The Place
The Whisker Warrens are a warren of narrow, warm tunnels beneath the old cities, and the warren runs 25 km under the two old cities that still stand and the standing is where the warmth began. The tunnels drop 40 m beneath the hearths and the dropping is measured by the warms, the warm per ten meters, and the warms are the warren's only clock. The passages are 1 m wide at the best and at the worst they are 70 cm, and the 70 cm is the width the warren keeps for those it has decided to keep. The light of the warren is the claw-light, the amber shimmer that the wall-grown moss keeps along the seams, and the amber is the only sunset the deep below the cities has. The warren smells of warm earth and of the fur of the many, and the fur is where the warren keeps the warmth of the cities above. This is the place where the warmth is kept, and the keeping is the warren's only work, and the work is the hiss the stone does.
How They Live
The Cat Men dig their warrens in chambers of packed ochre earth and worn fur, the fur stretched over the earthen walls to keep the warmth of the hearths in, and the sleeping is done in the high places because the cat man sleeps where he can see the whole tunnel and the seeing is the warren's only law of the sleep. The chambers hold a hundred and the hundred is the most the 1 m of passage can keep. Light is the claw-light, kept in the amber shimmer of the moss, which the keepers tend along the seams like a garden that is allowed to glow, and the glow is where the warren keeps its one lamp. Food is the warren itself: the small game that the warm cellars keep, the fungus of the walls, and the patience that keeps the claw honest, for the cat man does not chase and the not-chasing is the warren's only law of the hunt. Water is drawn from the springs of the deep, which come up through the old cities' warm cellars in two places, and the springs are kept by the claw-keepers, who meter every drop because the warmth counts the drops. The defense is the warren itself, because a visitor who steps into the tunnel is already in the path of the hunt, and the hunt is the alarm and the welcome and the sentence. The day is measured by the hunt, which is also the calendar, because the warren is the only clock the claw needs. The rite of the warm is the first lick: a stranger who wishes to pass is licked by the youngest of the keepers in the dark, and the licking is the only key the warren has.
People
Home of the Cat Men, whose warrens are counted by claw, and the claws keep six hundred souls in the two cities' warm, the six hundred being the most the warms can count at once. The warren of the first city is the eldest and the eldest is where the claw-keepers are chosen from, and the choosing is the only rank the cats have, for the cats do not have kings and the not-having is their only law. The claw-keepers keep the moss, the springs, and the count of the game, and the keeping is the only work the warmth values. No one who has been cold is welcome in the deep, and the not-being-welcome is the warren's way of keeping the warmth honest. A human trader from the upper city calls the Whisker Warrens the warm that does not open but does not cool either, and the calling is his only word, because the warmth does neither and the hissing is all it does.
In Stories
The place where the patience is the only honest thing, and the thing is the hunt, and the hunt is the word, and the word is the end. It was in the first city's warm that the Forgotten learned the weight of a hunt that does not chase, and the learning cost them the lantern and gave them the first lick. The warmth has not cooled since, and the hissing is the warren's way of keeping the patience.