“Of course. You’re a friend, Folly. A good friend.”
“Is that all?” As she ran there was a lot of movement
beneath the damp nightdress. Jon-Tom was having a diffi-
cult time concentrating on the street ahead. “Just a good
friend?”
Roseroar listened with one ear to the infantile dialogue
while trying her best to ignore it. Idiot humans! She made
certain to inspect every side street they passed. Surely, as
soon as the Friends of the Street finished rounding up as
many escapees as they could, they’d contact the police
about the break-in.
Besides worrying about that new problem, she had to
endure the banalities mouthed by the adolescent human
female who was flirting shamelessly with Jon-Tom.
So what? She considered her discomfiture carefully.
Why, she asked herself, should she find such harmless
chatter so aggravating? Admirable the spellsinger might
be, but he wasn’t even a member of a related species. Any
relationship besides mutual respect and strong friendship
174
Alan Dean Poster
was clearly out of the question. The very thought was
absurd! The man was a skinny, furless thing less than half
her size. It made no sense for her to concern herself with
his personal business.
She assured herself her interest was only natural. Jon-
Tom was a friend, a companion now. It was just as he’d
said to the girl: it hurt to see anyone taken advantage of.
Roseroar wasn’t about to let this scheming adolescent take
advantage of him. And take advantage of him Folly
would, if given half a chance. Roseroar was sure of that
much. She shook her head as Jon-Tom allowed himself to