The Cat
Matthew Ryan Fischer
The dead arrived. A human could feel fear. A human could be
influenced. The knew no such emotions. There was only hunger. The cat had nothing
to combat that with.
Her masters, the man and woman, were surrounded. A young soldier and
a holy man in a robe were upon the man. The man was weak. His arm stiff. They
could not bite his arm. His other flesh wasn’t so lucky.
The cat pounced, trying to save her master. She couldn’t prevent
the hunger, but perhaps she could direct it.
The young soldier turned and attacked his companion. The young
soldier tore another soldier apart. He attacked the spiritual man.
But it was all for naught. It was too late. The master was bit.
The master was bleeding. He wasn’t dead yet, but soon would be. The dead were
too powerful.
The cat leapt to her other master. The woman saw what had occurred.
She pulled out herbs and began a spell. The cat understood what she was attempting.
She was trying to save the man. She wouldn’t be able to do it alone. The cat
had to focus all of her energy.
It was too much. The cat was losing strength. The spell was taking
all she had to give and more. Perhaps the master would live. Perhaps not. The
darkness had come. The shadows enveloped the cat as she closed her eyes, weak, afraid,
drained.
The masters staggered away. The cat tried to make a sound. She
didn’t have any strength left to give.
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