"Did... did that really happen?" Quiver gaped as Splashstone finished his song. It all sounded so fantastical, the spirits of dead cats appearing and speaking to their living friends... well, now that she thought about it, it sounded a little spooky. But the way these TurtleClanners spoke of it, they hadn't seen it that way.
"It did," Dustjump, the old molly who had bound her broken paw, confirmed, her chin held high and pride glowing in her eyes. "We were all there, we all saw them that night."
Quiver crouched down, flattening her ears. "Are they... going to appear again?" She wasn't ready to meet any all-seeing ghosts. What if they didn't like her staying with TurtleClan while she healed? What if they found her as strange and off-putting as most cats seemed to? What if...? She felt her heart rate starting to pick up, heard her own blood rushing in her ears.
"No," Spindlefleck's tail draped over her shoulders pulled her out of her head more than her initial words. "Currentheart and Pearl said they couldn't just appear at will, and they selected Dustjump as their contact among us, besides."
"Oh." Quiver felt her heartbeat slow back to an even pulse at Spindlefleck's words, and Dustjump's nod of confirmation. That was... good. Comforting. Safe. She thought she could get used to the idea of ghosts watching her as long as she didn't have to see them. And everyone was so kind here, she didn't want to let some silly ghosts put her off... maybe it was alright for her to finally relax for a little while, to catch her breath.
“Alright Foam, take a deep breath and hold it.” Foam obeyed, filling his lungs as much as he could, holding the air in. Dustjump, her ear pressed close to his chest, was silent. A heartbeat passed. Then another.
“Let the air out,” Dustjump instructed.
The breath left Foam’s lungs with a sigh.
“Again,” Dustjump meowed.
Foam repeated the exercise, holding his breath. He could feel a bit of dust tickling his nose, but he couldn’t sneeze, not now. He closed his eyes tight, trying to ignore the sensation. This time, the exhalation came with a sense of relief as the dust drifted away from his nose. Dustjump pulled away from Foam’s chest, her eyes bright.
“Foam, you’re all better! You can return to light duties starting tomorrow. No long patrols, and stay out of the water until the half-moon.”
“You mean I don’t have greencough any longer?” Foam meowed.
“Yes,” Dustjump confirmed with a purr, “you’ve managed to recover. It can be a deadly disease, but you’re a young, healthy cat. If anyone would have been able to recover without herbs, it would have been you. Still, we should count our blessings. This was by no means a certain outcome.”
Brokenmast dragged himself out of his nest, over to Foam. “Congratulations!” He purred, butting his head against Foam’s shoulder. “I’ll miss having you around, though. Even if we did have to shout across the den to talk.”
“I promise I’ll visit you often,” Foam purred, “and before long, you’ll be able to move to the communal den as well.”
Brokenmast peered down at his splayed legs, focusing hard enough to tremble as he flexed each leg in turn, moving toes, ankle and knees. Over the last moon, his mobility in the limbs had improved remarkably, though they could not yet support his standing weight. “I hope you’re right,” Brokenmast meowed. “I’m really starting to believe it might be possible.”
“It is possible,” Dustjump cut in, “and you’re getting close.”
Brokenmast opened his jaws, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by a call from just outside the den’s entrance. “Dustjump, what’s the verdict?” Spindlepaw. Foam felt guilty, leaving her to her own ends these last few moons. Luckily, Shell had ensured she was always paired with another adult for training each day, so she hadn’t fallen too far behind, but still. Foam was supposed to be her mentor. He wanted to be the one to guide her training.
“You can come in, Spindlepaw,” Dustjump replied. “He’s all better.”
The little ginger cat came barreling into the den, fur fluffed with excitement. “Is he really?!” She exclaimed.“I am,” Foam purred, rising to his paws with a stretch. “We’ll resume your training tomorrow. I hope Shell hasn’t let you get too used to sleeping in.”
Brokenmast remembered picking Currentheart–he’d been Marty, then–up in his jaws to carry the little tom up the ship’s mast. His mother, Mitzi, had meowed worriedly, but Marty had been laughing the whole time as his little paws swung through the open ocean air. When they’d made it to the top, the little tom had looked out over the sea and asked, does it ever end? Brokenmast had pretended not to know, then. But he’d known. Everything ended eventually. His own life, the lives of the cats he cared about… it all ended someday. But it wasn’t supposed to end like this. Currentheart should’ve had a life, a mate, kits of his own… not this horrible, sudden stop to everything he might have been. Why did some cats die while others survived? Why had Brokenmast survived the attack of those rogues while Margo had been slaughtered? Was there any point to looking towards the future when it could all be ripped away with no warning, no matter how good or careful or kind you were?
