Free Feral Magic by Robin D. Owens

noise of the city hiding any small slap of paws on pavement, until he reached the sidewalk.  A large vehicle sped in front of him.  Muscles bunched, he leapt over it, landed in the alley across the small street.  That felt good, too.  A screeching, smell of rubber, shouts came behind him.   He ignored them.
    He ran from the city and into foothills – farther away than they seemed.  Once away from the choking odor of vehicles and tech chemical smells that ladened the air and the mass of people smells, he enjoyed himself.  He'd miss Brandy, the beauty of Earth's moon, but not the planet itself.  Little wonder there were few shapeshifters here, they could have died out from the sheer fug of the world.
    Higher and higher he rose in altitude, charging up hillsides instead of taking the slow and winding roads humans used.  The dirt and dry grass felt good under his paws.
    His head whipped up as he scented cat.  Wild cat.  A few steps later he saw the prints.  Nearly as big as he.  His ears twitched in pleasure, his mouth opened in a cat-smile.  Yes.  Local, wild, big cats.  Yes!
    It gave him hope for Earth.
    A warning growl.  He flicked his tail and was out of reach of the young male in a few stride lengths.  Though the cat was tough, he wasn't an intelligent pantherman.  And he didn't have magic.
    Not many here did, the tech had crippled Earth so.
    He let his cares fall away as he ran along the stream at the bottom of a canyon, splashing in and out as he wished to cool his paws.  Munched down a couple of fish.  Tasty.
    The tingle of the dimensional portal came stronger – he was within an hour of it.  But he was tired, unaccustomed to running so far, so fast.  The moon had set and the sun would rise before he found the portal – and the gate continued to drift slowly and inexorably away.
    Stopping, he yowled his distress and dug his claws into the summer dry ground.  For a long moment he lived in the now, as a panther did, feeling the opening and closing of his ribcage as he breathed, drew in all the fragrances of this place in the mountains: the stream and the life in it, the grass and other plants, the dirt.  He listened to the starsong and the fading moonsong, the static of the sun ready to paint long shadows across the planet as it turned.  He felt the grit embedded in his claws.  If he were a man, his eyes would have stung as he pivoted to return to the city.  And the man within him had to discipline the wild cat to go back.
    But he knew his duty.  He ached for his nephew and the lady he'd left sleeping.
    *~*~*
    Brandy jerked from sleep, heart thumping hard, blinking in the bright yellow morning sunshine and trying to comprehend the noise that had awakened her.  The water bed shifted under her.
    Dak was gone.  She hated that.  Hated when a man left her while she slept.
    Ross hadn't awakened her that last wee-hours-of-the-morning time when he'd left for Afghanistan, and never came back.  The black past engulfed her.
    A baby cried and she shook her head.  Another wail and then the frozen amber instant of the past shattered and she was back in the present.
    Loud sobbing.  Favel .
    She rolled from bed, slipping on an oversized tee and thin pajama pants.  She trotted toward the back storage room where Favel sat, tears dribbling down his face, fingers in his mouth, her two cats staring at him.  She got the idea he'd been exploring and they'd trapped him.
    None of the three seemed damaged, which let her release a relieved breath.
    Favel glanced up at her with big, light-brown eyes.
    "Tom-Tom, Gypsy," she said sharply.  They turned, and not looking at her, strolled, tails up and waving – showing their sphincters to Favel? – they approached the baby gate that blocked the stairs down; jumping over it, they only went to the landing.
    It is late in the morning and We NEED FOOD! Tom-Tom snarled.
    Brandy flinched.  It was a half hour later than she usually rose.
    Foooooddd, bawled Gypsy, both in