Fear with a side of dead family

[For zenpaii]
Feather ran. She ran like her mother had taught her to. As fast as you can, as long as you can, stopping for no one except yourself. With the slowly sinking sun illuminating the windy, flat terrain, Feathers paws pounded against the hard earth, over and over again.
 
The kit was panting now, hardly able to breathe, and her paws felt like falling off. She wasn’t stupid, but she was also still a kit. Feather knew what dogs looked like. And these dog were wrong in the head, attacking Feather and her mother. 

Stop thinking about it! Feather told herself, trying to stop her mind from flashing back to those horrifying moments when everything went awry.
They had been lapping at water from a stream after chasing a couple rabbits in a small forested area. Feathers mother always told her never to cross the stinky line where the forest stopped, and it was just… flat. Her mother had told her that she would get in trouble, and to never cross the line. When the dogs had pounced, dug their claws into the pelt of the one cat she loved and Feathers mother told her to run, Feather didn’t care about the stinky line anymore. 

Feather continued bounding along, before her little, kit legs collapsed on her and she couldn’t move, could hardly breathe. There was blood on her left paw, fur all over the place, and one of her hind claws had nearly broken off. There was a lone, scraggly looking stump sitting in the middle of the flat ground, somehow looking better then the kit.

Feather wanted to cry. She wanted to bawl her eyes out, to just collapse on the ground and weep. Now that she’d stopped, she felt pain. She felt the loss of her mother in her gut. It took all of the kits strength to sit up, and haul herself over to the stump, before she let her tears fall, letting out a quiet, small wail. Feather knew that letting out a big one might make the dogs hear, and she didn’t want that. She didn’t want to die.

Scorchtalon had been on his way home from a patrol, wondering idly whether he should try his luck with hunting before he returned. The moors were practically bursting with newleaf prey, but he was worried by the dog scent he'd found just inside Windclan's border. It was accompanied by the scent of cat blood, and that could never be good. He didn't recognize the cat as one of his clanmates, but perhaps it would be best to go back and get more warriors in case the dog was still in the area.

As soon as he'd made up his mind though, he heard the unmistakable sound of a tiny, fearful wail. His ears perked in surprise, before immediately following the sound. It almost sounded like... a kit? His fur raised in worry and fear as soon as he noticed the trail of blood and fur leading to a tree stump. A small gray kit crouched next to the stump, shivering with terror. Scorchtalon raced over, relieved to see that the kit was still alive despite the injuries it had suffered.

"Hello there..." He said quietly, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible. The poor scrap had clearly been through quite a tough time, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare them. For a moment he wondered where their parents were, only for his shoulders to drop sadly once he realized what must have happened to them. He tried his best not to dwell on it, the kit clearly needed healing or they would meet the same fate as their parents.

"Don't worry, it'll be okay now. You're safe with me." He gently picked the kit up, making his way back to camp with the tiny bundle of fur.

Feather was tired. Too tired to fight the cat who was picking her up and bringing her an unknown place. Yes, she wanted to wriggle out of his grip and run away, but Feather was just. Too. Tired. She had the fleeting thought that if her mother was here, she’d be ashamed in the kit for not giving it all she had, and so for a good two seconds, Feather found the strength to flail around before losing that newfound burst of energy and simply hung there from the big cats mouth.

The orange cat had said before he’d picked her up that Feather would be safe with him. That meant he was going to be nice, right? Not going to hurt her? Feather didn’t want to be hurt, but also wanted food, water, and most of all: Sleep. The kit was still panting for breath, though could now breathe better, as they had been given some time recover. Feather, using some strength looked up and licked the big ginger cat in thanks, for getting her even farther from the dogs, before giving in to the pull of rest, and succumbed to the blackness of sleep.