Home.

It's such a strange word to encompass the place that saw my birth, my growth, my ultimate escape. A place that, for so long, I have avoided coming back to. I never wanted to put down roots, anywhere. And yet here I am, back in Rhy'Din, preparing to do just that. Did I grow up" Or is something else in play here"

In just a few hours, this year will be over and the next will begin. Will it be better, or worse" Will it stay the same" Will I be better or worse" It's exciting, to stand on a precipice in your own lifetime, to look out across a new year not yet begun and wonder if you really are doing the right thing. It's an adventure, and I've never shied away from adventure. Of course, that isn't always a good thing ....but that is in the past. Mistakes like that are not on the cards this time around. I can improve.

But why am I here" Why did I come back to Rhy'Din" So many people asked me why I was leaving Earth; there was no one here who remembered me to ask why I returned here. That why is a haunting question. I can't give my Earth friends the truth, and I have no friends on Rhy'Din who might care. But that why is the driving force behind my decision.

It's another escape, of sorts. Last time I escaped, it was from the illiteracy and stupid traditions of the pride that claimed me as theirs. This time, I have no guarantee that my choice will be honored. The pack I ran with on Earth held my nature over my head, threatening to divulge it at every turn. No, I can't go back to that Earth, to face the consequences of their violent blackmail. And, in truth, why would I want to' I became a model for one reason - to make enough money that I could live comfortably and pay for my further education. I graduated in summer with a doctorate in clinical psychology, and thanks to a couple of years of volunteering at a counseling center in my spare time, I'm qualified - finally - to do the work I actually wanted to do. I don't need to be on Earth any more. I don't want to be on Earth anymore.

I'm tired of having my time proscribed by the movements of a single moon. I'm tired of having to lie about my whereabouts three nights of the month. I'm tired of the superficial glamor; I know what real glamor is, and yes, I have a taste for the finer things. Why shouldn't I" I didn't even wear clothes until I was ten years old, for goodness' sake. I don't know if there are any psychology centers on Rhy'Din, but if there aren't, I'll make one. Let them scoff at the idea of talking therapy if they want to - I'm willing to bet the loudest voices against it will be the ones who want the time the most. I'm stubborn enough to persevere.

So ....the new year is coming. Here's hoping it's an improvement on the last one.

There are times when I struggle.

Not with my job itself. I love my job; the way that I am beginning to see how just a few hours spent talking to me can release years of repressed anger and pain is wonderful to behold. I can finally see the good I am doing with some of my clients, and I could not be happier for it.

But there are some clients, some stories, that I cannot simply leave at work. Two, in particular, stay with me. The first is for reasons I cannot quite explain - the grief stricken widower, fighting to find himself again in the midst of his pain, to find some way of letting go of the love of his life so that he can live again for himself. My mind turns often to him in quiet moments at home, and though I know the psychology behind such moments, I need to find a way to detach myself. I can't help him if I am too involved.

The second ....Well, I helped. Just not in the way that I am supposed to, professionally.

For me, sin occurs when you start treating people as things. And that's what had happened to this poor girl. Not only had she been terribly treated, but Rhy'Din's justice system had failed her, leaving her painfully scarred in places no physical doctor would ever be able to heal. Worse, in the aftermath of her ordeal, just as she was beginning to learn that she could move on, she discovered that her tormentor had left her something that would take a lifetime to be rid of. She refused to get rid of her child, and I think that was the right decision for her. But when that tormentor demanded custody rights, demanded his legal rights as the father, her world began to unravel. He used the legal system to abuse her psychologically again, and she began to come apart at the seams.

I could not let it go. I could not step away from such an awful case, such a sweet victim who was losing every shred of confidence she had in herself because the law had failed her and was now on his side. I wound myself so tightly in anger ....that I do not know for certain what happened to him.

I do know that I went hunting. I needed to feel the snow beneath my paws, the wind in my fur. I needed to escape a world of ineffectual words for a little while and give myself over to the wildness that is the feline in my dual nature. I know my hunt was successful; it seemed to take hours to wash the blood from my fur. It was only when I saw a grisly death reported in the newspaper that I realized what I had done. My cat, my tiger, had done what I could not. She had reached out to protect a female and her young who had become dear to me. He will never torment her again.

I need to find a way not to get so attached again. I do not regret my actions, unconscious as they were. But it cannot happen again.

I am not a vigilante.