Slipping quietly up to the room she was renting, Keturah barred the door and leaned back up against the comforting solidness, a calculating gleam in her eyes. New to this city, she had not yet been provided of the chance to explore, marking out possible targets, nor had she had the chance to drum up a new clientele. But by daylight, the little she’d seen of the city was most promising.
It was not yet twilight, but the sun was steadily falling below the horizon, sinking quietly to it’s nightly abode. Not until moonrise would she walk the streets, so to pass the time, the woman pulled out the basket containing the tools of her legal trade and went over them carefully. Yes, there were the skeins of thread â€"some silk, some linen, but all expertly dyed. Three silver needles and several handfuls of pins were neatly threaded through an old bit of felt, carefully placed so as not to poke a careless hand.
No samples of her handiwork resided in the woven wicker, but they would not be necessary. Her own wardrobe was not extensive, but each article of clothing was made to show off her sempstress abilities. Her mother had once sewn clothes for a Lady and Keturah was just as skilled. A good sempstress could make a comfortable living, but only so long as her clients continued to be in need of her services. In between times, she would have to make do as best she could. Some women chose to do this by taking in orders for ordinary things and doing mending, but truth be told, Keturah had something of an arrogant streak, refusing to “waste her talent� on lesser clothing.
This had made it necessary for her to find another way of acquiring the money necessary to live nicely and she turned to pursuits that were undoubtedly questionable. She quickly came to enjoy her second line of work, honing her stealth and trickery until they were near perfection. But now, it was nearing moonrise and she had much to do this night. Sitting on the single chair in the room, her form began to shiver and ripple, outlines blurring and reforming until the shape-change was complete. Daintily stepping out of the dress she had been wearing moments before, she leapt up to the windowsill and sat, gazing out onto the city.
These times of day, dusk and dawn, plus the dim hours in-between, were hers to command. She had yet to meet anyone with her skill in moving quickly and silently, especially when her rather special talents were utilized. Her slit pupils had opened wide, gathering the faint light of stars and allowing her to see nearly as well as she did in daylight â€"just one more advantage to roaming in shifted form. While she enjoyed the day, the nights were hers. There was just something about the moon and starlight that struck a chord in her heart; for some reason the velvety silence of night made her feel at home.
After the moment’s pause, someone outside the building â€"someone who chanced to glance up at that particular moment- would have seen a sleek cat jump softly from the window ledge to the ground. Looking about with the self-satisfied air unique to felines, the animal settled on a nearby barrel, tail curled neatly around its feet. It was a handsome cat; tawny brown with darker points, white tipped paws, a white snip on its nose and striking blue-green eyes. Calmly haughty, it sat in a shaft of moonbeam, seeming to watch the few people that chanced by.