“And can you extend and retract your claws for me?” Dustjump watched intently as Brokenmast screwed up his face in concentration, toes trembling with effort as he tried to unsheathe his claws. For a moment nothing happened, but then the golden tom’s feet jerked, and his claws shot out for just a moment before disappearing back into their sheathes.
“Excellent!” Dustjump exclaimed, her flicking back and forth with excitement.
The spotted tom collapsed back into his nest, panting with the strain. His eyes shone with pride, but there was a shadow of fear that never quite left his gaze. “That was hard,” he gasped. “Before my accident, I didn’t even need to think about unsheathing my claws. I could just… do it. Will I really be able to walk again one day?”
“I can’t promise anything,” Dustjump warned gently, “but you are regaining mobility. Just a few days ago, you couldn’t unsheathe your claws at all. I suspect your mobility will continue to improve for quite some time. Whether you’re able to get all the way to walking again, well, that’s in the paws of fate.”
“Your future is carried on Change’s wind,” a new voice, deep and smooth, rang out from the entrance of Dustjump’s den, but she did not jump. Tidechaser had come for another visit. Dustjump turned away from Brokenmast, trying to hide her smile. The big silver tom had been visiting Brokenmast in her den every day for the last quarter moon. He padded quietly into the den, coming to sit beside Brokenmast.
“Tidechaser,” Brokenmast greeted warmly, straining up to touch noses with the new arrival. Tidechaser shuffled his paws at the unexpected contact, but did not look displeased by it. Dustjump slid around one of the jagged boulders in the corner of her den to give the two toms some space, and to count out her remaining supplies in the herb store.
“What were you saying?” Brokenmast’s voice still reached her easily behind the boulder, but, well, if they hadn’t wanted her to listen, Dustjump supposed they would have whispered.
“That your future is carried on Change’s wind. It’s an old saying amongst the loners around here. The tale must be as old as the beach itself,” Tidechaser replied.
“A story?” Brokenmast’s voice rose eagerly. “From you, Tidechaser? I’d love to hear it, if you’ll share.”
“I’m not much of a storyteller,” Tidechaser admitted, “but I’ll share it with you all the same, if you’d like.”
There was a brief pause before Tidechaser continued. “My mother always told me that once, all cats knew the way their lives would play out. The winds of Fate pushed and pulled the tides, constant and reliable. Cats would watch the waves, and could read their futures clearly in the push and pull of the ocean. Every cat knew each moment of their life before it happened. Who their mates would be, how many kits they would have, even the day they would die. But one cat, a tom whose name is long forgotten, despised how predictable life was. There was no joy, no sense of adventure for anyone. Because every cat knew how their lives would go, no cat had any freedom. Determined to change this, the tom sought the Deepest Ones, ancient beings that live beneath the waves,” Tidechaser paused here, and Dustjump found her ears straining to hear the tom’s next words.
“I don’t remember exactly how the next part went, only that it was difficult for the tom to convince the Deepest Ones to grant his wish. Eventually, though, the tom found a Deepest One who had grown bored of life beneath the waves, and yearned to walk among the creatures of the land. In this, the tom found an opportunity. He offered to give up his body to this Deepest One, granting the creature’s wish in exchange for it’s power and immortality. The bargain was struck, and when the tom’s body emerged from the waves, he was no longer the one inhabiting it– instead, his soul bounded across the waves, rippling the water and carrying a new wind behind it. The tom began to run, and the wind in his wake battered against the winds of Fate, making them swirl and shift in new ways. From that day on, cats could no longer read their futures clearly in the waves, and all that had been foreseen was now subject to change. Some cursed the tom for that, for disrupting the bountiful futures they had seen laid out before them, but others thanked him– queens who had seen their kits' deaths in the tides suddenly found new hope, and cats who had been deathly ill found themselves with a chance to recover. Eventually, the tom’s original name was lost to time, and he became known only as Change. And so, when fate seems grim, remember that Change and his disruptive winds are out there, dashing about, stirring each cat’s life so that no future is inescapable,” Tidechaser finally fell silent.
“You sell yourself short, Tidechaser,” Brokenmast sounded breathless. “You’re a great storyteller! Do you have any more?” he sounded eager.
