House of Winds Chapter 14

 Chapter 14: The Match of the Century

"Pssst, Mistral! Mistral, you really should warn Anemo somehow!"

Aeolus was trying his hardest to be heard and understood by his furry comrade, who was once again busy with his siesta on the living room windowsill. He lay in the honey-colored sunlight that transmitted only the warmth, but not the biting "teeth" typical of Irish weather, through the glass. But Mistral was simply deep in... siesta, much like Anemo often plunges into the fever of writing, hearing nothing. Sirocco, wanting to lend a hand, executed a leap that wasn't exactly successful. Intending to land next to Mistral on the windowsill—but since mathematical calculations and distance estimation are not, as you know, the little guy's forte—he found himself clinging with his tiny claws to the curtain. He dangled dangerously, ready to fall, but with another leap, he landed "safely"... right on the black coil known as Mistral the Parisian, who jumped up as if burnt. The result? Both of them landed on the carpet.

"Oh Ciel! Cherches-tu ma mort, petit barbare?"

"Forgive me, Mistral! Aeolus says we need to get Anemo's attention..."

"Anemo? What’s with him?" The chat noir immediately steadied both his balance and his voice.

Aeolus sighed lengthily. "Anemo just went out for a walk in Bermuda shorts and his dog slippers with floppy ears."

"Oh, mon Dieu! The whole neighborhood will laugh at us! Not to mention that 'Women cannot be tamed' business is buzzing around here..."

As if on cue, lined up neatly behind their master, all the furry ones (even Aeolus, well-hidden in the Parisian’s black fur) stepped out in front of the house. Outside, there was great hustle and bustle: Fleur was jumping rope, Noel was taking his "sun collector," Skye, out for a stroll, and the puppy was barking up a storm, wagging her tail happily at the sight of the little girl.

"How are you, neighbor? Working on 'The Thief of'..."

"Oh, no! Hello, Noel! I'm working on something completely different... But what a beautiful day! A bit cold, but this honeyed light is priceless."

Talking as they went, the two neighbors—accompanied by Fleur and finally, behind them, Mistral and Sirocco, keeping close like two mismatched shadows of Anemo—reached the turnstile in the middle of the street. This turnstile separates Ether Drive from Ether Rise, a place where an oasis of greenery stretches out, perfect for play. Skye, tiny and impatient, slipped through first, but Noel was forced to lift the hand holding the leash as if he were raising a fishing rod with a large, restless catch; the cord was stretched to the limit, and the puppy was already running... on the spot, on the green side.

Noel released the leash carabiner with a metallic click that sounded like a starter pistol. "Free!" he shouted. Noel’s arm swung in a perfect arc, launching a yellow ball toward the center of the green oasis.

"Now, little one! Show them what a force ten wind means!" Aeolus shouted, but his voice was lost as he was catapulted out of Mistral's fur. The little referee landed spectacularly under a broadleaf plantain leaf: he was officially the Grass Referee.

Sirocco was first. With an acrobatic leap, he dug his claws into the "prey." In his pirate mind, the yarn ball should unravel! But amazement! The yellow "yarn" remained compact and elastic, bouncing directly into Skye's wet nose.

"It’s mine! It’s mine!" the puppy’s bark seemed to say, bolting toward Noel.

"Point for the canine team!" Aeolus whispered from under his leaf, noting the score in the dust. Anemo watched fascinated, his dog slippers pulsing with emotion on the sidelines.

The match was suddenly interrupted by a dense scent of lavender and lilies. From the direction of Ether Rise appeared Daisy Queen under a raw green sun umbrella. In her arms she clutched Lady Bell, a protocol-perfect brown Cavapoo, so groomed and perfumed that Sirocco sneezed three times. Daisy lowered the puppy onto the grass but fixed the leash with an iron hand. Lady Bell froze. Her eyes fixed with a sudden and inexplicable love on Anemo’s feet. She began to wag her tail, trying to "socialize" with the dog slippers. She sniffed them with almost religious devotion, convinced she had finally found some relatives who knew how to stay quiet. In fact, you would have sworn Lady Bell was the most stylish of the "triplets"; the other two, on Anemo’s feet, were totally lacking in style and smelled only of grass.

"Lady Bell, not today, sweetie!" Daisy’s velvet voice intervened, tugging sharply on the leash. "Mommy just brought you from the groomer! We can’t risk getting covered in neighborhood dust!"

"Daisy, dear, it’s just a bit of play! Look at them, they’re communicating so beautifully!" Noel said.

But Daisy would not be swayed.

"Communicating through germs, Noel! Lady Bell is an aristocrat, not a field terrier! And you, Mr. Anemo, with these... plush dogs on your feet... are you conducting an on canine split personality? How can a noble-bred Cavapoo be exposed to such visual confusion?"

Lady Bell lowered her long, silky ears, looking at Anemo with infinite sadness. His fluffy slippers seemed the only ones who understood her suffering. Skye brought the ball and dropped it right at the tip of Anemo’s dog-shoe, fraternizing briefly with Bell, but Daisy raised her green umbrella like a shield, pulling the diva away from the "danger" of fun.

Seeing that negotiations had failed, Skye stopped abruptly. She stopped barking, shook off the dust toward Daisy’s white gloves, abandoned the ball, and headed for the exit.

"There she goes, play is over!" Noel said. "When she says 'enough,' it really is over."

The metal turnstile rotated rhythmically, marking the end of the adventure.

"C'est fini..." Mistral muttered. "The little soldier has retired to the barracks. Sirocco, take that yarn ball that won’t unravel and let’s go home. I’ve run out of noir patience for today."

It was suddenly too quiet. Noel followed his own puppy docilely, master and pet roles reversed. The kittens went "pash-pash" ahead of Anemo, and Fleur brought up the rear, dragging her rope like a train.

"Hey, gang! Next time, take me along to play too!"

Remi Storm, looking like a teenager in her sports gear, was waving for them to wait.