The earliest drafts of Deep River Secrets included several scenes from the point of view of the cat, Embers. While I eventually deemed these scenes one gimmick too many to stay in the final version, I still like them and remember how much fun they were to write.

From Chapter 1:

Embers stalked through the tall grass of her favorite hunting grounds. Her rounded sides slowed her pace and shortened her pounce. But even with that load of new life pushing within her, she could still creep silently. Her human fed her well; she hunted not out of hunger, but restlessness. Once more, before she nestled down to give birth… She crouched, still but for her twitching tail tip, and peered through the sunlit stems. A man stood at the entrance to his den, also still except for his hair that the breeze licked the wrong way. The wind would carry to him the morning scents of moisture and growing things. Could he scent her? Humans never noticed the important things. Even if he could, she had nothing to fear. She had known this man since her own kittenhood, and her mother had known him before her. Truly, she feared no human, though her condition made her cautious. Slow and clumsy as they were, she paid them little heed—except the one who was also an eagle, the one no one seemed to notice.

The man did not sniff the breeze. He did not glance at the new leaves that fluttered on the apple tree, the neat garden rows, the wildflowers that nodded and swayed with the grass. He paid no attention to the small grasshoppers springing from blade to blade, the scurrying mice, the flitting butterflies, or to the cat who noticed all these things at once. He stared, with furrowed brow, at the scruffy little patch of trodden grass just beyond the bottom step. He watched it as intently as Embers watched him. What could he see that she didn’t?

His mate padded out of the den and stood beside him. She was as swollen with young as Embers. Had she made her nest yet?

From Chapter 2:

Embers lay in her straw nest, tired but satisfied. Kitting was always hard work, but this was a fine, big litter, all nursing hungrily. She licked the nearest small head. Horses stamped and whickered in the other stalls. Embers didn’t mind their presence. It was quieter here than in the den she shared with her humans. The young one tended the horses. He understood, better than most of his kind, what other creatures needed. Such as privacy, and clean straw for a nest. She had allowed him to stay with her while the kittens were born. Maybe he would bring food; she would need to eat soon. But if not, she could leave the kittens when he came, and find something for herself. They would be safe with him.

From Chapter 4:

Embers dashed across the road to her humans’ den. They had left the door open for her—they were learning. She slipped in with an announcing meow. The woman was doing something at the fire. By the smell of it, something with food! When Embers rubbed against her leg, she looked down and stretched her mouth in an expression of pleasure. Human faces were nearly as mobile as cats’ tails, and Embers could recognize what some of their expressions meant. The woman vocalized as she scratched Embers’ head, but these sounds were mere noise. Embers meowed again, more urgently, and the woman set a dish on the floor in front of her. Embers sniffed, then began to eat. It was some kind of bird parts, flesh and organs—not as satisfying as freshly-killed prey, but filling and not as time-consuming to obtain. She could devote her energy to the kittens.

After her meal and a quick wash, Embers returned to the stable. The horses’ man was there, alone now, though the girl’s scent lingered. She was a regular visitor to their den, but not to the stable. Why had he brought her here? Maybe he wanted her for a mate. By her scent, she should be receptive.

“Back so soon, Embers? Mam must have fed you. She told me she’d save you a chicken liver. Your kittens are safe, but they’ve been calling for you.” She rubbed his leg. He was the only human whose sounds made sense.

He bent to stroke her as she passed. When she reached the mewing kittens, she paused to sniff, and hissed at the scent of the horse in the next stall. Or rather, at the scent of its man, a known cat kicker. He couldn’t be trusted around a nest of kittens. She’d fight if she had to, but it was easier to move them. She grasped a kitten by its scruff and carried it to an empty stall. She laid it in the clean straw and returned for the next and the next, until all were settled. At last, she could lie down and feed them.

From Chapter 8:

Embers hissed at the young human. If he thought he could invade her nest, even with his clawed implement, she would show him some claws.

“Don’t clean that stall today, Senri,” the horses’ man called. “We’ll wait until Embers is finished with it.”

At the sound of his voice, Embers relaxed, though she watched the boy until he had closed the stall door. The kittens’ eyes were not yet open, but they had begun to creep more widely about the nest, exploring by scent. She didn’t dare leave them if the door was open, though with the horses’ man near, they would be safe if she went hunting. He was often in the stable these days. It was good, for Embers and the kittens at least, that he hadn’t found a mate.

From Chapter 18:

Embers crouched at the edge of the pasture. Amid the odors of the horse and its man, she scented mouse on the morning breeze. Waiting her moment, she pounced and killed her prey with one bite. She paused a moment and watched with the mouse dangling from her jaws as the horse’s man paced around the covered hollow he had dug in the middle of the pasture, a space no bigger than his den across the road. She turned away and carried the mouse inside. The kittens were old enough to learn what prey was.

From Chapter 19:

Embers led the kittens outside. They were big enough for regular expeditions now. They were learning to hunt and to cover their droppings. They dug and scratched with enthusiasm, even when there was nothing to bury. Embers kept them near the edge of the pasture. The horses’ man had uncovered his large hollow, and it was too deep for kittens to climb out of if one should fall in. But there didn’t seem to be anything that large for him to bury.

From Chapter 22:

Embers led her kittens out to explore the pasture. It was safe for them to venture farther out, now that the man had built a solid cover over his little hollow and erected a barrier of straight branches around it. The kittens dug their tiny claws into the exposed wood while Embers sniffed the structure. No one touched it except the horses’ man and the boy, but there was another scent—the cat kicker! Embers hissed and flattened her ears. But his scent was stale. There was no danger. By now, most of the kittens were distracted by insects and shadows. But the black one scrambled up and through the barrier, where she scampered across the flat surface inside. Embers followed and found her rubbing her face against the upright branches. Embers lifted the kitten by her scruff. She was growing up, but it was too soon to choose her own territory.

From Chapter 26:

Embers slipped out of the stable at dawn. She left the kittens asleep in a pile. As she rounded the corner, something grabbed her tail. She spun to fend off the attacker, then relaxed. The black kitten scampered after her. Of all of them, she was most interested in hunting, so her mother let her come along. Behind the stable, Embers flattened herself to the ground and swatted the kitten to do likewise. An eagle flapped overhead, flying so low it might have emerged from the nearby human den. Embers remained still and watched until it was out of sight. It was that strange eagle—the one that was sometimes a man. It had never threatened her in either form, but any animal that became human was not to be trusted.