Username: MutatedCry
Cat Name: Falcon
Gender: Male
Rank: Loner
Clan: Clan of Eternal Sun Age: 2 years
Prompt: There were things caught in the desert, things hanging between life and death. Things you would do well to avoid.
Falcon had never learnt that lesson.
He should have. He should have learned. He should have paid heed to the warnings, to keep his head down, to either escape the desert when he had the chance or to keep out of the attention of the things that inhabited it. Trickster spirits, while well-beloved in the desert cats' stories and mythology, never had anything good come out of the things they did.
And yet, Falcon still became one of them.
When he was still young, barely considered more than a kitten to most, he came across a crumpled figure in the desert. A heap of flesh and feather and sinew, still breathing though every breath sounded like the hiss of a dying brushfire. And despite himself, he crept forwards, staring down at the shifting figure of the injured angel.
It stared up at him with golden eyes, as piercing as the sun. For a second, he thought it could see through him, but the angel didn't move. Didn't react.
"I can help you," he started, eyes flickering over the angel's mass. "I know a little about medicine. About the desert. I can help you."
"What will it cost?" Hissed the angel, all dying smoke and fading cinders.
"A pair of
wings."
The angel rumbled,
wings and feathers beginning to move in protest, and so he continued hurriedly, "Just the smallest pair you have. I've always wanted to touch the sky, you see, and I think we could both gain something from this. I give you my word that I will help you to the best of my ability."
It hissed, drawing its
wings close to itself, but murmured its assent.
Angelfire hurt. Maybe even more than instability. Falcon had never had the opportunity to ask (though if he got the chance, he would jump on the opportunity in a heartbeat). When the smoke cleared from his eyes and the ichor stopped dripping from his pelt, he stood and shook himself out.
The new limbs were clumsy, but he shook them out and they obeyed his wishes. He smiled, then.
"You said you would help me," Golden eyes flickered warily, and ah, there it was. The barest glimmer of realization that came moments too late, that would have come much sooner if not for the golden blood staining the sand.
"And I will." Falcon soothed. "Just give me a moment. I will go grab some herbs for you. I will be right back, I promise."
The eyes followed him as he crested the hill, only to flee as soon as he was out of eyeshot. He assumes the angel is now long dead, or else it would have come for him long ago.
He thinks it's worth it. To steal the
wings from an angel, something no mortal cat had ever done before. And to get away with it! The perfect crime. The angel value their
wings most of all, and he has won it. The ultimate prize.