I was born the runt of the litter, the smallest of seven. My brothers and sisters were all sleek, fast and strong, like shadows in the night, hunting and running with each other, while I remained tiny and frail, refusing to stray from the warm step of the big house of the meat-giver, one that fed us scraps and offered us her warm lap in exchange for killing mice.

What I lacked in size, I made up for in know-sense. While my kin ran wild and free, I sat on the porch of the biggest, warmest step and contemplated the know-sense, hunting it as I would hunt a mouse. The hunt of the know-sense was different from chasing solid prey. I caught it across the rays of light, in between trees, in passing clouds, in drops of rain and in cold flurries that fell from the sky and entombed the land.

Catching know-sense made me better at hunting for it. A stupid game, my sisters scoffed at it, a waste of time.

They were wrong and dumb and I was right and purrfect because my know-sense told me so.

They would not make it past this winter, I knew. I did not attempt to change their fates because the know-sense told me that it was pointless, that my kin were already as good as dead.

I was selfish, yes, but then we all were. I simply wanted to live, wanted to be warm and to hold onto the thread of life for as long as I could, to keep my warm step forever.

And so I hunted it, across every glade, every sunspot, every tree, often without even moving, breathing in and out, slowing myself past slow, pawing at the radiant tides of otherwise barely visible prey through my fuzzy paws.

On and on it went across myriads of days. Unlike my kin, I ate plenty of meats because the know-sense whispered to me exactly when the meat-bringer was coming, exactly how I should present myself before her so she would bless me with more yums.

When the death-sense came at the end of the warm days when the sky turned grey and the river froze white and night grew dark, we all knew it was time to flee.

My siblings scattered to the winds, running as fast and as far as their legs could carry them as the nightmare pressed all around.

But I hesitated.

I wanted to save the golden-haired meat-giver because if she was gone, then who would give me food?

Thus, I cried and yelled for the meat-giver to wake, pawed at the door, but she did not hear me, did not rise.

Something else, something vile sang in the wind, something that kept all the large servants of the cat-kind pacified, blind and deaf that night. The song of sleep did not extend to me, for it was meant for the meat-giver’s ears.

I jumped onto the edge of the outside window and cried louder, pawed at the clear, but the clear did not give way as the death-sense intensified all around.

Everything, everyone here was going to die.

Fire. Fire all around. Vibrant green and blue flames that consume all flesh, turn it to ashes, leaving only shiny stones intact for the Flying Death to devour.

Louder and louder I cried and slammed against the clear, hoping to wake the big, dumb idiot female meat-giver. I was too small, too insignificant. No matter how much I tried to tear through the web of the gray song of the hollow spider bog that laid this trap, it would not give.

The know-sense told me that my attempts were hopeless, that my meat-giver would not wake, that I would never see her round, hairless face again, and would never enjoy kneading her lap.

Then, I spotted a sparkle of light, a tiniest mote dancing in the air flickering between the grey webs.

I ran across the silent village, chasing the mote.

I knew I had to do something, anything, to save at least some of the cat-servants because without them I would surely perish, for I was a terrible hunter of mice, only pretending to be doing this job, in truth far too obsessed with hunting know-sense.

That tiny mote, that spirit was guiding me somewhere. With a leap and a twirl through the air I finally caught the damned pesky thing and then I knew.

The know-sense whispered of a possibility, a slim, minute chance, like the tiniest bite of meat, a survival of all through one.

I raced through the village, my tiny paws barely touching the ground as I headed for the tall stone structure with the big metal noise-maker at the top.

The climb was treacherous and there were far too many big steps but I was determined, chased by the looming pressure of the death-sense. Burning through the energy I saved up from the sunbeams and warm days leapt up and up and reached the top, panting and exhausted.

There was no time to rest. With all my might, I threw myself at the rope that hung from the big metal thing. It swung, and a deep, resonant sound echoed through the village.

I swung my entire body left and right, again and again, my body aching with each impact. The sound grew louder, cutting through the gray song of the web that kept the cat-servants asleep. As I leapt from the rope to the window, I spotted movement below, confused faces appearing in windows, people stumbling out of their homes.

Just as I thought my efforts might save them all, a vast shadow fell over the village. Flying Death had arrived.

