Beasts of the mountain possess senses honed by centuries of survival.
They found our cave before moonrise.
As snarls echoed at the entrance, I clamped my jaws around Silas' tunic.
He stared into my fangs, dazed. "Resorting to cannibalism now?"
Ignoring him, I dragged him deeper into the gloom.
When I hurled him into a narrow crevice, his eyes locked onto mine. "Stay hidden," I growled.
Then I charged toward daylight—his shout swallowed by the wind.
Bet my silhouette looked epic just then.
Luring the pack away worked... for three heartbeats.
Gideon's claws slammed me into an oak. Thwack.
"Traitor!" He spat on my fur. "Human's lap-tiger!"
They spared me solely for shared blood—but left me with ribs screaming like cracked porcelain.
Back at the hollow cave, only bloodstains greeted me. Good. He escaped.
Collapsing at the entrance, I licked a gash on my paw.
Saving the protagonist should earn me cosmic credit, right? When Silas ascends, maybe he'll send this cat home.
How I missed being human.
Mostly, I missed not perpetually starving.