Ulysses had been gone since Saturday, and Calle was worried. Curiosity was his middle name, and being here in the woods provided him an unending source of distractions. At home he always spent a lot of his time outside, but he was always back before sundown, and this was not like him. Ulysses was only six months old, a gift for Calle’s seventh birthday. She had picked Ulysses as a name because this kitten was always into everything, and reminded her of the voyages of Ulysses and all the troubles and ordeals he fell into. Of all the stories her dad read to her at bedtime or while she did her chores, the story of Ulysses was her favorite. Her father was an architect, and drew houses and buildings and bridges. Calle loved his bridges. Her mother was a research astrophysicist and professor at the university. Calle occasionally sat in the back of a lecture hall, listening to her mother lecture about star systems and galaxies, and particularly loved to watch her draw pieces of the sky on the chalkboard. It was clear that Calle came by her intelligence and incisive mind through good strong genes, her sense of fun and humor through her attachment to her dad, and her connections and fascination with the universe and the world around her through her mom. She was a blend of sheer childhood delight and wonder, and maturity well beyond her tender age.

Calle loved being out in the woods. She remembers her first summer at the cabin, when her dad caught the granddaddy of all rainbow trout, a major event – she was three and a half. He held it close for her to see, its tiny round eyes dark pools of unfathomable intelligence, its sides slippery and beautiful in the hues of its namesake, its mouth frightfully opening and closing, gasping in the oxygen-rich but deadly air. Then her dad said that was enough, and set the fish gently back into the stream and let it go. It hesitated but a moment, then was gone in the flash of its tail fin. This year, Calle knew everything would be more difficult here in the woods, because everything was going to be a distraction of interest to Ulysses, so she promised to keep an eye on him, especially when they were outside the cabin. But somehow Ulysses was too curious and too quick for her, and in one brief moment of Calle’s inattention, he was gone. That was two days ago, and Ulysses was still not back. Upset and anxious to find him, Calle set out early one morning before sunup with a satchel containing a piece of cheese, a small wax paper bag of Ritz crackers, and a can of apple juice. She headed for the river where she thought Ulysses might go. When she arrived at the bluff overlooking the river, she climbed over the edge and onto the narrow path leading to the river, and started down. It was tight, and she leaned into the cliffside to keep her balance. Just ten feet from the bottom, Calle’s foot slipped on some pebbles, and she tumbled down the remaining portion of the path and onto the sandy bank beside the river. When the dust settled, but before Calle picked herself up, she checked to see that she was all right. “A few bumps and a scraped knee, but no broken bones,” she said out loud to herself. She was sitting spread-legged facing the river.

“You were very lucky,” came a high-pitched voice in front of her. Calle looked up and straight into the dark round pupils of a Peregrine falcon perched on a fallen tree on the riverbank. She tried to speak, but no words would come. “Don’t be frightened,” said the falcon, “We’ve been expecting you.” Calle opened her mouth again, but still could not bring herself to speak. The falcon cocked its head to one side, and with both eyes pinning her in place, waited. “Who are you?” asked Calle when she finally found her voice, “And, what do you mean you’ve been expecting me?” The falcon begged her pardon, apologized for being inconsiderate, and introduced himself as Scree. He explained that he was the second in command in the struggle against the Terrible Three, who had brought darkness to the Enchanted Valley ten winters ago. “As for how we knew you were coming, why, the oracle told the king you would one day come,” added Scree. “Please, come with me. The king has been awaiting your arrival for some time, and he is quite anxious to meet you.”

The falcon flew off with Calle following, leading her deep into the woods. Soon the trees and underbrush became so thick that darkness closed in around her, and Calle was having great difficulty keeping Scree in sight. Her frustration grew, and now she was becoming frightened, when suddenly, a deep booming voice spoke to her out of the darkness, “You have come just in time.” Calle looked in the direction of the voice, but could only make out the faint silhouette of a figure with large steel-grey eyes that shown out of the darkness. The figure stepped out of the shadows, and Calle jumped back, startled, for it was a huge lion with a massive golden-brown mane. “It is well that you have come,” said the lion, “Your help is sorely needed.” Calle looked into the eyes of the big cat, and there was a brief moment of recognition. “Yes,” said the lion nodding, “In your world you call me by the name, Ulysses,” but before he could go on, Calle leaped up and threw her arms around his neck. The lion laughed, a laughter deep and resonant, and when Calle let go of his mane and stepped back, he added, “Welcome, little one. It is good to see you. I am glad you are well – Scree told me of your fall at the cliffs.” Then the lion went on to explain that the creatures in the Enchanted Valley called him by the name of Pyramus, and he was their king.

