He comes in, his face as white as the sheet of paper in his hand. I had expected this reaction. When I had first mentioned the possibility of my spending some time on Third Earth, he had brushed the suggestion aside as absurd. Now it's in writing and he can't believe it. Nor can I, if I'm honest. I never thought I would come to this. True love, forever, that's what I thought. This past year has been a dream. Being with him and sharing our love has been more wonderful than I could have ever imagined. He's sensitive, caring, considerate, brave, and I'm... well, I guess I'm selfish. I could excuse it by saying that I got swept up in the moment. But that moment has lasted a year now. A year too long. So I'm letting him go, and trying to do it in the kindest way possible. I've put in a request to relieve one of the other Thundercats currently on duty on Third Earth. It doesn't need me to say that this is the end of our relationship. The fact of my leaving should tell him that.

And from the look on his face, he knows.

"Cheetara, what is this?" he says uncertainly, holding up the sheet of paper.

I ache when I hear the hurt in his voice. I want to cry and say that it's all been a terrible mistake. But I know that I must not, for his sake as well as mine. To contain my emotions, I turn from him and try to concentrate on the careful packing of my bag. It's a distraction, but hardly an absorbing one. I've packed this bag three times now and I'm still not happy with it. "It's an official request to take over the next watch on Third Earth," I answer him without turning around.

"Yes, I know what it is," he says. "But what is it?"

I feel the weight of his stare on my back. I try to resist, but I cannot bear to hurt him like this. I have to let him down gently, not cause him more pain than either of us need. Finally, I turn to him and see the beginnings of tears in his eyes. I resolve not to break down, not to waiver in the face of his anguish. "What do you think it is?" I ask.

He glances back at the sheet. "I think you're leaving me," he says. "Why?"

How can a word be invested with such intensity? Alone, it requires just a simple explanation. But the way he says it, the look on his face, the pain in his voice makes it so much more. How can I ever tell him the truth? A lie is so much easier on both of us. I will square the matter with my conscience later.

"Lion-O, we've had a good time together, but now it's reached its natural conclusion. You must see that."

"No, I don't," he says. "I thought we loved each other."

"For a while, perhaps." It pains me to deny it, to pretend that it was just infatuation. True, initially there was a good deal of lust. But it grew into something much stronger, more emphatic. Yes, I do love him, and because of that, I have to do this. "It was fun, but that's all it was."

"Fun?" he splutters. "Cheetara, how can you say that?"

"Because it's true." Oh, they say that a little white lie never hurt anyone, but inside my heart is breaking. Please, just accept it, and let me go, Lion-O. Don't do this to me.

He bows his head, defeated by my coldness. "I don't know what to say," he murmurs. "I thought we would always be together."

"We will always be friends," I say. Some consolation, after the nights we spent in each other's arms, kept warm by our love. "You will always be special to me."

"And I will always love you," he says, looking up to meet my gaze. "Is there anything I can say that will make you change your mind?"

I can't answer him. If I do, he might hear the quake in my voice. I am forced to look away and shake my head.

"You've made up your mind then?" he persists. "You don't love me any more?"

What can I say to that? I do not trust my tongue to keep the lie my heart and mind have constructed. Instead, I have to change the subject. "The Feliner will be leaving in a couple of hours. If I'm going, I have to let them know. Do I have your approval?"

"I guess so," he says. "If you want to go, then I can't stop you. But, Cheetara..."

I look up in time to see that he is coming towards me, arms outstretched. I back away, out of his reach. My action brings pain to his eyes and he falters.

"I see," he says quietly. "Was it my fault?"

At last! A question I can answer in all sincerity. This moment requires tenderness, so I relent and go to him. I lift his head so that I can gaze once more into those heavenly eyes before time and distance separates us forever. "No," I say softly. "I am to blame. I was not honest about my feelings for you. I..." The words are stifled in my throat and will find no release. So base a lie does not deserve life and yet I force it out. "I used you. I'm sorry."

He blinks away a tear and tries to be brave. "I'm glad you did, Cheetara. This past year has been special. I will treasure our time together. I will miss you."

