Cathy wondered just how old the old tomcat was, and just what kind of magic was in him. She knew he was unnaturally old--Miss Cassie had been gone close to 20 years, and he had seemed like an old cat when she died. It was like he had been Miss Cassie's familiar. Not that she was a witch or anything, but she had definitely had the 'sight.' That wasn't all that uncommon among the undiluted Scots-Irish that had moved into these hollows 2 centuries ago. A fey people, they had found a fey home in these remote and very ancient hills.

Old Duke climbed up onto the porch and plopped down at Aunt Cathy's feet. His tail thudded on the weathered floorboards of the porch as he panted in the hot July night. Last time Zeke had been by, he mentioned coming up and going coon hunting with the boys and the dogs the next full moon. She knew Duke and the other hounds needed that and supposed she ought to call Zeke and tell him to come on. It was almost time to pour off another batch of 'shine' anyway.