Drew:
I check the soup is warm before putting it in a large mug and heading to where Harley is curled up asleep on the makeshift bed. Blankets are tucked around her obscuring her shape and all that shows of her is one hand and her sleep tussled hair.
“Harley, wake up sweetheart,” I urge as I squat beside her. I can see her face now I am near her, her skin is pale, almost greyish and dark bruise like shadows lurk beneath the eyelashes that lay against her skin.
“Harley come on,” I urge her with growing concern. I know I need to get this soup into her, that she needs the fluids and nourishment. She has been asleep for the last twenty-six hours and before that she had been bleeding heavily for three days.
“Wake up Harley, you have to wake up,” I insist and put the mug down as I reach out and shake her shoulder gently. I keep speaking to her and trying to rouse her, just as I am about to give up her eyes flutter and a faint noise comes from her. I grasp her shoulder firmly and shake her briskly.
“Come on! Wake up!” I order as I try to squash down my fear. Slowly her eyelashes flutter and finally her eyes open, I gaze into them and nearly cry with relief as she frowns and focuses on me.
“What happened?” Her voice is hoarse and I reach for the mug of soup. I don’t know how long she will be alert enough to drink.
“You’ve been sick,” I say as I cup the back of her head in one hand while holding the cup to her lips with the other hand. She tries to talk but I dribble a few drops of soup into her mouth as her lips part, she tries to turn her head away but she is too weak and I watch in satisfaction as she is forced to drink a few mouthfuls of the soup. Harley begins choking and I move the mug away as she coughs, I can only watch as she manages to clear her airways before I press the mug to her lips once again.
“Please try to drink Harley,” I beg as her eyes open wide and she splutters as I dribble more soup into her mouth. I know I should be propping her up more, I should be lifting her into a better position for drinking but I don’t dare move her. The bleeding is light at the moment and I am terrified the heavy bleeding will restart if I prop her up.
Harley is too weak to fight me and I persist with dribbling soup into her mouth. I have the edge of the cup pressed hard against her bottom teeth and there is no way she can avoid the liquid dribbling into her mouth. Finally I am scared I am doing more harm than good and stop when she begins choking yet again. I put the mug aside and lay down behind her wrapping my arms around her. I bury my face against the back of her shoulder as I begin crying.
“I’m sorry,” I say once my tears have stopped. I wait for some response from her but there is silence except for her ragged breathing and an occasional cough. I prop myself up on one arm and look down at her face, she is either asleep or unconscious but I am not sure which and I am not sure there is much of a difference. I only know I can’t feed her soup like that again. I study the blanket beneath her, there is a number of damp splatters but no big wet patches. Her shirt isn’t significantly wet either. I glance at the mug and feel a sense of relief as I realise roughly two-thirds of the soup is gone. I can only hope none of it has ended up in her lungs.
Harley:
I eat my half of the stale ham sandwich slowly. There is plenty of water to wash it down and I pass the mug to Drew for a refill silently, I don’t ask for more food, I am aware there is none.
“It’ll be dark soon,” Drew says as he hands the mug back to me. “You’ll be right inside the barn, I’ll shut the doors when I leave.”
I nod silently. I know Drew will be hunting to bring back food for us, there is no money and there has been no sign of the dingo brothers since we began camping here. I long to go with him and change to my cat form when he has made a kill but Drew has already told me I am too weak and would only slow him up, preventing him making a kill and providing food.
“I’ll fill the plastic bottle with water so you have a drink handy when you get thirsty,” Drew says with a troubled frown. I look down at the mug I hold in my hands and nod silently. I want to go with him and eat from a warm, fresh kill but he refuses to take me along.
I am silent as I watch him clear away the few crumbs that is left of our meal. He disappears for a few minutes but is soon back with the plastic bottle full of water. It is dark outside now and the air has begun to get cold, I sit wrapped in a blanket as I not watch him leave. Instead I stare at a star visible in a hole in the roof and listen, the sound of the car gets dim and dimmer. Soon there is a silence that slowly gives way to the sounds of nature and I feel the first tear slide down my cheek. I grit my teeth as I lay down and roll onto my side to curl up in a ball of misery.
I wrap my arms around my lower ribs and wonder if the kitt is still in my womb. My stomach is still softly rounded and firm to the touch but there are no longer the strong sensations of movement within. I bite my bottom lip, close my eyes and turn my face into the pillow. I have a hollow feeling inside me, as if I am missing something important. I can’t help feeling resentful that Drew had not taken me to a doctor even if it had meant my family had tried to interfere between us. Didn’t he understand how much I had wanted this kitt?
I know refusing to talk to him is childish but there is a part of me that is beginning to doubt what he has told me of our relationship. I don’t doubt his devotion to me, I know he had barely left my side while I was so ill but surely … I pull my mind away from the thought. Drew would have taken the risk of contacting a werecat doctor if he had thought there was a danger of my dying. I yawn and close my eyes, I’m tired once again. Even just eating and lying around exhausts me. Hopefully when Drew returns he will bring enough food for us for several days. I feel defenceless and vulnerable by myself.
