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Leshy wandered through his territory, a vague emptiness settling in him. He would be back, wouldn’t he?
He could remember clearly. Claws swiping through his forest entangled coat, his sight turning black as he choked on warm ichor that ran into his mouth and down his face.
He couldn’t except it.
He couldn’t be gone. It was a dream. A bad dream. Why couldn’t he wake up?
“All will fall to the claws of death.”
Haro had told it plainly. It must be a lie. False prophet, he was. It was a lie.
Then why wasn’t he with you right now?
This route Leshy had followed so many times through the early morning hours, this grass that whispered while Narinder and him caught up on how each other’s followers had been doing, these pines that sat through his fondest memories.
Except this morning, there was no black cat to greet him. So, he walked his forest with Kallamar.
He must still be here. He must’ve just forgotten. He..Must be busy. Yes, yes, very busy…
“Narinder is….Far away now”
Kallamar had replied when Leshy had questioned where their beloved brother was.
Kallamar said the name with fear in his voice, why would he fear the cat? He was their brother. Their family. Why would he fear even speaking the name of him?
“Well, I hope he returns soon.”
Yes, he’ll return soon..He’ll be back. He must come back.
The burning in his eye sockets disagreed with him.