Dead on Arrival

Warmth.

The sense of warmth is what brought Crescent back from the blackness. Her consciousness floated in the swirling shadows, ethereal and amorphous, but the warmth was a tether. It was solid and most of all undeniably real. How long had it been since she felt that? How many days had there been only darkness? Only cold?  How long had she lived with phantoms that tormented her until her throat and ears burned from the echoes of her screams? How long? How long?

She could not focus on those right now. Instead she latched onto what she could. What she knew. She knew there was warmth, and she knew she could not sleep. Soon. Soon she would gladly give herself over to the night, but for now, she had one last thing to do. She had to move. She had to wake. She had to know.

Blood.

The fresh scent of blood flooded the large shecat's brain. She had never quite enjoyed the smell but half-starved it drove her dangerously near madness as her stomach clenched in need and her mouth watered. She could hardly think as the need to eat, to consume, to devour, overcame every thought. It seemed that now that her soul had renewed her decision to live, her body was going no two ways about it. It was taking what it needed and damning the consequences. High on bloodlust, Crescent herself was in no state to deny it.

Blue eyes snapped open, unseeing, as the large shecat lurched forward to sink her claws deep into the very warmth, the very blood, that had first awoken her from the immaterial nothingness into which she had strayed. Hardly even human, she only knew the sweetness of life, a life that flowed freely from the poor creature that had woken her and into her cold body. The blood wet Crescent's dry lips. Fur and bone crunched in her massive jaws tore into the victim with a savagery that Crescent's old friends would never have thought possible of her. 

Yes, she was more than this. She was kind, and giving, and gentle.

Or at least, had been.

The sharp pain of that thought slowly brought back a piece of the shecat that had been lost in the darkness. Dull blue eyes looked down at the remains of some small creature. Prey, most likely. It was so badly mangled and torn there was no way to tell what it had once been. She saw the blood on her paws. A small, detached part of her was terrified by what she had done, but then, why be terrified of herself? Why be afraid of anything when you were only going to die soon anyway? It seemed rather pointless.

Something shifted and the creature called Crescent lifted her head to see another cat. They stared at one another for a time. The large beast tried to think of something to say. She probably should say... what? What should she say? And why should she bother? 

You're more than this.

Was she? Was she really? Crescent could not say. Some small part of her wanted to be. However, what good was there in that? She had been more once and look where it had gotten her. Look where it had gotten all she cared about in the world - dead, broken, in agony. She was on a foolhardy mission to see her brother, but that meant nothing to her. At least, nothing she could understand now. She only knew she had to do this, this one thing, before the blackness returned again.

Despite all that, Crescent found her wet, blood soaked muzzle opening with a whispy voice emerging as her dull eyes laid on the cat before her.

"Tha....nk... you."

The large shecat gave a long, slow blink as she watched the tom. He was a tom. Some small part of her hated him for that. She was learning not to listen to the small part. She did not like it. It worried too much, and Crescent could not be bothered.

"No."

The words came out sharp and hoarse, like sand had scraped down the lynx point's throat. The small voice chided her, but the rebuke was quiet as a whisper under the fresh blood that flowed and roared like a waterfall in Crescent's veins. More. She wanted more. This boy could feed her, but he was a mere scrap. There were other ways.

The shecat pulled herself to her paws, her limbs yearning to shake unsteadily but Crescent held firm. 

"Teach me," she commanded, stepping up to the tom and towering over him. "I want to learn."

The shecat watched the tom closely for a moment. He was almost like a kit. She remembered teaching kits. The small bit of her twitched uncomfortably but Crescent ignored it, instead turning away from the tom to pick up the mangle prey carcass in her jaws. Turning her head back, she tossed it away and into the air, drips of blood and pieces of bone trailing behind the ragged bit of fur as it sailed through the sky.

Crescent's paws thudded against the earth as she gave chase. She had lost all her fat, and most of her muscle, but she still flew over the land seamlessly. Powerful back legs propelled her from the clutches of gravity and up into the air. Her fangs locked onto the escaping fur projectile, dragging it back down to earth as she dropped delicately to her paws.

She spat out the remains and looked back to the tom.

"I know that. Teach me forest hunting."

The shecat padded back to the tom. Her pawsteps were strange. Her feet seemed to lightly feather over the earth, testing each step as she went before putting her full weight on it. In the mountains, this was important to keep a cat from cutting their pads on sharp edges or falling prey to loose rocks that would send them tumbling down a cliff face. Here in the forest however, it was simply odd to see.

As the tom spoke, a little more light seemed to dawn in the massive shecat's eyes, a little more of herself returning in the presence of another cat to talk to. This time when she open her mouth, a faint friendly smile crept out as her cheeks felt warm. She was not flushed from the heat. It was simply... embarrassment. Yes, that was it. Crescent... was not used to being praised. It had been a while since she had been on the receiving end of a compliment rather than a harsh rebuke.

"Scenting," she clarified. "I don't know how to track here. The smells... they are all new to me. I can't hunt prey if I can't find it first."

The shecat almost flinched as her voice cracked near the end. It was such a harsh, gruttal sound. Her voice sounded harsh and scratchy now that she bothered to think about it. She began to notice the burning pain in her throat. Looking around she only saw barren, empty fields of grass stretching onward like a desert.

"Water," she added with a bow of her head -she remembered now that cats felt safer when she made herself seem smaller-, "would be very helpful too, if you know how to find that as well."