Scree told Calle the history of how the Terrible Three had arrived in the Enchanted Valley a decade ago, of how they had set all the creatures of the valley against one another, and how they had brought fear into the midst through their evil meanness. Their leader was Slither, the python, and he was the most devilish of the three. He spoke with a quite noticeable lisp, but his command of the spoken word was grand and masterful, and that, together with an evil and hypnotic eye, proved him persuasive to a fault. Few could match the strength of his will, or stand firm against the power of his tongue, so great was his skill. Akhbar Khan, the Siberian tiger, was more brute force than persuasion, and through intimidation accentuated with rippling muscles and sharp claws, served as Slither’s right-paw creature. He was not averse to strong-paw tactics, and was most pleased when others were ill at ease in his presence, for this was in part his intent when he walked among them. Jackal, the hyena, was the last and perhaps most dangerous of the three, being the one seemingly the least in control of his own mind. Tragedy was his mirth, misfortune his humor, and calamity his delight. Actually, Slither was never quite certain if Jackal would remain under any degree of self-control, but that he might explode at any moment in a violent fit of unbridled violence. However, that uncertainty suited Slither’s intentions well, for he considered it as a calculated uncertainty that kept the creatures and his enemies constantly off balance and off their guard. The presence of the unholy three was a tremendous weight on the entire Enchanted Valley, and as the years wore on the times grew darker, and the creatures less vital.

Scree told of the day that Pyramus came to the Enchanted Valley, and the creatures were once again with hope. Pyramus was strong, but not without fear, for he knew the value of caution. Slither’s evil eye held no sway with him and his steel-grey eyes, and Akhbar Khan was no match for Pyramus’ powerful size and sharp claws. Only Jackal, with his exercised mind firmly ensconced in the nether world, was undaunted by Pyramus’ arrival, and proved to be a thorn in the latter’s paw, and a continuing pall over the valley. “The wisdom of the ancients, passed down to us by Wolf, the Oracle, told us of the day a fair young maiden would come to deliver the valley from evil,” said Pyramus, looking directly into Calle’s eyes. There was a moment of silence as Calle felt all eyes upon her. Finally, a nervous and somewhat puzzled Calle asked, “But, what can I do?” “You are very strong, in ways other than Akhbar Khan, and wise in means that Slither does not comprehend. You will know when you face the one named Jackal what you must do,” replied Pyramus.

Thus it was that on the next day at high noon, at the base of the bluffs alongside the river, Calle sat on a rock and waited alone. “What if I don’t do the right thing?” she muttered to herself. “What if I make a mistake?” again, half to herself. “Why, then you lose,” came a sneering whispered reply from behind her. Calle spun around, and found herself looking directly into the cold amber eyeslits of Jackal, the hyena. Jackal chuckled, and muttered things under his breath that Calle didn’t understand. As he spoke his words had sharp edges, and because he spoke so rapidly, Calle recognized only a few of his angry words. The rest were unintelligible ravings. Jackal grew increasingly agitated, and his words came more rapidly, and his eyes darted back and forth. He paced, and his cold amber eyes turned a fiery red. Calle was amazed at her own calmness in the face of Jackal’s rantings, and instinctively and without a thought for safety, she reached out a hand and gently touched his nose. She leaned over, and resting one arm around his shoulder, brushed her lips on his high cheekbone, and suddenly there was a momentary and blinding flash of light, and then everything went black.

Calle heard her name called, though she heard it only faintly and from afar. She opened her eyes, and found her father bending over her. He said she must have fallen down the cliff and bumped her head. Calle sat up and looked around her. Ulysses was there and jumped up on her lap and licked her hand.

Years later Calle would recall how on that day she explained to her father about Scree, who led her deep into the Enchanted Valley, and about Akhbar Khan, the meanest of them all, and that Ulysses was really Pyramus, who was king over all the creatures. She would remember how her father had smiled and felt her forehead, and that Ulysses jumped up and licked her cheek – and she would swear in the bright sunlight on that day, that Ulysses looked deep into her eyes and winked…