A Birds Call (to lead me from the rain) [c]

The sky had been graceless in its opening. There was little warning to be offered from the morning, except a grayer sunrise than usual; then as the day drew on longer, the sky darkened to near-black, and rain poured thickly from the heavens. Birdchaser had to strain to see against the dim lighting and through the downpour, but border patrols did not stop for inclimate weather. And with their neighbors recently returned home, the deputy was determined to keep a tight eye on the Highpine to ensure no more of ShadowClan's strays turned over onto their land.

As she walked, she almost thought she could hear a voice. It was thin, and frail, and so beat under by the rain she almost could have convinced herself it was a particularly distressed mouse. Likely, it was just something young and small getting dragged away somewhere by a fox, or maybe a hawk. Shaking the pooling water out of her pelt– though it recollected just as quickly –she trudged onward.

Soon enough, the sturdy deciduous trees started to turn into the thinner, sharper conifers that marked the changing borders. And with the rising pines and firs–

"Help! Please!"


The crying got louder, turned into words. Now, she was certain it wasn't a mouse. Angling her ears forward, Birdchaser blinked water out of her eyes and searched the immediate terrain. Though horribly muffled, and awfully quiet, that was the voice of a kit, sounding miserable and alone. The sound of a small voice, so desperately pleading for help, made her heart twist.

It didn't take too terribly long to find him. Though it was getting quieter, the crying voice guided her hurried paws. She hadn't seen the kit until she heard him fall. It was hard to distinguish the sound of tiny paws splashing from the beating of harsh droplets against the earth, but with a stretch of focused listening, she could make it out. And when she heard a harder fall, her green eyes snapped in the direction of the noise, and there he was. If it had been any later in the day, or raining any harder, or had he not been moving, she might have missed the kit's body entirely. He was soaked through with rain and mud, and even without the water slicking his fur down and making him look infinitely smaller, he was tiny. She doubted he would have even been out of the nursery yet, judging by his size.

With any other cat, she would have been stern. Maybe even harsh. They were trespassers, infringing on her well-protected home. But him– she would never have the heart to act so coldly towards a kit. Making her steps as light as she could manage, Birdchaser padded closer quickly. Kneeling, she pressed her nose to the kit's fur, nevermind if her sudden presence startled him. She briefly feared he hadn't been alive, and the time she'd spent searching had cost him his small life, but his thin legs quivered, and his chest rattled against her nose. If there had been any Clan-scent attached to his fur, it was long washed away, replaced with churned earth and mud and– death, fresh. It reminded her of Dovefrost, and Birdchaser winced.

"You're breathing." Despite her resolve to be better for a cat so young, the words still came out curt. Forcing a gentler edge to her next words, "You shouldn't be out wandering in this weather, kit." Her characteristic gruffness still carried, but there was a clear sympathy to the words. "Are you lost? Do you know where you came from?" Affording herself a moment to look up, Birdchaser scanned the border once again. There was no sign of life, of a queen coming to return to him. There was a near bush that looked like it'd been clawed through, but it could have just as well been the weather shredding through its thin leaves and brittle branches.