I guess it's a pretty good indication of how preoccupied and miserable I was, that I didn't feel any concern for myself until the middle of October. All my thoughts were on Grandmother and Grandfather and how lonely it was without them; I didn't spare any energy to think that there were more implications to being alone than simply being alone.

It dawned on me the day the bills came in the mail...or maybe it was a few days later, when I saw them lying on the table where I'd left them and realized I would have to open them and deal with them. That was when it occurred to me, very suddenly, to wonder what I was still doing there anyway. It's hard to believe that I hadn't thought of it before, but a ten-year-old kid just isn't left alone to take care of himself and I couldn't figure out why no one had come to put me under some kind of adult supervision. It wasn't as if people didn't know I was alone. I wondered about it for a while, staring at those white envelopes, and finally started opening them. No one else was going to, so it better be me.

I'm pretty good at freaking myself out when I try, and I did a great job of it that afternoon: I opened those bills expecting to see the sort of figures that would horrify a millionaire. Instead, the totals- all of them put together- didn't add up to even half of the death-money. My first reaction was a moment of dizzy relief; my second, a sort of sick wonder at a completely unfamiliar thought. We were poor. So poor that we could barely meet these tiny bills and still have enough to eat. All the saving and careful measures Grandmother had taken had been wiser than I knew, maybe wiser than she knew, but behind that thought was a very strange feeling. Poor people were people one felt sorry for, and I wondered- thinking of the generous death-money and gifts of food- if people felt sorry for us.

It was not a good moment for my pride. I felt my face get hot with indignation and struggled with a wave of resentment towards those kindly, pitying villagers. It was a while before I could remind myself that there was no choice; it was either take the kindness or starve. Grandmother had been right about that, too; we couldn't afford, literally, to indulge our pride.

My pride. It wasn't we, it was me. And all of a sudden my pride was completely gone and I sat at the table feeling a fear I'd never felt before, the fear of realizing that if anyone was going to do anything for me, it was just going to be me. And I didn't know what to do, or how to do it. Even just getting enough to eat- the food in the freezer would run out; the death-money would only pay for two months of bills and then all I would have would be my own wages from the dojo. It wouldn't be enough- I already knew that. It had helped, adding to Grandfather's- Grandfather's life insurance! Of course, how could I have forgotten? That was what took care of the bills; I had seen Grandmother working on them by candle-light and sometimes had to read some of the numbers to her. And with that memory, another surfaced: Grandfather at the table, carefully writing out checks and enclosing them in the envelopes. I had seen him do it every month, but somehow I had forgotten that, too.

So maybe I did know what to do. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard... I started to get up from my chair, intending to look for the checkbook, but sat back down again without exactly meaning to because my knees were all shaky. I felt like someone had pushed me though a door into a completely new and overwhelming world, one I definitely did not want to be in, but couldn't get out of. As I sat there, trying to calm down and get a grip on myself, my gaze fell on an envelope I hadn't opened yet. I picked it up and my stomach lurched again when I saw the bank logo. I couldn't imagine what they might want, then wondered fearfully if that was what Grandfather's money had to be used for- like a loan or mortgage or something. I shakily pulled open the envelope and pulled out several sheets of paper. The first few were sprinkled with figures, and after looking anxiously at it for a while, I concluded that it didn't seem to be a bill. In fact, it was a list! A list of how much money there was and the lists of what each check had been written for. At the bottom was the total of how much was left. Like a summary, I thought giddily, closing my eyes. My head was starting to ache from all the tension.

