Silent feet, deadly claws—that was the innate motto. The internal mantra followed by all things predatory. Be a vague shape skulking about in the dark, show only the flash of keen eyes and pearly whites, the split-second crouch before a creature. Such was the perfect posture and tactics of a skilled hunter.

Except, if you happened to look at the foot of a looming, arched door, you would not find such a thing. No, no, you would find a small, shivering lump made of dappled fur and wide, blue eyes. The lump—a little kitten—was curled up there, soaked to the bone with a ramrod-straight tail poorly curled around herself. Blood welled up around her rear end, pulsing unevenly from a leg where flesh had been nipped at by many razor-sharp teeth.

Puffy-eyed, she looked around at a world that seemed altogether far too large for her. High-vaulted ceilings and alabaster pillars made her feel impossibly small. Yet, the doorway had been inviting, and it'd seemed like it was the place to go to seek warmth, comfort, anything necessary for a freshly-emerged kitten to survive. It was fortunate that she had not been immediately devoured by hellswans. Vicious, terrifying things those were.

Her mouth opened, and out came nothing but the strangled breath that should've been a cry for help, a whimper to be left alone, a voice. Upon hearing it, she curled further in on herself, a quaking thing pressed against the door. Every breath was a labor for survival for a cat so... new.

@Aethril

She woke up.

Not in the luxury of a bed, this time-- but exactly where Aethril had fallen asleep. Laying a patch of grass in the courtyard, an open book tucked under one arm. A plate of fruit had been brought over while she slept, it seemed-- and while she made a mental note to thank Isra later, something else took the Hand's concern.

What made the sound that woke her up? She ran through the list-- an ivory deer being attacked, hellswans squabbling, Eggbert --but none of them registered. Soon, the Valkhand was pushing up to her feet to pad around the courtyard, barefoot.

When Aethril found it, she was surprised. The kit couldn't have hatched here, of course-- it would have been destroyed, but what had injured it? The swans would have eaten it whole if it'd been one of them, but...

Soft cloth rustled when the Hand crouched, her brow knitting. "Where did you come from?" She asked-- a rhetorical question. Aethril quickly forgot herself; this wasn't a Gembound and they weren't in a stinky Nest. It was a kitten, small and shaking, in a world where the air was fresh and stars dazzled the sky.

Even the tangy scent of blood wasn't enough to shatter that brief illusion.

"Come, little one," the Hand cooed, fingers outstretched towards the cat but not touching; not close, a distance to investigate for herself and to come closer when she decided. "Let me see you. You must be hungry, too?"

@Rowan