[♛ 𝔽𝕒𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟]

when the fox hears the rabbit scream

he comes a-runnin'

[smear:455450]The seasons change so quickly. He thought, squinting through the sunlight as it flowed and poured down from between bobbing green branches. He sat in a pool of golden light, dappling across his brilliant tortoiseshell fur, the cream and grey brightened by that gentle brush of sun. It seemed so short a time ago that these same trees shivered and bowed beneath the oppressive weight of snow on their branches, hardship sparing no living thing, not even the plants. Between the leaves he could catch glimpses of a gorgeous blue sky, stretching into the eternal beyond to which all go when they die. It was strange to think that the only reason he was present to witness the change of the seasons was thanks to a particular dusky brown tom, a stranger, one who had no reason to value Oleander's life in any way. His ear twitched.

A sound behind him, very slight, a scuffle of a paw pad over smooth earth. He opened his mouth and a familiar scent washed over his tongue. His eyes glowed. Without turning his head, he waved his tail slowly in greeting. "I didn't want to wake you." He meowed softly, his voice quiet as always. He stood and moved aside to reveal a small portion of fresh prey at his feet, the smell of blood filling the air with its delicious, metallic scent. "But I saved you some breakfast, if you're hungry." He grinned, gesturing his white-tipped tail towards the food, with all the pride of a cat that had made a successful, clean kill. The dubious portion was small, fresh, with what appeared to be remnants of brown fur. "Rabbits can be awfully slow once the warm season rolls in. This one was particularly unlucky to find me outside his warren last night."[/smear:5c0000]

but not to help

Oleander

301 words | Phoenix

[Phoenix]

YOU'VE ALWAYS LOVED THE STRANGE BIRDS

NOW I WANT TO FLY INTO YOUR WORLD

I WANT TO BE HEARD

<sub>Giving the other tom the location of his den had, admittedly, been more of an impulsive decision, but Oleander had yet to give him any reason to listen to the overabundance of caution (perhaps paranoia?) that warned him that he would regret doing so. As the seasons changed from winter to spring to summer, their paths had crossed fairly often for two loners who could roam across the entire mountain range, and although he had endured the other feline's company rather dubiously at first, Finch had, despite himself, begun to view their conversations with an increasing amount of fondness. With an unflappable poise matched only by his keen intelligence, Oleander was an entirely different breed than - and a bit of a welcome respite from - the usual sort of beast that lurked on these slopes. The brown tom had found himself as amused by Oleander's rather refined air (it seemed very out of place against this particular backdrop, where the effort of merely surviving made stopping to enjoy the finer things in life seem like a waste of time) as he was in awe of it, and perhaps that was why he had started to welcome the other cat's company: a chance to smile in a world that never hesitated to trade happiness for suffering.

But no, if he was to be brutally honest with himself, it wasn't any admiration for the other tom that kept Finch from chasing him away. It was his company, the polite thoughtfulness, the way the conversation seemed to come so easily when they spoke. The novelty of being able to relax enough in his presence to simply enjoy the pleasure of having another cat to talk to.

When he stepped out of his den to see a familiar tortoiseshell tom sitting in a patch of sunlight, Finch was surprised - and then, in the next second, he was surprised that he was surprised. Haloed in a golden glow that matched the gentle softness of his voice, Oleander did not appear at all uncertain about whether his uninvited company would be looked upon favorably; instead, he exuded the quiet confidence that made it seem foolish to ever question his presence, for of course he belonged. It felt inevitable that his belonging-ness would have led him to waiting outside Finch's den.

(Didn't it?)

(Of course it did, and it wasn't as if he wasn't at all pleased to see him there.)

A little unnerved, both at Oleander's presence and his own mixed reaction to seeing him there, Finch stared for a moment in silence as he tried to kick his drowsy brain into action. Nodding slowly, he acknowledged the greeting, and green eyes blinked at the other tom before shifting their focus to the piece of meat beside him as it was revealed. Oh. Any lingering unease vanished as the sight of food. Suddenly, he became aware of the metallic aroma filling the air and teasing his taste buds, the scent of fresh meat making him ever more aware of the hunger gnawing woefully at his empty stomach. He couldn't remember the last time someone had shared food with him. A swell of nostalgia rose within him as he could feel his lips quirking in a slightly taken aback but mostly pleased smile. "I'm just waking up," He said, somewhat rueful. "And you've already finished hunting."