The last sheet of paper was a letter. It was addressed to Sanada-san, and it was condolences, 'for the grievous loss of your honored mother,' which puzzled me a great deal. It then went on to explain that her insurance would be added to the balance each month, as had been done the previous year when 'your revered father and head of clan's affairs were put in order.' The rest of it was a lot of stuff that I didn't really get, but it didn't look like I needed to worry about it, since it said 'automatically deducted'. The general point was clear enough: Grandmother had also had insurance, and now it would be added to the account. I read it a few times over to make sure I wasn't missing anything, trying to ignore the awful feelings that kept swelling inside me, and trying to figure out why the writer had referred to my grandparents as my parents. I puzzled over it for a moment longer, then shrugged and started folding up the papers- and didn't catch on until I was putting them back in the envelope. The envelope that had my father's name on the front of it.

They had written to my father.

I think I sat there with my mouth open for a while, trying to get my mental balance back. They had written to my father, not to me- as though he hadn't been dead for over three years. The only conclusion I could reach was that they must not have ever been informed of his death!

I dropped the papers on the table, put my aching head in my hands, and tried to slow down my racing thoughts. It made a certain amount of sense, when I thought about it objectively. Just because his death had caused us all misery and changed our lives didn't mean the bank knew anything about it- especially if no one had told them, and it seemed no one had. Nor the billing companies- nor even the people in the village! I tried to remember the funeral, without much success, but it seemed that only a few old friends of my grandparents had attended. So the village probably thought he was off on assignment again, as he so often had been; maybe they figured he'd come home more often now, but it must not be any surprise to them that they didn't see him around. Even when he was home, he'd hardly ever gone into Azu.

'That's probably it... what should I do? I guess I should probably tell someone, but...will they send me to an orphanage until I'm eighteen? Or put me with some other family? What if I don't tell anyone- will I just live here by myself? Won't someone figure it out? Will that get me in trouble?'

Neither one of my options seemed promising. I wasn't sure I wanted to live in that silent, lonely house with all its painful memories, but I wasn't sure I wanted to leave it, either. It was my family's land and home; it was all I had, and the very first thing the authorities would do was take me somewhere else. And it wouldn't be any less lonely or frightening- I knew that from the isolation I felt during school hours. Being with other people doesn't automatically make someone stop feeling lonely, even if the people around them are kind and sympathetic.

'And what if they put me with people who're unkind? Even if they're only sorta strict...' I knew I'd been given unusual freedom growing up, and I didn't like the thought of being pounded down by someone- no matter how nice- whose ideas of what was right and wrong were really just black and white. Not that I put it in those words, but it came down to the same thing. I wouldn't be able to run around in the woods anymore or work in the dojo- I wouldn't be here. I might not be allowed play soccer, or to speak or dress casually, or eat whenever I felt hungry, or even to choose my own friends. I might be made to take an interest in things 'appropriate' for me, with no idea what appropriate would be. What if it meant being in the chess club or speaking perfect English? And my grades- my grandparents had been relatively relaxed about those, compared with my classmates' parents, and I knew that was rare. For that matter, what if I was looked down on for being poor, or having blue eyes, or for growing up so far from cities? I knew country kids were held in contempt by city kids as unsophisticated and dull.

Worst of all...what if the people who took me in died, too?

That thought settled it, and I shivered as I sat up and looked tiredly around the house. Maybe I wasn't cursed- Father hadn't been around me much, and it had been the poachers who killed him; Grandfather hadn't been near me when his train crashed; I hadn't even been home when Grandmother died, and she had told me her health wasn't good long before that happened. But I felt like a curse, and I didn't want to risk finding out that it was true. That would make it all my fault, and I couldn't handle that. Besides, even if it wasn't my fault, it was better to mourn one family than two.

Yes, I was a pretty mixed-up kid. It's amazing how much logic you can twist to convince yourself to do something, or not do it.

I didn't try to pay the bills that evening. I was too worn out from all my emotions. I went to bed without eating anything, and after I finally fell asleep, I had the dream about my father. I hadn't had it for a while, but anything that reminded me of him- like that bank letter- usually brought it on.

