“Young lady! Lay perfectly still as if you are dead! When I pounce upon the beast, run for your life!”

Ianthe's eyes widened and she began giggling from sheer relief as the stranger neared them. He stopped, and the thunderstruck expression on his face was so comical that her giggles turned into hearty laughs. To make matters worse, he had begun to sneeze prodigiously and she lost both the breath and the words with which to summon Attis off in Latin. It was only by a tremendous effort that she managed to do so in her native tongue. Her voice suddenly recalled his attention from the strange spectacle before them. With a look of puzzled annoyance, he retreated to the shadows, his tail issuing forth from time to time to catch the light. His mistress, still shaking with laughter, picked herself up and turned her attention to the toga-clad figure in front of her. It was holding a piece of cloth to its nose and rocked at intervals by the force of its sneezes. Mother Mut, what was she supposed to do now? Cautiously, she put a hand on a trembling shoulder.

“Are you...hah...in good health? Let us... hah....Should we leave this place?” she inquired, herself gasping for air. The figure managed a quick nod, and went back to sneezing. Stretching an arm up in an attempt to get it around the other shoulder, she steered him out into the street. Attis she ordered to stay in the alley. She didn't need him to cause any more trouble than he already had. Ianthe scanned the street. Ah. There was a public fountain about twenty paces down the road. They moved unsteadily, she still weak from laughter and he with outbursts that seemed to be gradually weakening in intensity. They reached the fountain and sat down.

Ianthe inspected him critically. He was tall, taller than most Roman men and not bad looking, but other than that, resembled them rather alarmingly. If she had been asked what the average Roman looked like, she would probably have described him. After a while, the man removed the piece of cloth from his nose and spirited it back into the sinus of his toga. He sighed. Ianthe sought desperately for a topic of conversation.

“What is your clan- your cogn-” she blushed and silently commended her soul to the gods. “What is your...name?”