A/N: This is my first attempt at this kind of writing style, I hope it's good! XD (I think it is called SI…?)
Enjoy~
The wind blew. Hard. It sent snow bursting into the den. A little, tiny, weak kit shivered as she tried to dive deeper, deeper into her mother's matted, tangled fur. The kit could feel every single, stick, leaf, thorn that her mother didn't bother licking off, pressing against her own pelt. It hurt, hurt, hurts. But then, have she ever cared about a tiny bit of pain? About pain?
No.
She didn't.
Why? Any other kit would cry and wail at the slightest bit of pain. But why not her? Perhaps she is different…or is she?
She gets scared by nightmares. Often. She cowers when thunder struck. Yes. She cries? Wails? No.
Never.
Not even when she was born.
Maybe she was already adapted to pain. Since birth.
Impossible? It is possible. Cats adapts to their surroundings don't they? They adapt to eating a meal a day during leafbare, adapt to walking in undergrowths, swimming in rivers, running laps across the moor, strolling in the dark…so why not pain? The cats grow up in the undergrowths. She grows up in a den full of thorns, dirt, and mud. The cats grow up hearing the gentle trickling of water. She grows up hearing the cruel, unforgiving wind. The cats grow up to see the open sky. She grows up to see snow, so white, so pure, so pure (pure in the sense of death. In the sense of icy cold . An icy cold glare hunting you, waiting until you break down. Down. Down. To eternal darkness.). The cats grow up in a rather dark place. Dark but safe. She grows up in the dark. Dark and painful.
A/N: I am going to continue adding on from here because I have no time now and I want to know if there are any mistakes and if this is a good idea. :3 Please review any questions on your mind! XD