It started the same way as it always did: I ran after him, calling out to him, but he never turned or paused, just walked on until he was lost in the mist that rolled down off the snow-covered mountains. Then it parted to reveal him lying in his coffin, his eyes wide and empty. I dropped to my knees on the snow beside him, crying and gripping the splintery wood with my bare hands, knowing what was coming. The coffin would fade, and I would be left alone in the silent mist- no matter how I clung to that wooden box, no matter how I cried or pleaded, it never would stay with me-

There was a sound, a noise I couldn't place, but it shocked me out of my tears for a moment. There had never been any sound but my own voice before- could it be that...? I looked up- and gasped as a pair of large, ice-pale eyes met mine: eyes that belonged to the white, black-striped, half-grown tiger cub that stood regarding me solemnly from the other side of the coffin. He didn't react to my gasp, but when another noise sounded- a low, snarling roar- he looked over his shoulder and then turned to disappear into the mist. I scrambled to my feet, still crying a little, and ran after him, though I don't really know why. I couldn't see him in the mist, but I could see his paw-prints in the snow and followed them eagerly. After a few minutes the mist began to clear and I could see around me. I was in a sort of hollow scooped out of the mountains, with the rocks rising up high around me and snow drifting in the cold wind. The tracks led to a more sheltered area behind an outcrop. I hurried around the corner, then stopped at what was before me.

The cub had paused a few feet away, his back to me, tail lashing and ears flat. To my right, two mauled and mangled human bodies dressed in heavy winter clothes lay sprawled in the snow. I had never seen them before, but I knew who they were, because right ahead of me stood a full-grown female tiger, white like her cub. As I watched, stunned, she lifted her head and a savage, whining roar, almost a howl, rose from her jaws. Then her great head dropped and I saw why as the remaining mist cleared from the gold-and-black body on the ground beside her. "Your mate," I whispered, and the tigress turned sharply, her eyes boring into mine. She snarled and the cub leaped to her side, butting her with his head and almost purring- a low, throaty sound that seemed to make the ground vibrate. The tigress calmed, dropping to her haunches and regarding the two human corpses almost indifferently; the cub turned back and slowly came towards me, one step at a time.

"So you and I are alike," I whispered as he approached. "They killed my father, too...I'm so glad your mother took care of them, but I'm sorry it happened like this. I bet you miss him, huh?" I paused as he sat down perhaps a foot away, tilted his head, and regarded me. "I know how you feel. But at least you've still got a mother; mine died a long time ago." I slowly extended my hand, hoping he wouldn't decide to take it off at the wrist, but he only lowered his head and sniffed at it. Then he stunned me; he lay down on his belly beside me, stretched out his big paws, and gently patted my leg. I glanced at the mother tiger, who wasn't paying any attention to us, then very carefully reached over and stroked the cub's forehead, running my hand over the soft fur there and up between his ears. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, nudging my knee with his nose, so I petted him a few more times, feeling pleasure mix with my sorrow. When I drew my hand away, he opened his eyes, gave a little grunt, and raised a swift paw to capture it again; I smiled shakily and went on stroking and, eventually, scratching his forehead and jaws- just like I would with any other cat.

Quite suddenly, the tigress howled again and I jumped, startled. The cub sat up with a little whining sound of his own, his big eyes closing tight and his head drooping. I didn't think, just leaned over and put my arms around him, hugging him the way I wished someone would hug me. It didn't occur to me that it might not be wise, and the cub seemed to understand that I meant well, for he only nuzzled my shirt. One of his paws lifted and patted my side, and then he sort of oozed out of my arms and glided over to his mother, who sniffed him over before licking his face in a sort of resigned way. It was as if she was saying, Very well; if you must hang around with a human, at least you had the sense to pick that one.

