Fire. The acrid stench of smoke.
Two cats slink towards the edge of a forest, heads low, ears pricked, jaws parted.
Coughing. Crying. Screeching.
"If you hear anything, tell me. Understand?" The black tom fixes his tabby counterpart with a stern look.
"I understand," comes the solemn reply.
Two still shapes. Bodies.
"I don't want to end up like Mom and Dad."
"I understand," the tabby repeats softly.
A pair of yellow eyes.
The black tom cannot stop with the warnings, it seems. "He's never going to quit looking. He's going to follow us until we're both crowfood. He's dangerous."
The tabby understands. He nods, this time wordlessly, and follows his cautious companion into the wood.
Patience.
They are together, they have one another, and they will face the world.
Yet they are not safe.