“Many,” Tidechaser purred. “Stories of cursed creatures that lure cats to their graves on stormy nights, stories of birds that could speak to cats, even stories of spirits sending messages through the reflection of starlight off the water,” Dustjump froze, her blood running cold, her paws beginning to shake. “But none for today,” Tidechaser finished casually. “You need to eat, and I know you won’t do it if I’m filling your head with old shorecat legends…”
Dustjump didn’t listen to the rest of their conversation. Her mind was filled with memories from her strange dream of Pearl, of seeing her reflection in the starlit water though no cat was there. It would be foolish to think any of that had been real. When a cat died, they were gone for good. Her dream had simply been the result of her missing the life she’d had before. Hadn’t it? Despite her best efforts, Dustjump couldn’t quiet her racing thoughts.
“Tidechaser,” she meowed, poking her head around the boulder where she’d been sorting herbs. “I need more dandelion, and you know the jungle better than I do. Would you accompany me?” It wasn’t a complete lie. Tidechaser did know the territory better than any of them, never mind that Dustjump had memorized where all the best patches of common herbs were moons ago.
“Of course,” Dustjump thought she heard a note of satisfaction in his reply, but she didn’t dwell on it.
“We’ll go now,” she said brusquely, brushing past him on her way out of the den. “And do make sure you get something to eat, Brokenmast. I’ll be checking with Shell to make sure you did.” Dustjump didn’t pay attention to her patient’s mumbled reply, he might complain about it, but she knew he’d do what she asked. Right now, her mind was occupied with the image of Pearl, wreathed in Starlight.
Out in the jungle, Dustjump allowed her pace to slow while she pondered how to broach this subject with Tidechaser. Just because he’d been sharing old myths from the area didn’t mean he actually believed them. Would he think she was crazy if she told him about her dream? Or would he have an answer for her?
Finally, she worked up the courage to speak. “That story you were telling Brokenmast,” she began hesitantly, “do you think it’s true?”
Tidechaser cocked his head thoughtfully. “I think that there are many things beyond the understanding of mortal cats,” he said finally. “I think that there are powers greater than us, that push and pull on our futures in ways we will never truly understand. I don’t know if there’s really a spirit called Change running around out there, shifting our fates with his winds, but I think its a good way to understand things that would otherwise seem inexplicable. So I suppose, in that sense, I do think the story is true.” His words were slow and measured.
Dustjump licked her lips. “A-and the other stories you mentioned? Do you believe in those as well?”
“Some of them,” Tidechaser meowed. “Why do you want to know?”
What was she doing? She couldn’t tell him that she thought she’d seen a spirit cat’s reflection on the water in her dreams. He hadn’t said outright that he believed any of the stories at face value. What if he thought she was raving mad?
“No reason,” the lie tasted bitter on her tongue. “I’m… curious about you.” That was true enough, at least. “You’ve lived with us for moons now, but I feel like I hardly know you. You’ve never really told us anything about yourself.”
“There was no reason to,” Tidechaser meowed coldly.
“I’m not trying to pry,” Dustjump said gently, pushing away thoughts of her strange dream. “I know better than most cats that the past can be precious. I don’t blame you for keeping some things to yourself. But, well, today in my den, that was the first time I really felt like I was seeing beyond the mysterious stranger. Is there… anything that you would feel comfortable sharing with me?”
Tidechaser relaxed visibly. “Well… I was born on the cliffs above the beach, on a wet and windy day. I had two littermates, and…”
Sand thought that he might burst with pride as he sat among his campmates in a circle around Current. The young ginger and white tom sat up straight, chin high but expression calm, ears forward as he listened to Shell, whose speech honoring a trainee’s growth had become something of a right of passage into a full adult status in their group.
Sand had always believed that Current had it in him to be an extraordinary cat, wise and brave and kind, and over the last two moons, Current had finally seemed to realize it himself. He had not lost his adventurous, sometimes goofy personality, but had instead gained a more confident and serious side that he would turn on the moment he left the camp. The young tom had grown fiercely dedicated to helping and protecting his campmates, and after a discussion with Shell last night, it had been decided that Current was ready to join the ranks of their group as a full adult. From the squirming kit Sand had carried out of the waves all those moons ago, to the bold, troublesome apprentice, to the kind, confident young cat that sat before him now, Current had come a long way indeed.
