She wore a carefully crafted, delicately refined mask. Not the mar of
black that spread across her face like a smear, but a suit. Something
else living within the skin of a cat. After all, where was the hissing
spitting creature that flipped on a dime to purr and share tongues with
the rest? Perhaps that’s what cold logic did to you. It hollowed you
out, turned every decision into a calculated risk, each flicker of
emotion across her façade a decision.
From a narrowed gaze to the grace of a smile.
But, she wasn’t unfeeling. Not entirely. After all, extreme acts of cruelty require a high level of empathy.
And oh, how empathetic she was. Perhaps that was the trade off. She
could delve into everyone, see through their eyes as if they her own but
the gesture could never be returned. Her walls were thick stone slabs,
skyscrapers of icy sleet. Let’s see someone climb this—they weren’t coming down any time soon.
Silkpaw had gone hunting for the clan, or so she had told anyone that
had asked. Leaf-bare made such a thing unquestioned. Expected.
Encouraged. And she had caught a crow, burying the black creature
beneath the snow for later retrieval. But that was all she would catch
this evening, as her paws took her to the border and into disputed
territory.
She had not attended the gathering, but she’d heard the whispers, thick
with drama, and the words of Raggedstar—warning all of Minkkit and her
murderous deeds. And all had shunned the kitten. There was nowhere for
her to go now. Perhaps that was why she found her scent so easily—it
would make sense for her to come back. Come back to her.
Silk reached the place, and spotting a glint of eyes behind the thick of tress said, “Oh Mink. Why didn’t you come to me?”
If the kitten had gone to her the night it had happened, before the deed
or even after death was fragrant on the air, she could have prevented
all of this. She watched as the kitten rushed to her, burring her tiny
face into the white fur of her chest. Little Mink had nowhere to go now.
No one would take in a murderer like her. She gave the only comfort she
could—the rumbling of a purr in her throat as she let the kitten cling
to her like a lifeline.
Silk pulled back gently, her white tipped tail curling around to brush beneath the kitten’s chin. “I’m so sorry, Mink. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you in this life,” she said, golden eyes earnest, gentle.
The kitten whispered something then. Some tearful plea. A desire to go back home. To stay with Silk. Impossible requests. “Hush, my dear,” she whispered, bringing the kitten to her again. “Everything will be over soon.”
And in a single elegant movement, her jaws closed around Mink’s neck and
a crack resounded through the trees, as the kitten fell limp against
her chest. She eased the two of them onto the snow, brushing a lick
across the still warm fur. Oh, how she wished things could’ve worked out
for the both of them. She would have liked to see the kitten grow up,
cultivate her inspirations.
Now, for the body. Her scent was on the kitten, though if she buried her
in the snow that would vanish within a few minutes. And the freezing
effect would prevent anyone from knowing when exactly she had died. Or
the buzzards could dig her up and pick her bones clean. She could drag
her body back, claim to have found her this way.
Or she could make the body vanish, never to be found. All possible choices.
She licked her lips.
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