Drew:
I park the car beside Hank and Mutto’s ute, turn the engine off and hide the keys under the passenger seat. I am not expecting anyone to chance by and find the vehicles but I would rather err on the side of caution. I climb out and shut the door quietly as I take the time to look around, I narrow my eyes as I study a shadow beneath the trees and I am rewarded when two figures rise from the ground.
“We were about to head out without you,” Hank says stepping into view. Mutto remains silent as he begins to take off his shirt but Hank tilts his head to the side as he looks at the car with interest.
“What? The missus let you off the leash?” Hank asks with a grin. “She’s had you on a short leash the last week,”
“Shut up about Harley,” I snarl at Hank. “I won’t tell you again,”
“Trouble in Paradise is there?” Hank asks with a soft laugh. Suddenly I have had all I can take of his dislike for Harley and round on him with a series of hard punches, it drives him back temporarily and I follow up my advantage quickly. I never trained officially as a warrior but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to fight.
“Stop it!” Mutto snaps stepping forward and I back up several steps. I have no wish to take on both of them, at least not in human form, as a cat certainly.
“We’re here to hunt remember?” Mutto growls. Hank gets to his feet and moves away muttering under his breath, I glance between the two brothers and hesitate a moment before retreating near my vehicle to strip off and change to my cat form.
Both Hank and Mutto have changed and are sniffing around a nearby fence before I am ready. They glance at me as I approach, then break into a ground-covering trot alongside the fence and heading slightly up hill. We travel several kilometres before Hank slinks beneath the bottom wire of the fence and heads for a small stand of trees at the edge of a gully. Mutto pauses a few moments sniffing the air before he too glides beneath the wire and heads for the trees. Since I am taller and heavier than either brother I feel the wire scrap my back and pull at my fur as I duck beneath the fence.
I can smell the sheep long before I see them and intermingled with them is a strange smell I can’t remember smelling before. The sheep are bedded at the far edge of the trees, fat white bodies resting half hidden in the long tussocks of grass. I can tell by the startling whiteness and sharply angled bodies that they have been shorn fairly recently. I pull my lips back from my canines in a parody of a smile, this simply means no wool to fill our mouths as we take down our meals.
The sheep get to their feet and turn to face us as Hank and Mutto trot from the trees. I watch expecting them to start running but the mob of sheep stand their ground and several even stamp forefeet and snort at the approaching dingos. Suddenly two long limbed figures trot around the outer rim of the mob and I look in astonishment at the strange animals as they head out to meet Hank and Mutto. I hear their sharp snorts and then they charge at the dingos trying to strike them with their front hooves.
Alpacas! The name comes to me as Hank and Mutto dodge flashing hooves. I feel a thrill of anticipation as I stalk forward, my attention glued firmly to an alpaca. It sees me coming and turns to face me but I am within range and there is no time for it to charge or turn to flee before I am on it, my front claws digging deeply into a front shoulder and ripping muscle down to the bone. My victim gives several strange little cries before my jaws close around its thin long neck. Bones crunch and warm salty blood floods my mouth as the alpaca struggles weaken. I almost don’t see the second alpaca coming at me from the left, eyes wild, ears back and nostrils flaring as it lashes out with it’s front legs.
I feel one hoof glance off my ribs as I twist away with a snarl. I dart to the side only to find the beast hot on my tail, I leap over a fallen tree but that doesn’t slow my pursuer. I stop sharply and spin around to face my attacker, it dashes past too fast to stop and I lash out with extended claws as it goes by. The rich copper tang of blood fills the air and I spring after the beast, the excitement of the moment building. I leap onto its back and grab for the head making the animal tumble down in an untidy heap. It is hard to get a death grip as the alpaca struggles wildly and the fight fires up my blood.
When my kill no longer moves or twitches I raise my head and look around with interest as I lick the blood from my jaws. Hank and Mutto are pulled down a sheep between them and soon another bloodied body joins those scattered across the grass before us. I watch as Mutto begins tearing great bloody chunks from the shoulder of the sheep pulling weak bleats of pain from it. Hank pauses for a moment then heads for the scared sheep that huddle in a group watching fearfully. Mutto lifts his head and watches for several moments before leaving the sheep and joining his brother. This time they tackle separate sheep, slashing at back legs and stomaches as their victims race around bleating in terror.
The smell of blood, the sounds and scent of fear coming from the sheep added to the frantic running and dashing sheep is too much for me and I aim for a large heavy bodied sheep as I sprint forward. My blood sings in my veins at the cries of fear and pain that comes from the sheep around me. The hot, rich taste of blood makes me hungry for more and I leave one struggling, doomed victim with a broken back and target the next one as it dashes across my line of view. Excitement courses through me like a drug and I don’t count as I pull down sheep after sheep. Finally there are no sheep left standing and I look around in surprise. Bodies are spread across the field, red showing brightly on the once white fleeces. Most are motionless but here and there a sheep struggles to lift its head or kicks weakly with its legs.