“Current, do you promise to remain loyal to your campmates, come what may?” Shell asked.
“I do,” Current’s response held no note of hesitation or uncertainty. This was a cat that understood how deep the bonds between the shipwrecked cats ran, and would defend those bonds with his life.
“Then I grant you your full status as an adult of our group. Current–”
“Wait,” The single word stopped Shell’s speech in its tracks. Sand cocked his head curiously. This wasn’t part of the newly established procedure, but he trusted his apprentice.
Current scanned the gathered cats surrounding him, and when he spoke, his words were as much for them as for Shell. “Moons ago, when we first arrived here, many of us took new names to represent the great change that had transformed us from strangers to a family of survivors. When I took my new name, I did not fully understand that. I thought only of an exciting new name, like we were all playing some sort of game. But I understand it now.”
He would never have admitted this two moons ago, Sand thought. That alone was evidence of how much he had changed.
“Are you saying you wish to take another new name?” Shell asked uncertainly.
“Not exactly,” Current shook his head. “My name has become part of me. Regardless of the reason I took it, it marks a turning point in my life. But I am not the same cat that I was all those moons ago. I’ve changed and grown in so many ways, and I would like something added to my name to reflect that. Now that I’ve reached another turning point in my life, my acceptance as a full adult among all of you, it seems like the right time.”
Sand felt the truth, the rightness of his campmate’s words deep in his bones. Current had changed, and he deserved a name that reflected that change fully.
“What would you like added?” Shell asked warmly.
“I want all of you to decide,” Current meowed. “You were the ones that watched me grow up. What do you think would best reflect my journey to adulthood?”
At this, the gathered cats began murmuring among themselves.
“It’s a good idea,” Brokenmast said to Tidechaser. “It seems right for his name to change along with him. But how should he change it?”
“Perhaps ‘Rushing Current’,” Tidechaser suggested. “He has always charged headfirst into everything, but now rather than being swept up by the undertow of his boldness, he has become the guiding force behind the current.” It was a good idea, but something about it didn’t quite fit, in Sand’s opinion.
“Maybe Current-Octopus,” Splash sniggered to Foam, who rolled his eyes lightly at that, “since he seems to like them so much.” Sand flicked an ear with annoyance. Splash was a great cat, but sometimes he couldn’t quite read the moment.
“Current of the Storm?”
“Wildcurrent?”
None of the names were right. None of them represented the young tom’s growth, his love for his campmates, his bold heart. Suddenly, Sand had it. “His name should be Currentheart.”
Current’s eyes locked with Sand’s as the name rung out above the din. The other cats gradually fell quiet, sensing that something important was happening here. “He should be Currentheart, because he has always, always been bold and brave. Sometimes that got him into trouble, when he didn’t think things through. But as I have watched him grow, somewhere along the way, that boldness stopped serving himself and started serving the cats around him. Think. Current has a way of lifting others up, of reaching out to the cats around him even when they don’t think they need it. Tidechaser, who was the first cat to really reach out to you?” Tidechaser blinked slowly, and nodded. “Spindle, who told you stories in the nursery when you felt alone?”
“Current did,” the young molly looked at her paws. “I know all of you loved me and cared for me, but Current made sure to tell me what was going on. What he’d seen while training. It got me into trouble once but… I appreciated it.”
Sand nodded and moved on. “Splash, who challenged you to new heights by providing a rival to compete against?”
Splash’s eyes glinted with pride, and Sand knew that it was pride not only in himself, but in his friend as well. Current really had come to be special to each and every one of them. “Current’s heart has always been the strongest thing about him, and when I look at him now, I see a cat who will put others first, no matter the cost to himself, who will never let anyone feel sad or alone or afraid for long. So his name should be Currentheart.” Sand’s jaws closed with a definitive snap, bringing his speech to an end. When his eyes met Current’s once more, he could see love and gratitude brimming in their amber depths.
“Thank you,” he meowed unsteadily. “Thank you, Sand. For teaching me. For believing in me. For seeing me. Yes, I want to be Currentheart. I don’t know if I’m really all the things you say I am but I swear, I will try to be.”
“Then Currentheart it is,” Shell purred.
“Current, we name you Currentheart in honor of your boldness and your loving heart, and we welcome you as a full member of our group.”
Somehow, that didn’t seem like a good enough end to it. Sand tilted his head back, opened his jaws, and yowled “Currentheart! Currentheart!” up into the clear blue sky. After a pawful of heartbeats, the rest of the camp joined in.
