A dozen cats huddled around the blackened, smoking tree, all dipping their heads in solemn respect. A golden she-cat buried her muzzle into the shoulder of her younger friend, shaking. The scent of smoke burned every cat's nose, the she-cat's eyes burning with tears. The dead had saved her life. Had pushed her from her own early demise to sacrifice himself. And so many cats wanted to leave them there, or to throw them out of the territory.
"Goldstreak," whispered a small cocoa she-cat who gently nuzzled the crying feline's shoulder. Goldstreak shuddered, whined and slowly looked over her shoulder of matted fur. The small leader sat beside her, their green eyes shining with sadness and mourning. "He will be buried," she assured the younger warrior. Goldstreak nodded, a lump forming in her throat. Her once shining fur was now dull, singed from the ashes and sparks that had engulfed her. Tears stained her already dirty fur, smearing the dust and leaving streaks of black on her cheeks.
A warmth engulfed her, a tail brushing against hers. She clenched her eyes shut, and lowered her head, and her tail was once again left alone. But the warmth was still there, and she felt as if she were being stared at. So she turned her head up, just enough to look ahead, and found a green eye that sent a shiver up her spine.
"Don't worry," he murmured, "everything will be okay."