♡ The moon shown high above in the silent night - as most nights were when everything was at peace. Species of all kinds protected this land, even formed a group to do so. And though that sounded lovely and perfect, the safety in the silence attracted what might be the worst enemy to those in the Clans. The ferals.
Feral creatures were unpredictable. They knew not of society or order. They knew to eat and to reproduce, to attack and protect. When stacked neatly, these traits would be amazing in a Clan animal, but in a feral they could prove to be deadly. Feral creatures could be groomed to be civil, kind, and respectful. But they always had that awful potential - the potential to turn, to hurt, to kill without remorse. Most ferals were never given the chance at a safe life, even when seemingly harmless, because of how quickly they could become harsh and harmful. Hopefully, this wasn’t the case for this kitten.
Mama lynx was as feral as they got. She didn’t pray after catching a meal, nor did she care to bury the remains. Her tracks were out in the open, her scent on every corner, but due to her ferality and natural instinct to hide, she was never caught. She settled on the edge of the territory and birthed two kittens, one much like her, and the other nothing even close. See, even the feral fell under the whims of magical beings. One of her kittens had feathery, small, owl-like wings and patchy white-grey fur. She didn’t particularly like this kitten, for it was different, and favored feeding her stronger offspring, as in her mind, it had a better chance at survival. As well, as ferals, they didn’t name each other. None of them understood, nor cared, for the comfort of a name, a title. They yelled in their wordless language, and someone would answer no matter the case.
Months would go by, three to be exact, before the Clan cats caught wind of the feral. The mother lynx heard footsteps and got worried - she didn’t necessarily understand fear and dread, but she did understand the need to leave when others drew too near. Without much thought, she picked up her larger kitten, as he grew and became too big to be held with his sister, and scurried away. She gave no thought to her weak daughter, and left without a care nor a trace - other than the few pawsteps left in some fresh snow.
The little lynx kitten was like her mother, feral, but with a moldable mind and a major set of trust issues. Feral creatures understood trust to an extent. Babies trusted their caring parents to feed them, keep them warm, teach them everything. The kitten watched her brother get all the attention and learned nothing, grew very little, and was pretty frightened about plenty of things.
She mewled feebly, her voice coming out as an uncivilized chirp, a cry for help in another language. Her wings, much to small to lift even her tiny body, cocooned around her as she laid, nestled in the snow, awaiting her rescue from her knight in shining armor - whoever that may be.