Finch moved closer, careful to avoid crowding the other tom as he approached the offering. Habit, more than any real mistrust of the other tom, had him keeping Oleander in his peripherals as he lowered his head to take a bite. The tender meat had his small smile growing, and while he settled himself more comfortably beside his meal, he looked back up at the loner. "I'm lucky this rabbit was so unlucky. Thank you. It's delicious." He couldn't remember a rabbit ever tasting quite like this, but he pushed the matter from his mind - no two rabbits had ever tasted the same anyway, and besides, it really was delectable. There was nothing quite like fresh kill, especially one that had been so generously gifted to him. Belatedly realizing that he had just started eating without question, the loner forced himself to slow down, offering to share what little of his meal was left with Oleander, who seemed to have gone without.

"This was a pleasant surprise," He mused with a smile, licking the final traces of rabbit from his lips. "What's the occasion?"</sub>

I feel like I'm

fading

749 words / ♛ 𝔽𝕒𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

[♛ 𝔽𝕒𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟]

when the fox hears the rabbit scream

he comes a-runnin'

[smear:455450]The metallic scent of iron in the air mingled with the fresh, prosperous aroma of the warm season. It was a scent that gave him great pleasure, a scent that warded away the hungry Leaf-bare moons and the traces of snow and starvation. A tang of fear still lurked on the meat, though that was typical of the smell of death. Few cats could kill a creature quick enough for them to not reek of terror and panic before meeting their ends. His claws and fangs were inexplicably clean for a hunter, but Oleander always made sure to tidy himself up after a hunt. His shoulder was scored with the slightest of cuts, stinging sharply and still sweet with blood, but he was confident they would heal quickly. Shallow wounds always did.

Finch was a pleasant distraction from the usual ebb and flow of the seasons. His solitude on the mountains had been a long and weary sentence, with no cat with whom to share his inner musings. His only company had been the songbirds, the winds and the night skies. No voice to reach him over the dark expanse of time, no thoughts but his own to occupy his imagination. It was refreshing now to have access to another voice, one that spoke to him in a way that he hadn't felt spoken to since that distant time when he was a kitten eagerly listening to the wisdom of his elders. Finch seemed as relieved as he to find a like soul. They had warmed to each other's company quickly, the ice wall that initially separated them thawing beneath a relentless sun. It seemed inevitable that Finch would become so intrinsically woven into the fabric of his daily life. Even when they did not cross paths, the dusky brown tom was rarely far from his thoughts.

The heat of today was suffocating. Even the trees seemed to droop beneath the golden tongues of sunlight that sliced down through their branches. Oleander savoured the delicious brush of warmth against his fur, the tortoiseshell markings almost seeming to glow in the rich yellow light. He knew nature owed him little, so relished every brief comfort for as long as he possibly could. There was a "tss tss tss" sound that served as a reminder that no cat was ever really alone in the valley. Always, there was something crouched nearby, watching or listening. Sometimes, those watchful eyes could be malicious, waiting and hungry. Sometimes, they were curious and distant. But never did a cat go unwatched on these slopes, or perhaps anywhere in the world.

Oleander's mouth quirked up at the sleepy, lost look that crossed Finch's face. He wasn't sure whether he would be a welcome sight outside Finch's home, and seeing the startled uncertainty in the other tom's eyes, an apology was already on the tip of his tongue. But before an exhalation of breath even passed his lips, the other cat nodded the greeting with all the warmth of the summer sun. Oleander relaxed, settling down to lay on the smooth earth while Finch took in his surroundings and came fully to wakefulness. Oleander was captivated as Finch offered him the most genuine smile he had ever seen. How strange it was, to make a cat smile after so long of doing quite the opposite. It was exciting. "Ah, I'll have to introduce you to the joys of the occasional night hunting." Oleander purred. "Especially now that the days have begun to grow unbearably hot." The concept of hunting with Finch felt like a huge step. His ear twitched. He wondered if Finch would reject it.

