Restless [Posme]

He dreamed of her.

He hadn't had this dream in moons, not since the devastation of his home, but it had come back, clear as ever. Maybe it was because he was sleeping so deeply in Twoleg territory, or maybe he was just missing easier days, when, sure fights broke out, but at least every cat had somebody...

In his dream, he could taste the mouse on his tongue, the limp body dangling from his mouth as he trotted back to his nest. He felt so hungry... like he hadn't eaten in days... the ache in his gut so tremendous he could hardly stand to wait before eating... This mouse was a treasure.

A scream drew his attention, one he recognized. He dropped his mouse--his prize--and took off, moving as quickly as his young legs could carry him.

He saw her there, in the sunlight in front of her family's nest. Two older, feral toms hissed at her, hungry and after the food she was carrying. She clutched it to her chest, trying to get into the safety of her nest but the toms blocked her way. Without a thought, Fable, still young and smaller than the two others, barreled into the nearest one, hissing and spitting and fighting with all his might.

They fled, and he stood panting.

He could smell blood--different from that of the toms or even his own, but still a familiar smell--and he turned toward her, concerned. Her face was wet with tears--that strange face--and she frowned down at the scratches on her hand. She must have tried to be friendly with the other toms, and she paid for it.

Purring quietly, in the way he knew she liked, Fable butt his head against the young Twoleg's ankle, and she reached down to scratch his ears.

His hunger didn't bother him, anymore.

The sleek tabby woke with a start, losing his dream as his eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness.

What was that he heard? A hiss? On his feet in an instant, Fable padded quietly to the edge of his perch and peered over, down into the shadows.

There was another cat. A tom. Fable drew his lip back, growling quietly as the stranger approached. His body ached, but he would fight if he needed to. "Leave," he spat, already missing the sweet comfort of sleep. 'Why won't they just let me be?' he thought bitterly, remembering the cats from days before who had surrounded him when all he'd wanted was to drink and rest...

He hissed again.

"Why--you seem like a much better fit for leaving."

Fable's eyes narrowed at the stranger's reply, his claws unsheathing. His muscles tensed... but a dull throb in his bitten leg made him hesitate. For half a breath, his eyes darted to the one apparent exit before landing squarely back on the stranger. He needed to be smart about this.

Fable was no stranger to fighting, and he knew his sleeker figure was deceptive--he was more formidable than he looked--but he'd already been through so much in the past few days... The younger tom bared his fangs, his voice low enough to not attract outside attention but strong enough to show he wasn't afraid. "I was here first--I will not be thrown out."

Who was this stranger?

He thought himself so mighty he could just order other cats around?

This wasn't his territory--he didn't own this place. Fable had found it first, all scents had been stale, and this cat wasn't just going to waltz in and start telling him what to do. Fable had been on his own long enough to decide for himself. "What do you want?" he hissed.

Because they always wanted something.

A fight?

Fable's eyes narrowed. This cat had been fighting? Through the darkness, the younger tom absorbed everything there was about this stranger--his stature, his strength, his confidence. He did look a bit bedraggled... but not as though he had just been fighting. But then Fable saw his claws, the tension in his muscles, and his more practical side started to whisper, 'Look at him... look at you... why must everything end with violence?'

His nub of a tail twitched.

"Well," he muttered gruffly, lifting his chin. "Find somewhere else. I can't waste my energies keeping track of you all night." Okay, so at least this was true. Fable couldn't trust this stranger, so he couldn't be bothered keeping an eye on him. Neither of them would rest. Still, despite his feelings, the sleek tabby forced his claws back into hiding. He couldn't do this right now, while exhaustion clung to his bones and wearied his mind...

He hoped the stranger would leave without argument.  

"Don't you trust me?"

The words slithered into Fable's ears and down his neck, causing his lip to curl into an aggravated scowl. Trust him? Trust him, a complete and total stranger who had just boasted about this supposed 'fight' and strolled on in to Fable's space as though he owned it? Was this cat trying to be funny?

Fable growled low in his chest, letting the intruder know he certainly wasn't about to laugh.

"I'm not finding somewhere else."

The younger tabby's ears stretched forward, incredulous, his eyes widening with surprise and then anger. "Neither am I," Fable spat back, voice low and words clipped in agitation. The loner once again took in his dark surroundings. He saw the one exit, plenty of obstacles, places to hide... he currently had the advantage of higher ground, but if he were to fall to sleep and this tom were to sneak up on him while he rested...

Combating an uncomfortable mixture of exhaustion, anger, and rebellion, Fable crept forward a step and lowered himself onto his belly, letting his paws dangle over the side of his perch. He narrowed his eyes and kept his ears trained down onto the stranger. His expression was defiant, as if to say, "See? I'm perfectly comfortable. I could watch you all night. What do you say to THAT?"

Because Fable was definitely absolutely posi-tively NOT going to leave.  

Fable's hackles raised, his ears pulling back as he frowned. Was he... was he mocking him?

What was this tom's problem?

The tabby's nub of a tail flit back and forth in frustration, his shoulders tense enough to make his body ache. Why did everything always need to be a struggle--why couldn't things just be simple for once? Fable couldn't sleep with this cat here, and he couldn't go on much more without sleeping, so the answer, it seemed, was obvious.

Fable's hind claws, beyond the view of the stranger, dug into the old, damp wood that made his perch. Without a moment of warning or hesitation, the lean bodied tom sprang from his ledge, his jack-rabbity legs thrusting powerfully to send him sailing down onto far end of the countertop, opposite the stranger. As soon as his paws touched surface, he was off like an arrow, springing directly toward the other tom.

Someone needed to leave.

It didn't matter if he was exhausted. It didn't matter if he was sore. He had speed, and was no stranger to violence--he would show this tom he was not one to be trifled with.