The rain starts the moment we pass the last Merchant Cross gate, cold drops hitting the sandstone cobbles. My ears flatten instantly, pinning tight to my skull as the first wet smack hits cowl and then my blonde hair before it soaks through in seconds. My tail snaps low and rigid, tip twitching in pure disgust. I hate this. Hate the way the water clings, heavy and tight, turning my little fur into a sodden stink. The dark blue cloak sticks to my shoulders like a second skin and my collar feels suddenly tight and cold against my throat.

  Worst is the smell. My own musk, wild, sharp, mine, yet it gets drowned under this wet dog stink that makes my nostrils wrinkle and my fangs bare in clear revulsion. It’s not just unpleasant, it’s wrong. Off putting. Makes me feel exposed, diminished, like something lesser. Others will smell it too.

  I press harder against Master’s side, shoulder jammed to his hip, cheek rubbing aggressively along his arm despite the rain making everything slick and miserable. My tail curls three tight loops around his wrist, squeezing hard. I won’t let go.

  He doesn’t slow, doesn’t comment on the wettness or the way my boots squelch with every step. Just keeps walking, calm and steady.

  The Oak Trade Road gives way to the forest edge sooner than I expect. Trees rise, branches heavy with dripping leaves, moss thick underfoot. The rain softens under the canopy but it's still falling nonetheless, still cold but broken into slower drips that patter on my ears and tail instead of hammering.

  We don’t speak but we also don’t need to. The bond hums steady between us as we continue until we spot a small deer.

  A small deer lifts its head from a patch of grass as we pass, wide dark eyes, ears twitching. It freezes for half a heartbeat before then bounding off silently into the undergrowth. I bare my fangs at its retreating tail, just to warn it, a slow, lazy flash of white fangs but I don’t chase. Not today. Not when Master’s hand is still on my tail, thumb pressing slow circles at the base that make my ears flick forward despite the wet.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Further on, a pair of foxes slip across the path without a sound. Peaceful and completely unbothered.

  Master stops. Surveys the space before he then lowers himself to one knee on the thick bed of leaves, shrugging off his cloak and spreading it out. I drop beside him instantly, knees sinking into the grass, tail curling tight around his ankle before I press my whole dripping front along his side again.

  He reaches into the inner pocket of his satchel, still mostly dry and pulls out the small fire starter and then orange light blooms, warm and flickering, pushing the chill back from our faces.

  I don’t wait for invitation. I crawl half into his lap burying my mouth deep into the crook of his neck.

  The fire crackles. Rain patters overhead. Animals move quietly in the dark beyond the light, deer stepping careful, foxes slinking, owls calling once from high branches. None of them matter. None of them come close.

  Then he just tucks me tighter into his lap, one hand sliding under my soaked cloak to press flat against my back, the other cupping the nape of my neck. "Hummm good kitten," he murmurs against my ear, voice low. "Let's get you warmed up now oh and here."

  He pulls out the rations, a small bundle of goblin dried jerky, strips of dark venison and that rock hard cat tail bread. My tail lashes once, sharp and delighted.

  I don't wait.

  My claws hook into the jerky as I snatch the first strip between my fangs, tearing into it with slow, deliberate bites. The venison is tough, salty and perfect.

  "Eat," I growl around the mouthful, voice husky and thick with possession. My tail squeezes his waist harder before it then loosens.

  The cat tail bread I break with my claws whilst I chew it slowly, fangs breaking against the dense tough outer layer. You could seriously hammer a nail in with this toughness but food is food.

  “Oh kitten, pass them here will you.”

  I don’t hesitate. I grab the bundle of rock hard cat tail bread with one hand and shove it toward him, but he’s already reaching for me instead. His fingers close around my right wrist, gentle but firm and he draws my hand forward until my claws are hovering right above them.

  He presses my claws to the crust and guides them slowly and deliberately, using the tips to slice straight through the dense bread with a crisp crack.

  “There we go,” he murmurs, voice warm against my ear as he splits them clean in half. He presses one piece straight to my lips. I take it between my fangs whilst my claws stay lightly hooked around his fingers like I’m daring him to let go.