He speaks the truth as ever, unlike me, the perpetrator of his pain. I will burn forever in torment for this. But better that I am the villain rather than he should ever know the truth. That will give me some consolation in the lonely years to come. For now, though, I take him in my arms and we embrace for the last time. I try to imprint every inch of him on my memory. His smell, the feel of his soft fur, the gentle touch of his breath on my skin. He will miss me, but I will miss him more, especially when he finds someone else to share his life. When that happens, as it must, I guess I will have to leave the Lair and seek out some far away place for the sake of my sanity.

Finally, I let him go, from my arms and from my life. Tears have found release down his cheeks and he makes no attempt to wipe them away.

"Goodbye, Lion-O," I say.

He takes the hand I offer and squeezes it tightly in his own. I do not stop him when he moves in to kiss me. I grieve when it is only on the cheek, but already the boundaries are being redefined. We are no longer lovers, just friends. And I will have to live with the knowledge that it was my doing. Then, without another word, he turns and walks away, his inner devastation betrayed only by the slump of his shoulders. The door closes behind him. It is over. I sink down on the bed and cry until I am sure that my heart will rend in two, one part for me and the other for my departed love.

But, of course, it does not. The sun still shines, the birds still whistle and I still live. I cannot stay here in this place where we made so many happy memories and so I leave, seeking a companion and shoulder to cry on. His room is a little along the corridor from mine and, reaching it, I knock on the door. He should be in, for the hour is still early. A moment later, the door opens and I find myself confronted by someone I had not expected. Bengali's eyes widen when he sees me, as I'm sure do mine, and we stare at each other in stupefaction. He recovers before I do and mumbles something made all the more incomprehensible by the toothbrush sticking out of the corner of his mouth. His beckoning gesture makes his meaning clearer and I accept his invitation and enter. A large globule of foam drips from his lips as he tries to tell me that he will get Tygra, then he gags and hurries into the bathroom. I listen, wondering what to make of the situation, and hear a cry of outrage, followed by the cessation of the running water.

"I don't mind you being here," comes his voice, "but I draw the line at you invading my bathroom!"

In the background, I hear Bengali trying to explain. The other voice drowns him out.

"And leave my door for me to answer!"

With that parting shot, Tygra appears, still wet from washing, with a towel about his middle. His annoyed expression changes when he sees me, and he looks momentarily taken aback.

"Cheetara?" he says cautiously, eyeing me as if he believes me some figment of his imagination.

"That's what I was trying to tell you," says Bengali, emerging from the bathroom behind him.

My presence has confused and embarrassed him, and feeling equally uncomfortable, I excuse myself and make for the door. He comes after me and catches my arm before I leave.

"I'm all right," I say in answer to his question.

"Why don't I believe you?" he says gently.

"Because he's a suspicious old so-and-so," Bengali quips.

Tygra rolls his eyes and I can tell from his sigh that he is fast losing patience. "Cheetara, you came here for a reason. What is it?"

I'm tempted to tell him, but he's clearly got his hands full with Bengali and he doesn't need to hear my woes. "Nothing," I say dully.

"Fiddlesticks!" he retorts. "I know that look when I see it. Give me five minutes to get ready and we'll talk."

It actually takes him ten, during which time I find out how Bengali has come to be in his rooms.

"Well, then she calls me insensitive and throws me out, can you believe it?" he tells me, detailing yet another argument he has had with Pumyra. Like any couple, they have their moments. At present, they seem to have hit a rough patch that involves an endless round of bickering and making-up. And the making-up, so Pumyra tells me, is the best part of it. I wouldn't know. I can confidently say that Lion-O and I never fell out to that extent. We basked in easy contentment, until things started to go wrong. Even then, we didn't argue. I retreated into myself and shut him out. He knew something was amiss, but I never told him what. Perhaps that is where I went wrong, why I ended up going down this lonely road.

"Anyway, I should go," Bengali says. "Thanks for letting me stay the night, Ty. Would've had to sleep out in the corridor otherwise."

He leaves, with a cheery wave, and when he disappears from sight, Tygra claps his hands together and thanks a benevolent god. "Praise be," he murmurs. "Peace at last."

"A rough night?" I ask.

He sighs wearily. "I don't mind, really. But he talks incessantly. I try to work, he talks. I try to sleep, he talks. I try to have a wash, and he's in there. I tell you, Cheetara, the next time they have a row, I'm going to pretend I'm out."

