“And then… when I looked away, it was gone.” They approached the forest with a sense of playful cautiousness, a mischievous nature only dulled by the possible threat of the unknown. Long, black stalks of wood and rotten foliage stood tall like natural walls, barriers keeping in only unimaginable evil but serving as a passage to all. The air was silent, too quiet, devoid of all noise; Micheala, worries thankfully forgotten for the time being, watched the woods, able to hear herself think in the deafening stillness. There was something so cryptic, so frightening and bone chilling, yet at the very same time so welcoming and magnetic; with her paws still rooted to the floor and a cold chill running down the base of her furred spine, Micheala took a deep breath to center herself amidst the negative energies facing her.

“Really?” the tabby said, turning her head towards Catty with an awestruck gaze.

Catty grinned. “Nope.”

Oh.

Catty burst into a fit of goofy giggles as she leaned lazily on the tabby, a force strong enough to send the tabby toppling over with a distressed mew. Unfortunately for Micheala, her kitten-like structure caused her to land on her back and flail her legs helplessly like an overturned beetle. “Catty…!!”

“I can’t believe you fell for thaaaat, Micheala! … Hey, get it? Fell?” the gray she-cat snickered, bowing her head nonetheless to give her tabby friend a well needed push to her paws. Micheala, flicking her ears and scrambling up, felt her face heat up with embarrassment. “Hey, it cheered you up though, riiiight?”

The chubby she-cat swabbed a paw over her flustered red muzzle. “Ummm, yeah… yeah! It did, but--” Her brow furrowed in irritation. “I am mad at you for, well, tricking me though!! I thought you were serious!”

“Pffffft, hehehe – you’re just so fun to mess with! You take everything so seriously--“, Catty finished her words with a lopsided smirk, her long tail sliding from one place to another like a bobbing snake.

Micheala huffed, her fur prickling with playful humiliation. “Hey, I’m easily scared!”

“Not when dogs are coming after your ass though, apparently!” As Catty laughed, her voice seemed to disintegrate into her mew, slobber spittling down her chin and spraying everywhere in her uncontrollable, giggly motions. Unsurprisingly, these acts only sent her further into hysteria, where she soon sunk to the floor and wapped her paws to the ground in her screeches of laughter.

Micheala, her face drawn into a thin line, stood unamused with a cross look. “That’s different! I was trying to… well…” Shit. The tabby averted her gaze as he raked her mind for an explanation, suddenly feeling her mind go blank as she reached and grasped. Dang it… why does my brain always do that?

While Catty spit-laughed herself practically into and out of a manic stage – her fur ruffled and tangled with brambles as her giggles subsided into her flanks, her long, gray pelt stretching itself now lazily across the green rug of the wilderness – the tabby nearby felt her eyes dance on the horizon, taking in the morning breeze as she felt her thoughts ooze away. It was kinda… well, really weird how it happened – the she-cat often found herself suddenly dozing off or finding herself at a loss of words, or thoughts even.

It was like her brain just… came to a halt. Like a fog had entered, some sort of cotton that sprung through her head and kept her ears stuffed up, a cloud that circled around herself and kept her blind and deaf to the outside world, and even her own memory at times. What… did I do yesterday? The day before? Jeez… why do I forget so much? It was almost like Micheala knew the thoughts were there – intact, somewhere in her headspace – but not quite reachable, no memory was nor apparently would be for as long as her brain decided to snooze on the job.

What… where was I this morning? She thought hard, her brain sluggishly shifting from one split-frame to another, the edges of the memories frayed and not exactly colorful yet. With… Stella, yes! Alright, I’m not totally crazy. Cool. Stella, and Catty, and they were fighting about some stupid stuff… and, Catty…

Through the sudden static buzz – a numbness hard to identify until it had fully taken place – Micheala suddenly thought of something else. Something important, something unsolved.

Speaking of that – how on  Earth  did Catty ever let somebody rub paint all over her pelt and coat it to its current state?

She flipped around suddenly, her eyes honed in on Catty. “Catty!”

“W…huh-“

“How on Earth did you ever let anybody … smush stuff all over your pelt? Especially permanent dye!” Micheala squawked, sounding like she had just found the cure to some sort of deadly disease. “I mean – you get freaked out when anything touches you, or dirties your pelt, so how did… huh?”

Catty watched Micheala for a few lingering seconds, one eyebrow slowly quirking its way into a crooked, confused line above her left eye. “Umm… what?”

“Your… your pelt!” the tabby huffed impatiently. “You let toddlers like, rub purple paint all over your pelt, right?”

“Yeaaah?”

“Well, why? You get mad or angry anytime anything dirty or gross touches your pelt…!” Jeez, it can’t be that hard to understand me, can it? The tabby thought irritably, her babyface not doing her much justice in properly portraying anger.

However, Catty simply stood there, her eyes orbiting sideways as they scanned for an answer. “Well… duh, because I let them!” she playfully scoffed, flicking an ear nonchalantly. “Of course, the wonderful, gorgeous Catty knew those little children couldn’t keep their hands off of her – so she gave them a chance -- a chance at enhancing the already gorgeous appearance of my pelt!”

Oh, well… that makes some more sense, I guess? “Wait… what happened to them, then?”