I woke up then, with a jolt. No gradual shift from the vividly real dream to the reality of my room, not that time. I sat up and looked around in surprise, half expecting to see the snowy mountains and the tigers, and felt almost disappointed when I didn't. But I felt too good inside to be disappointed for long. I had finally seen the tiger and cub that I had always wanted to meet, even if it had only been my imagination. The tiger's wary acceptance of me as a spectator would have been enough, but the welcoming friendliness of her youngster had filled me with happiness. I felt as though I had found a dear friend, and only wished he were real enough to be with me when I was awake. But after having so many imaginary friends, having a dream-friend wouldn't be that much different. Maybe better, if all my dreams with him were so vivid.

They were.

I never saw the tigress again after that first dream, and I had the feeling that she only showed up in that first one as a sort of explanation, to make sure I knew whose cub I was befriending. And I think she wanted to check me out, make sure I was fit company for her cub. Having given her approval, she disappeared into the mountains that had so changed my life- and she took Father and the poachers with her, for I never dreamed of them again, either. I suppose some would say my subconscious finally put the matter to rest; I say she did, and I owe her for that, too. I hope she found a new mate and had more beautiful black-and-white cubs and never had to deal with human beings again; that seemed to be all she really wanted.

White Blaze, on the other hand, walked or ran or- as time went by- occasionally pounced into my dreams every night, seeming as happy to see me as I was to see him. We formed a solid friendship very quickly, recognizing that we had nothing to worry about from each other, and soon progressed from keeping each other company to entertaining each other. Blaze simply wasn't content to sit around and be patted, and if you get right down to it, neither was I content to just pat him all the time. Friends do more than simply sit next to each other!

So my dreams with him turned into adventures. We explored his mountains and my forest; we ran races and jumped over creeks (he had a very unfair advantage in both respects, I might add) and climbed up trees or over trails; we wrestled and played tag and hid from each other. I showed him the house; he showed me the den where he'd been born. I talked; he communicated without needing to say anything more than his ears and eyes and tail could convey. When I told him my name, he decided he wanted one, too, so I suggested White Blaze and he liked it. When he was in his less rambunctious moods, he liked to have me tell him about the weird things humans did. He didn't laugh- not like a human- but I could tell he got quite a bit of amusement out of some of our eccentric behavior.

The one thing about him that puzzled me was that one night I noticed I wasn't dreaming about a half-grown cub; he was now a full-grown adult. Practically overnight- and even kinda literally. But considering all the impossible things we did in over the next year, that was nothing, and after I noticed it, I didn't pay it much attention. I had a sneaky sort of feeling that he'd done it on purpose; perhaps he'd felt I would be more alarmed by two adult tigers than one cub and one adult, or perhaps he'd just wanted to make sure I recognized him. Either way, it didn't much matter. He was my friend and his presence eased the lonely pain inside me, helped me remember that though life can be terrible and bitter, it can be wonderful and happy as well. I didn't forget that I was grieving. I still felt that, still had moments where the grief sank me into despair and tears. I didn't forget that now there was no one but me to take care of myself and the house, and sometimes the burden of those responsibilities struck pure terror into me, made worse by not being able to tell anyone or ask for much help. But every night White Blaze was there to ease my mind and give me his affectionate company.

Until one night, a little over a year later, he wasn't.

It was the night after school ended for the summer and I had gone to bed feeling both pleased and regretful. Pleased, because I had done well on my exams- much better than I had on last year's exams, which I had barely passed- and would be in sixth grade in September. Regretful, because I wished Grandmother and Grandfather had been there to hear it. I consoled myself with the thought of telling Blaze, and eventually fell asleep thinking about the freedom from homework. But my dreams were the usual fragmented pieces of thought and memory, not the vivid near-reality of my tiger's world. I woke up several times in the night, feeling confused and groggy and wondering what was wrong. At last I fell into that sharply defined dream state, but White Blaze still wasn't there. I was standing on the mountainside, where most of the snow was melting, and I could hear his roar somewhere in the distance. I called him and he answered, but then his dreamvoice faded and I woke up with a start.

