Around three years had passed since the kidnapping. Pokiyo refused to take up the pen during the first two years. His only proclamation when asked was a simple yet poignant "This will mold him and change him, but I will not write of this suffering."
"So are you choosing to give up on him?" Her voice was like coolness on a blistering day of heat. "Siv… please, it's enough. Your brother reminds me every day." The cat's appearance these days resembled nothing of the extinguished gentleman from before. His whiskers scrunched up, eyes droopy, and since then, he has, without fail, only opted to wear the same dirty black bathrobe. Meanwhile, the two dunnock twins looked pristine and preened as typical.
It was unusual for Siv to talk back, in Pokiyo's eyes, though she was the voice of reason. "Then maybe Geil has a point. Three years. For three years, that boy has suffered at the hands of rich aristocrats. He has been beaten. He's been starved. He's been—" It erupted quickly, a guttural yell of emotions. "Enough! No, I have not given up on him. And yes, I know that he has suffered. My whole, entire existence now is to know and write these people's fate." They verged on the point of screaming, tipping close, yet never abandoning too much face. "Then why stop writing. You never stopped for the others. You think people won't want to know his story. You know it, and so do I. If his story is to be written, then it won't just be his life being changed, but all lives." Pokiyo paws rubbed against his cheeks in restlessness. Taking deep breaths, he answered calmly. "You're right, Siv."
An air of pressure floated through the castle from the point forward. Less so one of negativity…. more so one of expectations and eagerness. Geil found himself resting once again on the stone windowsill, while the cat once again picked up his pen and began to write