“What happened to you?” Catty shot back immediately.

“Um, I actually… don’t really remember, my memory is weird and kinda cuts out sometimes, and—”

CRRRRCK. Before Micheala could quite finish her sentence, a loud, thundering -crack- snapped out from the bushes, echoing through the woods and ringing in the tabby’s ears. Despite the sound booming like it had come from far, far away, the sizzle of panic was fresh in the tabby’s mind and heart, a numbing bolt of electricity that left venom in its track, bitter and hot in her veins like fire. Beside her Catty immediately tensed with a squawk of alarm, and the tabby felt as her heart began to slam a steady rhythm in her tightened throat. Wildly she looked around – here, there, what was that what was that – and the lack of precision and clarity only caused her to panic further.

“W-what – what was that?!” Micheala gasped.

“I…” The tabby could’ve sworn she witnessed a look of horror flash onto Catty’s face – terrified and anxiety-ridden – but it was gone so fast she might as well have imagined it. “It was probably just some branches falling, no real biggie – wait, Micheala? Micheala, hey!”

Micheala had already began to dart away, her paws numb and aching and scared fear fear but at the call of her name, she threw a panicked look over her shoulder. “O-oh, um, I’m sorry…!” she spluttered, tripping over her words and almost physically tripping over into the grass. “I, Tom wanted me to come in, I need – some time—” Coward. Coward. Coward—

“Oh, uh, alright! See ya…!” The call only rung for a few seconds in the tabby’s ears as she kicked herself into a full run, pelting at top speeds towards the barn. She made a beeline for the enclosure, her ears pounding and pounding and pounding and her head suddenly filled with static, and her brain felt like it was melting and she was scared, scared scared scared, she was a coward and everyone hated her Stella hated her the world would fall apart any moment and the forest would swallow her up whole like a treat—

RUN RUN RUN RUN COWARD RUN

AND THEN she zipped inside, charged by power and anxiety, this sting in her stomach that grew and lashed up and out against her veins. It was a sensation, a sensation unchallenged by any other for its mere destruction. Her stomach was a gravesite, clawed open by feeble black goo and a nervous energy so strong she could feel it piercing her chest like an arrow; many arrows, dozens, poisoned by flickers of fire and dividing her chest and squeezing her heart into mere ashes. It was pain, and she was a coward, and Stella hated her, and Catty hated her –

Micheala slid clumsily across the barn floor, taking a sharp turn to scramble up on top of the hay bales. Heavens knew she didn’t even know where she was going – she was running on the autopilot and the scream of her brain labeled fight or flight. The wildfire, however, continued to burn and ache through her entire body by now, a furious taste of emotions pushed down and as thus climbing up her throat and prying her jaw open into a cry – oh no, oh no, she had to throw up she was going to vomit – and, and, and…

Feathers.

Micheala sneezed, and tears sprung wet and cold along the brim of her eyelids and then leaking upon the crest of her cheeks. Feathers, feathers… And from her wobbly perch, standing not still with fresh cement for legs, she watched as a feather drifted from the ceiling and divided her vision from the barn window, a soft plume of white and angelic purity, a sliver of light that combed the air down and landed itself daintily on the brisk of Micheala’s nose.

Feathers…

(you’re a coward, a horrible friend, a coward and an idiot and Stella hates you, how could she not, she hates you all-)

Feathers. The wild breath that bucked and screeched like a horse gone mad began to settle itself down, an old rickety breath that managed itself better at the sight of comfort. Micheala watched carefully, still feeling the numbing and the itch to run, run far away and act, do something, but feeling it dully and underneath a whole other sudden branch of emotions.

And, suddenly, her side was accompanied by a -squawk-; when she turned, a chicken flanked her with a squeak and nestled itself into her. And then there was another, softer than the other, warm and bigger and sudden perched on her back with a flutter of tenuous feathers.

“Oh, h-hi, little guy,” the tabby croaked softly, watching the two hens with blurry eyes. “Um… or gal.” She swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

But she settled there, sliding to a halt amidst the terror that once controlled her. It was a dreary day, marked by her fervent anxieties and the dust stirring in her head, a cloud that just didn’t want her to see much. She was scared, nervous, probably for no reason, logically – but this chicken kept her from going totally wild. It had soft, tiny feathers, after all, and those feathers meant she was home.

Micheala rested her forehead in the hen now clucking in front of her, nestling her muzzle into the bundle of feathers. … Yeah… yeah, that’s better. Much better.

Way better. Hehe.

She smiled gently with her worries forgotten for the moment – a storm of fears tucked beneath the wings of a flightless bird. And even with the darkness just outside the window – tall, black trees shadowed by treacherous darkness, booms and cracks – Micheala was safe, hens tucked into her from all sides and keeping her company. Keeping her home. Safe.

But as she dozed off, the woods rumbled. The woods buzzed, unable to be seen in movement but always there, looming, dark, bitter and hellish. The woods watched, and blinked, and stared upon dear Micheala, grumbling words of bleak and venom and terror, of mystery, darkness, fear, anxiety anxiety anxiety…

However, Micheala was asleep, and didn’t notice the claw of pitch stretched tightly around her neck.