I can tell you a story while you nod off, a really good one, with the hero being the clever, funny, and very strong cat.
The voice came first as a gentle reminder. Probing the fringes of his consciousness, testing the waters, just to see if he was awake yet. Like a friendly spirit whispering softly in his ear, laughing quietly of things to come. For him, just for him, and her, like a warm heart trailing its fingers along his jaw line, his chest, to the places only she could reach. Like a passioned lover too eager to see his breath hitch again, and again, and again.
This cat in particular was very charming and very handsome, and everywhere it went, it met new friends, had new adventures, and amassed new treasure, till its hoard was quite impressive indeed! ...
He stirred, but only barely, like something was distantly attempting to rouse him. Only it was too far away for him to notice, and it was no more than an afterthought as he returned to the dream playing far in his mind. Or was it a memory, or was it her?
...But one of the cat's best friends, a deer, begged the cat not to go. The deer was worried for their wonderful friend...
Brows furrowed. Behind those closed lids, the blue eyes saw something, or remembered something. Curiosity lingered in the far distant. A want to know. A desire to understand. A need for redemption.
...As they both entered fully into the room, the door swung shut with no hand to do so, locking and bolting itself! The deer dropped its magic in surprise and the cat rushed the door. WAIT -
They had walked into a foolish trap...
No, no, it was feeling wrong. He remembered the first time his heart had dropped subconsciously, and in the dream he had seen it, the room. She was there with him, both encouraging him and feeding him into subdued fear. Not this time. The room was empty now. It was only him.
...They cried out in fear of the sudden eruption of motion beneath their feet, the cat clinging to the deer. HELP -
If they were to go out, they would go out together... CLOVER - HELP -
huge claws... WHERE ARE YOU - HELP ME - PLEASE CLOVER -
...impossibly huge red dragon... CLOVER PLEASE WHERE ARE YOU - HELP ME - HELP - PLEASE -
how could they ever have hoped...
"AH-" The cat woke with a strangled cry, and his heart palpitated furiously in its cage, struggling for escape, for reprieve against the fear cloying through his insides. The cry had ebbed into a pathetic sob, a weak choke, sucking in a broken and staggering breath as pain burned through his back leg. It trembled as he dared extend his attention to the sensation of the throbbing, daring even an attempt to move it, but that had caused another spike of fire to eat away at his gut and limbs and he cried through his clenched teeth, tears staining the fur around his eyes. An icy cold had settled itself down his spine, as though it held him to the ground in the grip of a skeleton in its grave.
Bartos gasped for air and when the sobbing had subsided, and the pain became so powerful that he could feel nothing more, he opened his eyes. He was laying on his side, his head bent at an awkward angle - there was something around his neck, and the cat swallowed hard, tentatively reaching with one of his front paws. His toes felt something chilled, tough, like the ice - the stag must have done this. He coughed, raised his head, but it was difficult with the new weight. The thick collar was secure around his throat, and when he moved it caused a collection of icy links to clatter against one another. Each motion was pain. He turned his head, trying his best to sit up as he did so, to see the ice chain fastened in a hard, frozen lump to the base of the throne.
He was trapped. Bartos squeezed his eyes shut again, shaking his head. He tried to listen, maybe - maybe they were here - but there was nothing, save for the rush of blood in his ears. The cat groaned and sighed, a sound intercepted by the occasional choke or a quiet sob, and eased himself back onto the ground. He had no idea what he was going to do, and he feared the future. The stag would kill him. He didn't even know if he could see Clover again, or feel her. He sent out for her, reaching, searching for that light - but there was nothingness. He was so terribly clouded.
Bartos let his head rest on the
loamy earth again, caught halfway between crying pathetically and grimacing from the pain. Instead, he lay still, grim tightened lips focusing on withstanding the ache that clawed through his broken leg. He hadn't the energy to cry. He hadn't the energy to hope, either.
