“It means lion,” the man explained. He stood at a gap in the hedge, watching Francis. He had brown skin, and wore delicate white robes, light and breezy, much like the ones Francis had on.
On his head was a simple turban of white, under which his long dark hair had been swept up and gathered.
Francis had no idea who this good-looking stranger was.
He glanced down to take note of the stranger’s shoes, as that was often an indicator of someone’s position, but this man was barefoot. His brown feet were clean, the skin was soft, and the nails were short and well kept.
That alone spoke volumes. Probably someone with time on his hands, whose every body part was taken care of.
Someone fairly important, then.
Upon looking back up, Francis noted that the man had a small furry passenger in his robes: cradling a black and white kitten like a new-born baby.
“Is that a kitten?” Francis asked, momentarily forgetting himself. “Oh, forgive me, I…” He made to get up, erring on the side of caution and intending to greet this man properly.
The cat on his lap refused to move, and the man waved at Francis to remain where he was.
“Do not disturb Aslan, please,” he said, humour lacing his words. “Sit. Sit.”
Francis settled back down, Aslan firmly lodged in his lap.
“Thank you,” Francis replied. “I do hope I’m not intruding?”
The stranger gestured at the cats with his free arm. “This is their garden.”
That didn’t quite answer his question, but Francis smiled anyway. His sunburnt cheeks smarted with the movement, and Francis winced softly.
The stranger sat himself down next to Francis with a grunt-cum-sigh, adjusting the kitten lounging in his robes. “Ay, ay, ay.” He turned to observe Francis with a frown. “Hm,” he grunted. “Günes yanigisin.”
“I’m sorry?” Francis said.
“You are kissed from the sun,” the stranger explained.
“Oh. Yes.” Francis needn’t have worried about flushing red, he knew his face was already pink.
“We have the, uh…” The man made a circular motion near his face. “A crème? To help.”
“Oh, yes, I think they gave me some last night,” Francis said. “This will clear up in a day or so. Thank you.”
The stranger nodded.
They regarded each other in silence, with Francis wondering how he should deal with this situation.
Perhaps this fellow was the cat caretaker? Or, given how his eyes looked familiar, perhaps he was a relation to King Omar?
Francis studied the handsome face in front of him for as long as he dared. Fuller than the portrait of the king, older too. But the eyes were similar. Maybe an older sibling, or cousin.
“I’m sorry,” Francis told him. “Are you…?”
“Nobody,” the man replied quickly. “I feed the cats.”
“Oh, I see,” Francis said, suspecting this wasn’t quite true. Perhaps this family member, whoever he was, wanted a quiet, anonymous life.
Francis could understand that.
“They look happy,” Francis said, still tickling the large Aslan in his lap. He couldn’t help but notice again how adorable the kitten lounging in the man’s robes was. “How old is the kitten?”
“Three months,” he said proudly, lowering his head to place a kiss atop the kitten’s head. “Masallah.” The kitten bopped her fluffy head against the man’s bearded chin. “This one became unwell,” he explained. “We had to take her and nurse her. Feed from bottle.”