He watched the other tom eat the way that cats watched when they didn't want to be seen watching. He began to groom his paws and neck with rhythmic, careful strokes. From the corner of his eye, he saw Finch take a delicate bite. He beamed at the other tom then, happy to have provided such a personal gift to another cat. Oleander only shared meals with cats whose demeanour he respected, and Finch was certainly included in that category. "Indeed." He agreed with a touch of amusement to his tone. "He should have turned back down the tunnel faster."

An occasion? Oleander's gaze turned languidly to Finch. "I'm simply celebrating having someone I could think to share food with." He answered. "I'm accustomed to being my only guest, but as I was carrying the rabbit back to my den, I was surprised by the thought of you." He shrugged. "I hope I'm not imposing." He rose daintily to his paws.[/smear:5c0000]

but not to help

Oleander

771 words | Phoenix

[Phoenix]

YOU'VE ALWAYS LOVED THE STRANGE BIRDS

NOW I WANT TO FLY INTO YOUR WORLD

I WANT TO BE HEARD

<sub>Finch flicked an ear at Oleander’s purr, vaguely registering the fondness in his tone. It sent a shiver of something down his spine - a cautious, self-conscious pleasure, perhaps, at the novelty that there was, after so long, another (especially someone as refined as Oleander) who was pleased to see him. Unsettled by his own reaction, he pointedly focused on taking his next bite. This time, he forced himself to savor the flavor of the meat so that he might avoid having to acknowledge the way that smile still tugged at the corners of his lips. His mind wandered anyway. So what if he was a little flattered by the way Oleander had thought to bring him breakfast, he silently argued with himself. It didn’t mean anything. They were - well, he wasn’t sure if they were friends but he thought they were at least rather friendly - occasional companions, and if for some reason the tortoiseshell tom decided to leave these mountain slopes, Finch would be fine. It wasn’t like Jay; in the years of surviving on his own, he had grown beyond needing the company of another cat. Besides, despite the ease of their conversations, he barely knew the other loner, and a couple seasons of tentative friendship hardly amounted to the intimacy of friends since birth. If Oleander left, Finch would quietly miss his company, but (and here his mental voice grew stern) he wouldn’t be crippled by his absence.

(Even to himself, the reassurances felt a little hollow. It was concerning how quickly he had grown accustomed to the comforting reality of having someone appear by his side with a soothing presence and pleasant conversation. Now that he had been given a taste of the alternative, he feared that these mountain slopes would feel particularly lonely if he lost his only company.)

”Didn't know rabbits were nocturnal,” Finch replied, swallowing another appreciative mouthful. Conversation drove away his uncomfortable musings, and he embraced the distraction wholeheartedly. ”If the ones that come out at night are all this good, maybe you should. Though—” he glanced up at Oleander, pausing for a moment, distracted by the sight of the other tom delicately cleaning the fur on his neck ”—these mountains aren’t safe after the moon rises. Monsters lurk in the shadows, and they turn predators into prey. You’re lucky you didn’t run into one last night.” He was genuinely glad Oleander had avoided such danger. A shiver of the unpleasant variety ran down his spine at the memory of horrible shrieking and blood-covered demons. He had seen the aftermath of their work, and the thought of Oleander, with his meticulously groomed fur, falling victim to such ugly mutilation had his heart clenching. No cat deserved that death, least of all one who had so kindly brought him food.

The other tom’s faintly amused words had him flicking an ear in acknowledgment again as he finished up the meal, licking his lips to capture the lingering traces of flavor, but as Finch followed Oleander’s example and turned his own attention toward cleaning his chest fur, the next statements to reach his ears had him flushing - flattered though he was reluctant to admit it - once more. ”Oh.” He wasn’t used to being sought after or having another find such enjoyment in his company that he would willingly seek it after a long night of hunting. Unbidden, the ghost of a smile started to return. Wary instinct had him fighting to hide it. Momentarily pausing in his work to force something more articulate out of his mouth, he added, ”I - Well, thank you. I appreciate it.” Though the bulk of the words had been addressed to Oleander’s paws (his white toes had drawn Finch’s gaze as he finished a downstroke on his chest fur), green eyes flicked cautiously upward to meet unwavering copper. The other loner looked inexplicably pleased with himself. He would have to return the favor sometime, Finch decided, though he was reluctant to venture out of his hollow for food when he could catch something just as easily under the afternoon sun. Perhaps dinner then, instead of breakfast.

