“Stay here for a bit son, I’ll be back.”
“Where’s mother? Where are you going?” They had been walking for days. His small striped legs couldn’t keep up with the pace. Tired, he could barely remember his siblings faces, their scents long gone.
“Just - stay here, then you’ll have all your answers.” his father is already retreating, the blue tom watches the hulking form leave. “Father?” he must not hear him, for he never turns back to his son. Alone for the first time since birth, the blue tabby tom sits firm at the base of a tree, chest out. He must be special to be chosen first! His parents must think him so brave. I can last out here until father comes back, I’m much stronger than my siblings. A crackling of branches above him makes his fur spike, curling inwards protectively. Wary, he keeps an eye on the branches. Well, it’ll only be a little while before father returns.
Morning sun settles high in the sky before disappearing behind the dirty buildings, pulling out a blanket of dark as it does so. Still, the blue tabby sits intently underneath the tree. He shuffles even further underneath it when water starts trickling down the outer branches. Where are you father? He tucks his paws up under his chest when a sharp gust of wind blows down the emptied gray street.
The stormy night glides into a drizzled morning, bleak as if all colour has been stripped away by the wind. The tom’s stomach hurts with it’s emptiness, his legs sore with sitting so long, eyes aching from staying alert all night. Outside his shelter of branches is dismal, water crawling across the paved streets, creeping it’s way to the barely dry ground he sits on. What’s taking him so long!? He fumes, minuscule claws digging to the ground. A crinkling makes him lull his head sideways, resting on his shoulder. His blood turns colder than the air, staring directly into two beady brown eyes, a snarled muzzle, a clawed foot stepping through the branches.
In a dash, the tom streaks up the cedar trees thin branches, some snapping underneath him in his haste. Harsh snarls sound from below. When he’s high enough he looks down, straight into the horrifying snapping muzzle of some beast. It scratches at the branches below, shaking the ones above. His thin claws dig desperately into the branch, closing his eyes tight. Come back, please come back, I won’t be mad if you fight this creature off.
A harsh whistle calls the beast away, the kit watching it lope away, tongue hanging out as if it had been fun to threaten his life. Sighing, he lets his legs hang down from the branches, utterly exhausted and his stomach in so much pain. Water trickles down onto his back, turning his grey fur darker than the sky above.
Heaviness takes over his eyes, dragging down like the beast had caught them. It’s then that blessedly, he falls into a wretched sleep.
// VALESKA-
;)
- ❅ -
