Jisarr splayed his ears slightly, thinking, but didn’t stop walking, as his guards ushered him out of the patients’ wing. “Where am I bound?” he asked. He didn’t want to be the one to cross Tavi, who had told him to expect to stay here; but if there had been a change of plans while he couldn’t hear of it, it wasn’t his place to argue, not anymore.

“You said you were done here,” the grey guard said. “So you’re going back where you came from.” Her grip on his shoulder tightened.

Rather than risk angering her further, Jisarr shut his mouth and walked on between them. To the exit of that wing, past the silken curtains, across the mosaic floor of the lobby – they had almost reached the door when a voice behind brought them up short.

“Where are you going?”

It was softly-spoken, but the question had undeniable authority behind it. Gold fur, red robes trailing – Tavi strode across the lobby in their wake, hands tucked into opposite sleeves, ears upright and alert – almost wary.