I drop my nose to my last kill and sniff at the blood curiously. I venture a lick before getting serious and tearing a bite of flesh from a rear leg, the leg quivers as I chew the chunk free then kicks weakly. I put one of my front paws on the hips and hold it still as I take another bite of the still living meat. The rich combination of blood, pain and terror welts my appetite and I feed hungrily. The night is almost eerily silent, there is very little noise, not even cicadas sing in the trees like they had been at first. I raise my head and listen for a moment before resuming eating. I can still feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins and I am not in a hurry to return to a dark, closed in barn away from all this meat.
Harley:
I wake sometime during the night, it is dark inside the barn and there are no stars showing threw the holes in the roof. I reach for the plastic bottle and drink about a cup of water trying to ease the emptiness in my stomach. I can hear small frogs and insects singing in the night and glance up at the holes in the roof. Uneasily I crawl out of the blankets and tug at the bed trying to pull it closer to the wall and further away from those holes. I don’t know how but something is telling me it is going to rain soon and not a light shower that have been passing the last few days. This coming rain will be heavy and take it’s time in passing. I don’t question how I know this, I only work towards getting my bed where it will hopefully be out of rain coming in the broken roof and puddles on the ground.
I am close to exhaustion when I have moved the bed far enough to suit me. I kneel beside the bed for several minutes before I find the energy to retrieve the water bottle and return to the bed. The blankets are cold as I crawl between them but I know they will gradually warm with my body heat. I curl up on my side tucking my feet up close and pulling the blankets up round my neck. I am just getting comfortable when I feel the ant start crawling, I grit my teeth, I am too relaxed to start fidgeting. I am just about to give in and move when I feel an odd sensation, like a moth or butterfly fluttering it’s wings. I feel tears flood my eyes and I slip both hands down to my lower body where the faint little movements tell me my kitt still clings to life.
When I fall asleep I dream of my child, a dark haired, dark eyed little boy with infectious laughter. I watch as he runs and plays in the fallen leaves, his little toddler body chubby and rounded. His legs surprisingly swift as he runs from me laughing. I long to feel his hands holding mine, his feet and ankles digging into my leg and side as he literally climbs up my side. He’d smell sweet and fresh, and like a little boy who has been rolling in the grass.
Other images fill my mind, dark and distant, out of focus. I hesitate as I turn my head for a better look at them. I strain my eyes for a clearer glimpse of them, a clear sound from them but everything is slowly receding into the murkiness of my mind. I turn and look for my child but he is gone, replaced by an empty hollow ache. I hear Drew whispering about my family, how they tried to keep us apart. I see a figure in the shadows, he is silent, motionless, but he calls to me. I can feel it. I recognise Drew’s eyes, the expression and the intensity. His lips move but no sound comes from them, I reach towards him desperately. His face shimmers for a moment, and then vanishes! I blink my eyes and stare at the face that replaces his then disappears.
“No! Come back!” My own scream jerks me from a deep sleep. I sob as I find myself reaching for someone or something that isn’t here.
“I’m back! I’m back!” A male voice says beside me and I turn my head to look at him. It takes me several moments before I put the face and the voice together. Drew.
“I’m hungry,” I say without preamble.
“I’ve got meat,” Drew says sitting up from where he’d been laying on a blanket beside my bed. “I’ll cook some for you,”
I become aware of the steady patter of rain on the roof and the soft dripping of water from the rusted and dented roof iron. I pick up the bloody scent of fresh meat and sit up as Drew gets to his feet and heads for the far side of the barn. I feel my mouth start watering and waste no time pulling my clothes off, stuff cooked meat, I’ll eat it raw. My change leaves me feeling weak but I shake it off and stalk towards the lumps of meat. A warning snarl has Drew stepping back and I take possession of a leg of what tastes like mutton. I eat hungrily, ripping flesh from bone and hardly bothering to chew.
I cast an eye over the pile of meat, some piece of my mind tells me there is more than one single sheep here. There must be three, maybe even four. I clean the flesh from the bone, taking care to get every piece of fat. I hesitate for a moment then tilt my head to the side and bite down hard cracking the shinbone and exposing the bone marrow. I take my time cleaning each scrap of marrow from the bone before turning to another piece of meat, a rear leg this time. This meat is from an older beast, the meat darker and stronger flavoured. The fat layer is thick and I take my time eating it before working on eating the meat. I eat until my sides bulge and I start to feel uncomfortable, then I stretch out on my stomach beside the meat.
“You want me to cook some of that up into a stew for you?” Drew asks and I glance at him indifferently. He’ll just have to work out I intend to eat this meat in my cat form.
I feel a small stirring from my kitt, consider changing to human form to tell Drew the good news then dismiss the idea. I really need to groom myself after eating and doing this as a cat is much easier and more pleasant than trying to do a quick wash in cold water while it is raining. I turn my attention to my right front paw, study it for a moment then begin licking it. Soon I will have it clean and damp enough to clean over my eyes and behind my ears.