Phantom Hollow brocktree

He had run from Mother Temptress.

Run, until he had crossed mountain land and found his way to the darkest forest, where shadows cradled him and the silence between the branches smothered.

Yet the smell of cat welled thickly here, too. Feline, and a brethren’s blood.

Vaska hardly saw her beneath the mud and stains of ruddy dirt. A crumpled up rag, not much bigger or prettier than him.

The ravens settled in the trees. One landed on the ground near the girl’s face and hopped a few scuffs closer. Vaska knew the look in the corvid’s eye. That gleam of finding carrion.

But the girl’s chest rose and fell, if ever so slightly.

Vaska shooed the bird away with a flick of his paw, and the raven gave an angry caw. With a flurry it lifted away and settled on the ground a few steps away. Vaska bared his teeth at it, but it would do. He quieted, and turned his eyes on the girl with a curious stare.

Then, he reached out, and poked her.