”Not at all,” Finch was quick to reassure the tortoiseshell feline, pointedly ignoring the part of him that could not help but worry that another cat not only knew where he lived but also showed up uninvited. Mirroring Oleander’s actions, he too rose to his paws, though his movements were less dainty and refined. His tail flicked, and his gaze fell somewhere over the other tom’s shoulder. ”You must be tired if you woke up early - or stayed up late - to hunt,” He mused, glancing over Oleander as if he could read exhaustion in the patterns of color in his fur. Predictably, however, the feline looked as composed and unreadable as ever. ”Is your den nearby? I could walk you back to get some rest if you like.” The offering was tentative, extended hesitantly on a paw more accustomed to afflicting and receiving violence than handling gifts of companionship. ”As thanks for the meal.” A pause. ”Unless...?”

Unless Oleander was truly not as tired as he looked and had already figured out how he wanted to spend the morning. Now that his plans of finding food had been so neatly subverted by the tortoiseshell tom, Finch was not quite sure what to do with himself and found that he was not wholly opposed to passing the time in the other loner’s company.</sub>

I feel like I'm

fading

916 words / ♛ 𝔽𝕒𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

[♛ 𝔽𝕒𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟]

when the fox hears the rabbit scream

he comes a-runnin'

There was something transformative about providing food to another. Oleander could feel a metamorphosis stirring in his own heart, a shift from solitary to accompanied... or at least the desire to be accompanied. Fascinated by this drastic shift in his own mind, he wondered what modifications were slowly unwinding in Finch to make him so receptive to Oleander's presence. He also pondered on what Finch sensed about the taste of the rabbit, if anything at all. It was thrilling to be so entirely in suspense about the other tom, never truly knowing how he would respond or react to Oleander's appearances. The past few moons had garnered a growing trend of predictability, however. He had begun to learn that Finch liked having him around, regardless of whether he ever actually admitted so.

He chuckled lightly. "Oh they aren't, but find a spacious enough rabbit hole... or do a bit of digging, and you'll find yourself with an easy meal." He smiled. "Tired rabbits are vulnerable rabbits." As are foolish rabbits. He recalled the sounds of the previous night, a screech of pain rising above the cresting music of the crickets, accumulating together into a song that remained in his mind still. The taste of flesh in that inelegant purgatory between life and death, when a struggling soul ached to remain but seeped away like melting snow. When kicking paws still fought despite being too weak to even be felt against the fur. Finch's concern for him drew him back into the conversation, his copper eyes softening as they met green. Oleander certainly did not look like a cat that could face up against a monster. "I didn't get here without running into my fair share of monsters." He answered vaguely, drawing a pink tongue along his paws before wiping his face. "But I'll take your advice. No more night hunting. At least, not alone." Was that a shudder he'd seen running down Finch's spine? His eyes narrowed imperceptibly.

"Couldn't be more welcome." He returned cheerfully, turning the direction of their conversation momentarily away from the morbid. He didn't want to frighten the songbird away. The brief eye contact was thrilling, almost invasive. Finch so often turned his green irises elsewhere that to see them risen towards his own felt noticeably powerful. Oleander felt oddly pleased with himself, the satisfaction of accomplishment. It was Finch's rather unexpected request that replaced that satisfaction with mild surprise.

My den? The calico paused, one paw raised, his face turned away from Finch. He knew the tom likely noticed his hesitation, the intermission between Finch's question and Oleander's silence was too long. Could he take that risk? Would earning the mottled brown tom's additional trust be worth the potential consequences? Then he smiled, turning to Finch with a growing warmth in his eyes. The kindling fire of a potential... friendship. "You may, the company would be appreciated." He purred, though his whiskers twitched. "I'm not as delicate as you might think, Finch." He said, though there was no offense in his tone. For the first time in a long time, Oleander was not bored.

He set out, his white paws leaving the barest traces of prints in the earth as he moved. He glanced once over his shoulder to make sure that Finch was following before continuing onwards, his sandy calico coat standing out against the earthy tones of summer. Finch, however, fit much more perfectly into this world. In more ways than one, Oleander was "other", and Finch was everything else. And yet... there was something about the mottled brown tom that made him so individual. Perhaps he only seemed to fit in with everything else, just as Oleander did. Perhaps they were more alike than even he himself knew.

but not to help

Oleander

628 words | Phoenix