"What's going on?" I muttered, sitting up, and then I gasped, wondering if I was awake or not. The moon was shining through my open window, lighting up the clock, which read four-thirty a.m. And from somewhere deep in the forest, I heard my tiger call me again.

I didn't waste any time- I didn't even stop to put my shoes on. I just leaped out of bed and raced out of the house, calling White Blaze as I ran. I didn't feel the branches and thorns that scratched me or the stones and twigs that gouged my feet. I splashed through a creek, nearly going face-first into it in the dark, slithered in damp dirt as I climbed out the other side, ran straight into a tree-trunk- I didn't care, I just ran till I couldn't run anymore, calling as often as I could find the breath to and feeling something close to panic when he didn't respond. I told myself not to be silly, he was out here, he just hadn't heard me because I was too far away. But I was aware that trying to track down a tiger in the woods at night- a dream tiger, at that- was something most people would describe as insanity.

I finally had to stop; bracing my hands on my knees, I leaned over and panted for breath, gradually becoming aware of the stinging scratches and cuts all over my bare arms and legs. I had forgotten to put on a shirt or jeans, too, but I decided that was just as well. 'At least they aren't getting torn to shreds,' was more or less the thought in my mind, right alongside the one about being stupid enough to forget the flashlight as well. "But who," I asked myself aloud, still breathing hard, "is that organized at four in the morning? Or five," I corrected myself, noticing that the black of the woods was turning gray with the coming dawn. "White Blaze?" I straightened up as I called out again, looking anxiously around and wondering even more if I'd only been fooling myself.

A roar split the air and I whirled towards the sound- to my right- and tried to run. It was no good- I'd been running barefoot through the woods for at least half an hour and my feet wouldn't tolerate any more of that nonsense- but I managed a jog for a few minutes. The light was growing stronger by the minute, and I was able to avoid the worst of the underbrush, gradually dropping from my jog down to a fast walk. I recognized the area, and wondered if Blaze was in the little river-meadow about half a kilometer away. The direction seemed right, so I made for it, and got there about ten minutes later. My stomach was awake, and empty; my feet were killing me, and the morning mosquitoes had decided I was their breakfast buffet, but none of that mattered to me. I stopped again, breathing hard, and looked anxiously around. There was nothing, no sign, no sound, but I took my hope in my hands and called my friend again.

For a moment there was silence, and then I heard something rustle in the brush across the river. I turned my head- just in time to see the huge striped form of my tiger step swiftly out of a thicket. His head lifted as he caught my scent, his eyes locked on mine, and I dropped to my knees in bewildered joy. "White Blaze," I whispered past the ache in my throat. "Oh, Blaze..." His ears perked, his tail flashed about his flanks in excitement, and then he charged across the ground between us, clearing the river in one powerful leap. A few more steps brought him straight to my side and he lowered his head to nuzzle my cheek. I flung my arms around his neck, felt the warmth and thickness of his heavy pelt- and fell over as he collapsed on his side. His huge forepaws wrapped around me in a tigerish embrace, and for a long time I lay there, snuggled up against his coarse fur, listening to his low contented rumble. I think I was crying a little from sheer happiness, but I don't remember for sure.

"Oh, White Blaze," I murmured at last, and reached up to rub his chin and cheeks and forehead. He closed his eyes in delight, stretching his neck this way and that and occasionally butting me gently in encouragement. I finally had to sit up to do the job properly, and when at length he'd had enough- for the time being- he laid his head on my leg and licked my hands. "How?" I whispered, looking at him in amazement. "How- could this happen? I never thought I'd see you anywhere but in my sleep..."

Blaze gave me his version of a shrug; flicked ears, cocked head, and a sneeze. It never ceased to amaze me that he could sneeze on cue.

"I guess I shouldn't look a miracle in the face like that," I observed after a moment. "It's bad luck. Let's go back to the house; you've got fur, but these bugs are eating me alive, and I would rather have breakfast than be it."