Brokenmast gritted his teeth and nodded. There was no uncertainty in Dustjump’s question, just the calm caution of a healer confirming with her patient that they were ready to take the next step in their recovery. And he was. He knew he was.
Two moons ago, Dustjump had announced that the driftwood splints that had kept his back straight had done all the good they were ever going to do- the bones had healed fully, and all that was left was increasing Brokenmast’s mobility. When the uncomfortable, stiff splints had come off, Brokenmast had breathed a sigh of relief, believing the hardest part of his recovery to be over. He’d been wrong.
Dustjump had never lied to him about his path to recovery, but part of Brokenmast had expected the healing of the fractures in his spine to do more for him, that once they’d healed he’d be able to walk again. But apparently, healing the damage in his spine and retraining his back half to function the way it once had were two distinct processes, not entirely unrelated, but not a one to one connection either. He’d been able to start some of that work while the splint was on, but most of it had to wait for the bones to mend fully. Over the last two moons, Brokenmast had regained much of the feeling in his hind legs (though he still woke up with his hind legs numb if he slept in the wrong position), and had then worked hard to regain a complete range of motion. A moon ago, he’d been able to stand for the first time since his accident, albeit with support from the hefty reeds Dustjump had been binding his legs with and help from his campmates. A half-moon ago, he’d taken his first steps with Tidechaser and Dustjump supporting him on either side. And today, he was going to walk out of the den on his own for the first time.
Dustjump’s eyes shone with pride. “I’ll go and get him,” she purred. “You join us when you feel ready.” The light brown tabby ducked out of the den, leaving Brokenmast alone with Foam, the only cat aside from Dustjump who knew what he would be attempting today. When the young brown and white tom had first moved into Dustjump’s den with a deadly cough, Brokenmast had felt mildly concerned for his acquaintance, but he’d also felt a tiny bit resentful of having the space he’d come to think of as belonging to him and Dustjump invaded by another cat. But as Foam had lain recovering in his nest, with nothing to do other than sleep and talk all day, he and Brokenmast had struck up a true friendship, to the point where Brokenmast had been sad to see the other tom leave the den once he’d recovered. However, true to his word, Foam had continued to visit, sometimes to bring food or talk, and sometimes to assist with his recovery. Between him, Tidechaser and Dustjump, Brokenmast’s old loneliness seemed a distant memory.
“I’m ready now,” he informed Foam, bowing his head. Foam bent over with a purr, sinking his teeth gently but firmly into Brokenmast’s scruff and heaving up. As Brokenmast felt the pull on the back of his neck, he pushed up with all four paws, settling into a standing position. Going from laying or sitting to standing was still very difficult for him to do alone, but he could feel himself growing stronger all the time. Soon he’d be able to rise to his paws unassisted.
Foam gingerly touched his nose to Brokenmast’s ear. “I know you can do this,” he murmured.
Brokenmast nodded, not daring to break his concentration with a verbal reply as Foam helped him to the entrance of the den. The other tom’s supportive bulk disappeared from Brokenmast’s side, and he paused for a moment, preparing himself for the task ahead.
He stepped out into the light.
It was a clumsy step, solid and hard, like his paws were made of wood, but it was his step, and his step alone. He found his goal, the broad, spotted back of Tidechaser, currently facing away from him, deep in conversation with Dustjump. The molly glanced over her shoulder, catching sight of Brokenmast with a flick of her ear for acknowledgement. She leaned close to Tidechaser to whisper something, her tail brushing along his back, and then Tidechaser was turning around, his gaze confused at first, then going wide as he caught sight of Brokenmast.
Brokenmast took another step. Then another. The journey across the camp’s clearing seemed to take moons, and he was panting by the time he made it halfway across, but he was determined to make it all the way there. His gaze was trained on his goal, the large form of Tidechaser watching him with pride and joy shining in his eyes. Brokenmast kept moving forward.
With a final step, he reached his friend, his heart pounding and his breath heaving. But he was here at last, here at Tidechaser’s side, and he’d done it all by himself. Tidechaser bumped his head against Brokenmast’s with a purr so hard that it shook his entire body. “You did it,” Tidechaser murmured. “You really did it. Brokenmast, you’re amazing. Congratulations.”
The rest of the cats in camp closed in around them, offering words of praise and encouragement, but to Brokenmast, Tidechaser’s words were worth more than all of them combined.