I smile, knowing he doesn't mean it. He has a kind heart and a sympathetic ear, which is why we come to him with our troubles. Which is why I'm glad he decided to change his mind about staying on Third Earth on a permanent basis. Which is why I need him now.

"Shall we get some breakfast?" he suggests, and I nod meekly. I'm not hungry, but I'll not deny him his food. We wander down to the mess hall and are met by the mouth-watering smells of freshly-baked bread and warm pancakes. He goes to get something to drink and I find a corner table for us. With a wall at my back and side, this is almost perfect. Two sides are still exposed, however, and my skin fairly prickles as I feel various eyes on me. I don't need to meet them to know what I will find in those critical gazes or what will invariably be going on behind them. I've heard the whispers, the hushed asides as I pass. It didn't matter at first, but lately I've begun to listen and what I've been hearing makes me feel deeply ashamed.

The clunk of china on wood draws me from my dark thoughts and I find that Tygra has found me and is taking the seat opposite. A steaming mug of brown liquid is on the table before me and I stare at it, feeling as mixed up as the swirling mess within.

"They call it coffee," Tygra says, eyeing me with concern. "I think you're supposed to drink it." He takes a sip of his own and grimaces. "Or maybe not."

"Thanks anyway," I say. "I'm not thirsty."

"But you are upset."

I nod.

"Want to tell me what about?"

My answer elicits an "oh", then "ah", then "I see". "Why?" he asks finally.

The same question Lion-O had asked. I'm vaguely aware of the irony, the disparity between the person I should be telling and who I am. For the time being, however, I'm here with a willing listener and I desperately need to tell someone. I take a deep breath and take the plunge. "Because it isn't working," I say.

"What isn't?"

"This whole set-up," I say. "It isn't right."

"What isn't?"

"Don't keep saying that. You know."

He puts down his mug and looks me straight in the eye. "No, I don't know unless you tell me."

I wonder for a moment whether he is being deliberately obtuse. The situation is clear enough for anyone to see. Everyone knows it and talks about it. I hear it everywhere I go. Cheetara and her toyboy, or worse, Cheetara the cradle-snatcher. Yes, Lion-O is younger than me, both mentally and physically. It took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that the boy I knew had become a man. It took even longer for me to accept that the feelings I had for him were the love of a female for her mate. We took things slowly, but I can't deny that perhaps I rushed him. Now that thought haunts me. What if he wasn't really ready? Was I as responsible for denying him a vital part of his growing up as much as that malfunctioning suspension capsule? Everyone else seems to think so, and I've come to the conclusion that they must be correct. What right did I have to think I had some prior claim on him? He should be with people his own age. He should get out there and gain the experience that only life can teach him. In the end, my conscience carried the day, and so I have let him go.

After I've told him, Tygra doesn't speak straight away. He looks down, looks away, and I can tell that he's troubled. I would give worlds to know what's going on behind his intelligent eyes. Oh, what wisdom can you give me, gentle friend, when I am most in need?

"Did you tell Lion-O how you feel?" he asks.

It is not the response I was expecting. Ever practical, I thought he would agree with my decision. That would have made me feel better. His question only deepens my doubts. "How could I?" I say.

"Then what reason did you give?"

"I said that I no longer loved him."

He sucks in a breath through his teeth. "La Belle Dame sans Merci indeed. I'll bet he was upset."

"Yes," I say hollowly, remembering the look on his face. "But it had to be done."

"Well, you've obviously made up your mind," he says. "Why are you telling me?"

He's got a point. Perhaps I wanted reassurance. Instead, this conversation has only served to make me more confused. Was I right? I don't know. I only know how I feel inside and the depth of my devastation knows no bounds. The hopelessness of the situation overwhelms me and I start to cry. Again, the eyes fix on me, but I can't stop myself. I weep freely, and in my grief I feel an arm about my shoulder and suddenly feel comforted. I don't need approval for my actions, I tell myself, and chide myself for my weakness. I wipe my eyes with the offered tissue and smile gratefully up at him.

"Better?" he asks.

"I'll be all right," I say. "The break on Third Earth will do me good."

He gives a snort of laughter. "If I had a penny for everyone who says that, I would be a rich tiger."

