The smokey Bengal tabby sits by the ocean, watching the waves go past. The shore laps at his feet, while the seagulls sing songs late into the night, and Bayoudawn scrapes his claws at the sand until finally he hits something. He shoves his face down, covering his eyes in sand granules, before ripping out a mussel and holding it tightly between his paws.
The tom cracks it open with his bare teeth, listening to the satisfying crack, his stomach growling in excitement. He hadn’t eaten in twelve hours, which normally wouldn’t upset him if he hadn’t got on a walk of the territory to clear his mind.
“Finally found something?” A familiar voice greets from behind, Bayoudawn twisting his head around, mussel still in his maw.
“Took me a while.” He admits, before setting the mussel back down and peeling it open to reveal the fleshy insides. He tears into it like a wild animal, something he often forgets he is.
“We went on patrol but all we found were empty rabbit holes. Either they’ve all left their nests or we’ve completely wiped them out.” Pepperpelt, his esteemed sergeant, and his second in command, looks more depressed than he’s seen her since her mother died. Her ribs poke through her thick belly fur, and she seems weighed down by her pelt.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“Shame…” He sighs. “And the servants won’t have time to make nets this late in the year. Gods, we should have prepared sooner.”
“Don’t blame yourself, none of us saw it coming.” Pepperpelt takes a seat beside him, gazing up at the stars. “Do you think the Gods asked for this?” She muses, blinking rapidly, her eyebrows pressing together as she looks to the floor, distant in thought. “What did we do to deserve this? It’s been months since Snakefeather reported anything…The Gods must be planning something, or at the very least, they must be upset with us.”
“Or maybe we just over-hunted.” Bayoudawn replies, turning to face her, his expression dark. “It’s my fault. I ordered the hunting parties. We need to impose smarter rations.” The tom stands, swaying his tail as he returns to the fort. “C’mon, enough dabbling, let’s see what we have in the prey pile and sort out rations for tomorrow.”
“Bayoudawn, Bayoudawn!” Pepperpelt cries, forcing the tom to stop in his tracks, the sergeant toddling behind him. “Please, just do me one favour and make sure Asterfoot and Snakefeather are taken care of. We can’t have our herbalist starving, he’s going to be the most influential in keeping us healthy, and Snakefeather has to have a vision soon. I just know it.”
“Was already going to.” Bayoudawn smirks, leaping onto the rocks as he steps down into the fort, the transition from sand to grass causing him to wipe his paws. He slinks towards the center of the fort to begin counting, but Pepperpelt can’t stay behind and watch them starve. Instead, she continues his chore of digging for mussels, praying to find…anything, anything to eat.
