they cannot know that they are going to die. They must have lost their tribute, and blame you for their loss - finding the knife doesn't help: they make a new knife for each sacrifice. The knife is infused with the blood of the faithful, drops of blood worked into the iron.'

Anna had spoken in such a matter of fact way, that a chill ran through me - I shook myself, trying to overcome the feeling. At that moment, I felt tiny, less like the priest I was and more like a puppy again - powerless and helpless, so unlike the reliance and help I found in my ministry from God and in the Church. My concentration was brought back to Anna; she had started to speak again:

'The Offering will be soon. If the First Rite was on Wednesday; The Offering will be soon, Sunday or Monday. They will come for you, because they think you have stolen their tribute. You'll be in line to be the replacement.'

'Hell.' I said. 'Has no one tried to stop it?'

'Once, the last permanent parish priest we had before you, twenty years ago. He went missing around the time of The Offering, not the last Offering but the one before that. He went onto the Oxfold Estate and was never seen again. The diocese let the police investigation run its course and nothing came out of it. There was no body, no evidence so the authorities decided that he wanted to disappear, apparently he had debts he could not pay off. The diocese asked Father Alfred just to come and take the Sunday services, they were worried about a scandal. The status quo has been as it is for centuries.'

'The status quo needs to change.' I said. 'This kind of death threat should not hang over a village in modern Ironmont.'

Anna shook her head at my sudden flare of anger.

'Yes, but what can we do?' She said. 'Look, it's still heaving down with rain, I think you should stay here tonight. This time of year it's not safe to be out much after dark.'

'I, err, I shouldn't...' I waffled.

'No arguing, Francis: you can sleep on the sofa. There won't be any cause for gossip!'

This was said in a tone that brooked no disagreement. Anna released her arms from around my neck. I slipped my arm around her shoulders and nuzzled my nose against her cheek and then kissed her lightly.

'Of course I'll stay the night.' I said softly into her ear.

'Good.' Came the purring reply.

Anna reached up and gently pinched one of my ears, I yelped in fake outrage and batted her paw away. Sniggering, Anna brought her paw back and leant towards me - I know a chance when I see one, and kissed her again. As I drew back, she linked her paws at the back of my neck and planted another kiss on my lips.

'There will be gossip now!' I said.

That was the point at which I started to fall head over tail in love with Anna, with her kindness: she laughed at my weak attempt at a joke. She patted my leg.

'Stand up.' She said briskly. A little confused, I did as I was bidden. Anna knelt in front of the sofa and pulled out a small handle. With a heave, she unfolded the sofa into a low single bed. I sat on the bed and gave an experimental bounce.

'Comfy.'

'There are some bedclothes upstairs, just a mo'.' With that Anna left the room.

I assayed another bounce on the bed. All around the stern gazes of long dead villagers stared down; each photograph was arranged in the same way: three rows of animals, two standing, one sitting, all arrayed around a single wheatsheaf. Each animal held a sickle in a paw; the sickles were bound in ivy and other creeping plants. I looked closely at a few of the pictures, it was hard to tell them apart as many of the subjects were wearing strange and grotesque masks. Each image had a year inscribed on the print in spidery white writing - over a century of photographs of the 'old ways'.

Anna returned with a bundle of bedding in her arms.

'Here you go,' She said, 'These should keep you cosy.'

She dumped the bedclothes in front of me. I leant forward to pick up the bedsheet and kept going - Anna had jumped on my back. From my position, the world had suddenly gone dark. I said:

'Gerrof! What was that for?'

But it came out as:

'Grumph, wuff wuz thuff fuf?' Due to my mouth being full of bedlinen.

I heaved myself onto my back and ended up with Anna sitting on my chest. Now that audible speech was possible, I tried again:

'What was that for?'

A shrug and a grin.

'Couldn't resist. It's just that natural feline instinct to hunt, I suppose.'

'I never thought that the hunting instinct included dogs, because we're all vicious!'

I finished by flexing my claws and growling - the vicious effect being spoiled by my daft grin and Anna shrieking with laughter. She dealt with me by clonking me across the face with a cushion.

'Bed time, O great hunter.' Said Anna. 'Don't forget the wedding tomorrow.'

With a wave of a paw, she left the room taking one of the candles with her. Now that they were no longer being used as weapons for the subduing of silly clergy, it did not take long to have the bed made up. Once the remaining candles had been blown out, and the room in darkness, the sound of the rain against the window filled the space. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked into the gloom.

After the last few nights of poor sleep and disturbing dreams, I let my head rest on the pillow with a silent prayer for unbroken sleep. Gently, quietly, I was lulled to sleep by the hissing and pattering of the rain outside.