"You are a rich tiger," I tease him.

"No, I was. But that was on Old Thundera. Now, I'm a simple, jobbing architect. Which reminds me," he says, removing his arm from my shoulders. "I'm giving a lecture to a group of trainees later. 'Military Architecture in a Sympathetic Setting'."

"Sounds interesting."

He grins. "Should be. However, I get the impression that most of them only come to badger me with questions about Mumm-ra."

"Less interesting," I say, pulling a face.

"Only because you've met him. To the youngsters, he is a subject of fascination." He glances over his shoulder and frowns. "Oh, no," he groans. "Not again."

I follow his gaze and see Pumyra and Bengali coming towards us. Arm in arm, they have clearly reconciled their differences. At least Tygra will have his room to himself tonight. They join us and take the empty seats. Then the talking starts.

"So I had to forgive him," Pumyra says, giving her amour a cheeky grin. "After all, he can't help it,"

"Me?" Bengali protests. "What did I do?"

"You know what you did."

"What you said I did."

"Well, didn't you?"

Another argument is brewing and, sensing another night of noise, Tygra intervenes. Peace is restored and there are happy smiles all round. As they contentedly babble on, from the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of red and blue. So attuned to his presence am I that I sense him even before he reaches us. I keep my eyes firmly fixed on my mug.

"Cheetara?" he says.

I find him standing by my side. "What is it, Lion-O?"

He hands me a sheet of paper. Authorisation for a trip to Third Earth, duration of stay left blank. "Panthro's leaving in the Feliner in about an hour. That is, if you're still going?"

A faint trace of hope remains in the question. I disappoint him and he leaves. A hush has fallen over the table and I can feel Bengali and Pumyra staring at me.

"You guys having trouble?" Pumyra asks.

"We've split up," I tell her.

She doesn't ask me why. I sense that Bengali would like to know the reason, but I feel the kick Pumyra gives him under the table. After that, he sensibly keeps quiet.

"That's sad," Pumyra says. "You were so happy."

"For a while," I say, trying to avoid Tygra's questioning gaze. Frankly, I'm gone past caring whether they believe me or not, and their platitudes are starting to annoy me. Excusing myself by saying that I need to prepare for the journey, I leave the table and seek out the solitude of my room. I unpack and repack my things, a totally unnecessary thing to do, but I have an hour to kill and the time is dragging. Then, with half an hour to go, there is a knock on the door. I hesitate a moment before answering it. I'm not in the mood for visitors. There again, there is no need for rudeness just because I'm suffering a severe bout of heartache.

I open it and, before I can register that the caller is Lion-O, he has pulled me to him and kisses me deeply. So shocked am I that I do not resist. In fact, as the seconds slide by, I find that I'm starting to respond. My hands have found their way to his shoulders and on over his broad back. I forget myself. I want him, I need him. Then reality throws up a timely reminder.

It takes all my effort to push him away. Now it is his turn to look surprised. I'm angry, more with myself than him, and I turn and head back into my room. He follows and comes to an uneasy stop on the threshold.

"Go away, Lion-O," I say.

A long pause ensues. Just when I think he will go, he finally speaks. "Please, please don't go, Cheetara. I would rather die than lose you."

"Stop it," I say, a little harshly. "You'll get over me. You'll see."

"I won't. Please don't leave me." His voice is bordering on pleading. I don't want to see him like this. I have done this to him, brought him to this. The guilt and shame is mine. If I had any self-respect, I would leave and never return.

"I'll do anything, if only you'll stay," he goes on. "I'll give up the Lordship of Thundera, I'll step down as Lord of the Thundercats, whatever you want, only please--"

"Just stop!" It's too much. "Why can't you get it through your thick head?" I say things I don't mean. "I don't love you!" I can't bear it any more. "Go away and leave me alone!"

The vehemence of my words drives him from the threshold out into the hall. He stares at me, almost unbelievingly, and, oh, the hurt I see in those eyes. Oh, Lion-O, what have I done? Cruel to be kind, I tell myself, which makes me the cruellest person in the whole of Thundera. I have to get away before my resolve breaks. I grab my bag and push past him. He tries to follow, but I speed up and leave him far behind. It's something that we're both going to have to get used to.

Continued

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