Shell parted her jaws, panting slightly as she trotted along in front of Tidechaser and Foam. She allowed herself to slow down just a bit, falling in beside Foam. “This really was a marvelous idea,” she murmured into his ear. Foam’s eyes shown brightly, his tail shooting straight up with pride. “Why don’t you lead us up to that patch of jagged stones up the beach, and we can set the last markers there?”
“Sure!” Foam chirped, taking the lead. In the two moons since Shell had honored the young tom as a full member of their group, he had proven himself a hard working, reliable cat.
The night before, he had approached her with an idea to mark out a territory for the survivors to roam, and borders to check regularly. Shell had been uncertain at first, but his logic had been sound. Foam pointed out that, when Current had left camp the moon before without Sand’s permission, no cat had known where to look for him because they had all been roaming different areas of the beach and jungle. If they had clearly set boundaries, all the cats could learn the same area well enough to know where to look for missing cats, where to find the best prey, and where to keep an eye out for threats. Seeing his point, Shell had called Foam and Tidechaser aside this morning with the goal of setting boundaries for the survivors--Foam because it was his idea, and Tidechaser because of his familiarity with the wider area. It had turned out that patrolling with the two toms had given her the chance to know both of them better--she even felt a little less apprehensive towards Tidechaser now.
“You did an excellent job teaching him,” she commented to the pale tom, flicking her ears in Foam’s direction. “Thank you.”
Tidechaser blinked, stoic as ever, but Shell thought she could pick out a hint of pride in his eyes. “He was a quick learner,” he replied.
Shell opened her jaws to add something more, but stiffened at the scent that hit the roof of her mouth. “I smell blood,” she hissed.
Tidechaser narrowed his eyes, tasting the air. “You’re right,” he growled, “and it’s fresh.”
“Foam!” Shell called, bounding ahead to catch up with the young tom to warn him of the potential danger, but he was already tasting the air, his hackles raised and fur spiked with alarm.
“I smell cat-scent mixed in with the blood,” Foam breathed.
Shell felt her stomach twist as Tidechaser slid up beside them. “How do you want to handle this?” He said lowly, and for once Shell would not have minded if he had simply taken the lead instead of deferring to her. But that was a foolish thought, she knew. The survivors had chosen her to lead them, and lead them she must.
She was silent for a moment as she considered the situation. If there was something out there attacking cats, they could all be at risk. But on the other paw, there might be a cat out there that needed their help. She couldn’t risk leaving another cat to suffer, even if there was danger. “We approach slowly,” she decided. “Stay low, and stay together until we find the source of the scent.”
The three cats crept forward, belly fur brushing the sand as they stalked across the beach, following the blood-scent. Shell wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Foam let out a startled yowl, charging forward. Shell let out an annoyed hiss, preparing to reprimand the young tom, when he called out, “over here! I found him! A-and he’s breathing!”
In a heartbeat, Shell and Tidechaser were up, racing along the beach after Foam as they approached a heap of ginger speckled fur. Shell narrowed her eyes. That pelt, that scent... she knew this cat! He’d been on the ship with them!
“Sergio!” Shell meowed, “Sergio, what happened?”
The ginger tom groaned, cracking open an eye. “Was... attacked... so many...” His head flopped back onto the sand limply, and Shell saw a trickle of blood run down his face from a wound behind one ear.
“I’ll get help,” Foam offered, tearing off in the direction of camp.
Shell started towards the rumpled heap of fur, but then Tidechaser was in front of her, blocking her way. “What are you doing?” she hissed, “he needs help!” She tried to duck around him, but he cut her off again. Shell slid her claws out, ready to force her way past him.
“Just wait!” Tidechaser growled, “listen to me. I know you want to help, but you can’t move him.” His tone was urgent, serious, and Shell regarded him with a searching gaze, waiting for an explanation. Tidechaser crept over to Sergio slowly, placing a paw delicately along his back. “See this wound here, along his spine... I think it might be broken.”
Shell shuddered at the thought. A broken back... could a cat even survive that? How awful would it be to find another survivor only to lose him right away? Tidechaser met her gaze, seeming to read her thoughts. “I can’t tell you what will happen to him. My knowledge of such matters is lacking. But I do know that we shouldn’t move him until we’re sure of the damage.”
“Dustjump will know what to do,” Shell murmured.
Tidechaser nodded solemnly. “All we can do for now is wait.”
#deltarune
#dallas wings
