I walked slowly through the woods, examining the way the branches were cracked. It was as if something jumped down from them, maybe got caught on one? Losing control and falling all the way down? Under the tree, there were foot prints. Not yet dried, but not yet fresh either. Someone's been here. I could even smell the faint aroma of something metallic. My tail twitched at the thought of someone lurking in the place I loved most. I tended to hide out in here. I wasn't exactly welcome in society. With cat features: tail, ears, my eyes, I even vaguely acted like a cat. Purring and hissing, clawing at random yarn, eve stalking birds. Not that I'd hurt them or anything. I was a passive Neko, or Passive Aggressive. I never enjoyed making others hurt, but if they hurt me, I'd bite and claw their skin off. A sudden branch snapping made me stop. I was so caught up in my own thoughts...I didn't realize the faint metallic smell was getting stronger. Now, I could tell it was less then feet away. I could hear faint shallow breathing, as if the person was hurt. I turned around slowly, eyeing a bush that was shaking slightly. I took careful, slow steps towards it. Just as I reached it, a sharp knife jutted out of it, almost piercing my chest. I let out a startled yowl, jumping back. "GET AWAY!" A voice hissed harshly, a strain prevalent in their voice. I pulled out my note book, writing something down. I crumbled it in a ball, tossing it over the bush. The sound of paper being un crumbled was heard. Then, they answered my question, a 'N-no...I'm n-not alright.' Something then hesitantly rose from their hiding spot, it was a boy, covered in blood. He had brown hair and red eyes. Cuts and gashes covered his body, a rather large wound on his left shoulder. I gave him a reassuring smile, writing down, 'Come on, I'll fix you up'. I showed him, and hesitantly, he came closer.
=Mini Time Skip=
After a few minutes, we arrived at my house. It was small, but perfect for a calm living environment. I helped the boy, Mitch as he said, inside, setting him down on the couch. Quickly, I grabbed the items I needed. 'Could you take your shirt off?' I showed him the paper. He hesitated, as if he didn't trust me completely, but he did anyway. Showing even more wounds, blood dribbling from them. Faint scars could be seen as well. I frowned, 'What happened, if you don't mind me asking?' He hesitated again, "I took on the wrong people, turned out there were more, and they had better weapons, and well, were stronger." I decided to start on his arms, washing the blood away gently with a rag, before putting ointment on, then wrapping it all in gauze. He winced slightly, but said nothing. While I worked on everything else, he both stayed silent. I was quiet in concentration –and the fact that I couldn't even speak-, him in embarrassment, blushing slightly. I didn't know whether it was the fact that he told me he lost a fight, or the fact that I was almost on his lap, and he had no shirt on. I had to admit...he was cute; even if he was wounded like this. When I was done, and everything was patched up, I sat back, giving Mitch a soft smile. I wrote neatly and dhowed him, 'You can stay here as long as you'd like'. He smiled back this time, "Thank you."
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