My friend shook himself, stood up, and sniffed me over, snorting a few times as he encountered a couple of bloody scratches. "Yeah, well, I was in a hurry to find you," I explained, and he patted the back of my leg with his paw. I hardly even felt my sore feet as we walked back through the forest towards the house- I was walking on clouds. It isn't every day I have a dream come to life.

You might think that having a tiger for a friend would be a pretty complicated business...but it wasn't.

The main concern in my mind only lasted as long as it took to walk home; it was, how I was going to be able to feed him? The appetite of a grown tiger is not a minor matter, and meat was pretty expensive. If I'd thought about it for a moment, though, I might have expected what happened: White Blaze took charge of his own meals from the very first, turning the forest into his personal hunting preserve. He often brought home rabbits and other small animals, and from time to time, one of the small, swift deer that infested the woods. Generous friend that he was, he always offered me a share of his food, and once I got past feeling kind of queasy about it, I sometimes accepted. Not with the small animals, for he needed all the meat on those, but I did get into the habit of taking a few pieces of deer meat to fry or chop up into soup. In return, I offered him part of my own food. For some reason I never could figure out, he loved the smell of chicken cooking, but always turned up his nose at the meat. He liked pork, but beef he totally loved, and every time I prepared some, he would pace around the fireplace impatiently, nudging me to hurry things along.

Housebreaking was never an issue, either. Fortunately. I did have to keep an eye on him to make sure he hadn't picked up any fleas or ticks in the woods, but aside from that, the only real snag was having several tons of tiger-hair coating virtually everything in the house.

It's ironic that once I finally got him into the house, he settled in so thoroughly! That first morning, he wouldn't come inside at all- in fact, he wouldn't get within twenty feet of the front door. I gave up after a while, went inside to clean up and dress, then went back out and tried again to coax him inside. He finally slunk through the doorway around noon, keeping very close to me, sniffing constantly at the air and gazing around with white-rimmed eyes. I calmed him down by making my lunch and feeding him some of it, and after a while he began to venture away from my side, moving very slowly and stealthily to sniff more closely at one thing or another and then hurrying back to me for reassurance. Finally he decided the situation was relatively harmless and took a long, careful tour of the premises, examining everything in the house and often turning to me for explanations. His manner of requesting information was simple enough: he would sniff something, turn to me, and pat the object in question with his paw- or if it was too small, simply indicate it. "That's a sofa," I would say; "you sit or lie on it, because it's softer than the floor." And then I would watch while Blaze tested that theory by hopping onto the sofa and perching there, cocking his head. Or, "That's the refrigerator. It keeps food cold, so it won't go bad. That way I can store a lot of things at once, instead of having to go get it fresh every day. That's a clock. It keeps time. This is the broom, I use it to get dirt off the floor, like this...it's a bucket...a table...my bed..."

I did a lot of talking that afternoon, more than I had for probably the entire past three months put together. And I got a good start on my new habit of talking out loud to him, a habit that's gotten me some very strange looks.

Only once did White Blaze pause in his 'questioning' of me: when he patted the door to Grandmother's bedroom. I hesitated a long time before replying, very quietly, "My grandmother used to sleep in there, but she doesn't anymore," and suddenly wondered why I was explaining anything to an animal. White Blaze clearly heard the change in my voice, for he came over to me and nudged against my legs, then looked up and tilted his head. I looked at him for a moment, wondering. "She died," I explained. White Blaze looked at me for a moment, looked at the door, then went to it and patted it again- and made the low howling sound I'd heard once before, the sound his mother had made in my dream when she mourned for her mate. "Yes," I said weakly, shaken. "She died...in there."

White Blaze made that hair-raising sound once more, then whipped around and hurried back to me, butting against my legs until I knelt, then wrapping one heavy forepaw around my side and back. His tongue rasped against my cheek and I hugged him around the neck.

After that, I never wondered again. That tiger understood every word I said.