Project: Talking Cat. Excerpt A.
I guided Maud along the faint trail that led into the woods while I kept an eye out for signs of established habitats. Scrapes on trees, snapped branches, the strench of decomposing corpses. Once each month, a band of the militia would venture through the woods to note and attempt retrieval of human bodies. Its a 48 hour sleepless shift that gets worse the longer it goes on, according to Barrett.
The deep woods was dense with blackened, gnarled trees. I wouldn't die there. I would never let myself die in a place Barrett would have to find me. I kept my eye out for danger. None came. The woods were void of life. Even the trees' wood was petrified. The soil airid. The branches hosted no nests. The roots hid no burrows.
The only sign of life was the trodden trail weaving through the dirt between the trees.
I wondered if the militia men ever went that far. I doubted it. They were looking for fallen humans, not whatever lay here. This place wasn't the type you would die at, maybe just vanish entirely.
