Feyre walked slowly through the woods, wishing the rain would wait until she arrived home. She didn't want the water to ruin the appreciated meat she was bringing home. So much food for so many days.
Never in her life she had chased an animal bigger than a bird. She usually went out hunting with a backpack to collect her little prey. Somehow, that evening just before going out, the voices in her head had told her that she had to take her hunting sled with her. That was really good advice from those voices. It would be a pity to leave that great amount of meat in the forest, without enjoying it, because it was impossible to carry. And the sled let her carry almost everything of the body.
In her way, alone in the dark, she started to think deeply about what just had happened. Was it a coincidence? Was it destiny? Could it be considered cannibalism to eat another cat? But, was it another cat? Nah. It couldn't really be a cat. It had great hair, it did not have a hungry look. It had to be some strange… being. One of those that lived in the land of fairies, Prythian, on the other side of The Wall (Feyre always wanted to go to The Wall; anywhere would be great if it was far from home).
Nesta talked about fairy tales, witch tales and other stupid things all the time (she didn't understand how it was her who knew how to read when she was always paying attention to legends and tales as if they were books of science, so dumb of her). Those faecats had great magic powers, were extremely attractive and ate the most delicious food. And do some other things in a great way. Especially against the wall (not The Wall, but a wall; sometimes a table).
Feyre didn't ever believe those tales. And if she, only if she, had believed, she knew they never went to the mortal land. Where she lived. Not ever. So she didn't have to worry.
When she arrived home, Nesta was on the door of the little house (a very cute house for a family of cats, not luxurious, but comfy). She purred when she saw her with the corpse.
—Oh my. What's that? It can't be. What have you done?
—I knew it. I catch food for the rest of the week and you complain? You are jealous, as always. Jealous because I'm better than you. I should leave you alone and never come back. I'm sure you would die of hunger without me.
—My dear, you are really a knucklehead.
Father and Elain went out of the house alarmed with the shouting and the early time of returning of Feyre. Their faces were more pleased with the prey than the elder sister.
—Don't pay attention to her. We are going to eat— hissed Feyre to them with her sweetest voice.
—We are going to be murder soon if you don't carry that to someplace far away. That was a faecat.
—Enough. There is no faecat. They are no real. Did you ever seen a faecat?
—No, because I put amulets antifaecat all around all my live to make you safe, as nanny told me to do, and also mother. You should be thankful.
Feyre never understanded why her sister changed some decorations of the house to iron. She said it avoided faecats. That made no sense at all.
—And now— purred Nesta, once again, —after all my work, after all I've done, we are going to perish because you had the glorious idea of killing one magic creature and want to eat it. Are you crazy?
Feyre wanted to punch her in the face but, in that moment, they heard a great meow that came from the path. Maybe she was going to confront and review her beliefs at that time. And the treacherous voices in her head didn't tell her anything about it.