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That could have gone better.
Lines of red traced a bite mark on his shoulder—a warning, a final goodbye. Thanks for the reminder! he’d thrown over his shoulder, smoke curled words that drifted a goodbye as he raced away, black paws beating a rhythm on the moor. He had heard his thunderous steps consider a pursuit, before falling into silence. Why bother—the teeth sinking into flesh was enough. He wouldn’t be coming back in a hurry that was for certain. He didn’t even want to.
Cast out—was the term. One too many quips, too many disagreements, not enough acceptance of blind authority and he was a prodigal son, never to return. His father had a god-complex; he couldn’t see how his mother put up with it or the harem he kept around. Still, he was better off. He’d gotten sick of the specialized treatment; of the way every word thrown his way was layered with teeth—the least favorite child. And his mother cooed he was the favorite…
If that was favoritism he’d rather be hated.
The tom skidded to a halt. He was still young, of course. On the cusp of adolescence, but kitten-hood still lingered abut his face, his soft pelt. He hoped his height would make it less obvious—his long stride and lean form cut a ashen shadow in the dimming light. If he stayed perfectly still, he fell into invisibility, the reddish hues of his pelt and black marks about his legs the product of a hundred thousand years of evolution.
But he was inexperienced. In these wild lands, he might not survive long. He craned his neck, and in the distance saw a giant structure reflecting the sunset and race toward it. It belonged to a great behemoth, age turning the bone into flakes of yellow, that peeled and littered the ground below. And yet, it was the most interesting thing he’d found so far. The scent of cats was strong here, as if it was a place often visited and yet there was an absence of blood. Not strictly protected then. He paused, wondering if maybe the felines he smelled would allow him to join their band, when a fresh scent hit his nostrils. Someone was approaching. A she-cat by the scent of it. He turned, dropping to a crouch, just in case he needed to bolt.
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