It was massive, its scales black as night, its eyes glowing with blue-green wrongness. As it landed, its tail swept through houses like they were made of dry grass. Its claws tore through roofs and walls, and from its maw came jets of terrible blue-green flame. I knew that if I let it touch me, that would be my end.

I leapt from the tall structure, rolling through the air and landing on my feet, skittering along rooftops just as a blast of green-blue fire engulfed the tower. A tail the size of ten houses lashed through the air, sending it careening sideways to pulverize several homes of the cat-servants.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

A few cat-servants made their way out of the homes, heading towards the beast with sharp, shiny sticks. My know-sense told me that they weren’t going to stop Flying Death, but this would give the smaller, meeker, cat-servant children a tiny chance.

I rushed past a small group of them as they emerged from their homes. I yowled as loud as I could, trying to guide them towards the safety of the river. A handful of the small servants seemed to understand. They ran, following my lead as I darted towards the edge of the river and across the ice.

Just as we reached the river, a deafening roar split the air. Flying death had dealt with the big servants and was turning its attention to us now.

I made it across the river, into the forest that had stood silent and dead since my birth. Glancing behind me, I saw a wall of flames.

The ice cracked and shattered and those few not devoured by the blue and green licks vanished under the unforgiving current.

The know-sense had failed me, the young ice of the river had proved too thin for their graceless, oversized bodies! As much as I tried, I could not save a single one of them!

Flying Death roared and there was something in that roar, a message to all, that death would come for all.

I watched from the edge of the forest as the biggest cat-servant, one that all cat-servants called Ja-rrrrrlll-something emerged from the ruins of his big stone den, throwing aside rubble. He was tall and strong, more solid than anything or anyone in the village. His fur-covered body moved with absolute purpose towards the Flying Death.

My know-sense told me he wouldn't survive, just like all the others, that his state of greater permanence would not be enough to stop her.

Death takes all, and this night was no exception.

The big one raised his shiny claw-stick, yelling words of vengeance for his kin. Flying Death turned its massive head, those terrible glowing eyes fixing on the lone cat-servant to whom all other cat-servants answered. For a moment, everything seemed to pause, like the world was holding its breath.

Then, Flying Death opened its mouth wide, wider than I thought possible.

The roar that came out was like nothing I'd ever heard before. It wasn't just loud - it was absolute. It filled the air, the ground, my whole tiny body. My ears felt like they were exploding, and my eyes... oh, my poor eyes!

Everything went dark and swirly, like when I used to chase my tail too fast.

My know-sense, my precious know-sense that had guided me this far, suddenly shattered.

It was like someone had blown out the spark inside me, leaving me in complete darkness. I couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't think straight. All I knew was fear and darkness, pure and overwhelming.

I ran.

I ran faster than I'd ever run before. I didn't know where I was going, couldn't see the trees or rocks in my way. I bumped into things, tumbled over others, but I kept running. The forest that had always been so still and quiet was now a maze of pure terror.

Branches whipped at my fur, roots tried to trip me, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. Even though I couldn't see or hear it anymore, I imagined the roar of flying death right behind me, ready to swallow me whole.

I ran until my legs felt like they would fall off, until my lungs burned with each breath. And still, I ran more.

The know-sense was gone, leaving me lost and alone in a world that suddenly seemed far too big and far too scary for one little, terrified me.

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I came to, in the cold, quiet forest, coming up onto all fours and shivering.

My eyes could not see, my ears did not work. Only my nose and whiskers aided me.

I limped through the forest bumping into things, hunger and thirst driving me mad, my world dark and silent. My paws ached, my body trembled with exhaustion.

The know-sense was gone, leaving me adrift in a dark sea of uncertainty. But I had something else now to follow - the scent of death.

It was a terrible smell, acrid and overwhelming, but it was all I had to guide me. So I followed it, step by painful step, back towards the village I had fled in blind fright.

Flying Death was done, had feasted on the ashes and perhaps I would find something in the remnants, something to snack on, something that would keep me going. At the very least, I would reach my warm step and die with dignity.

Days and nights passed. Cold and colder. Time had lost all meaning in my sightless, soundless world. I stumbled over roots, bumped into trees, fell into little streams.

But still, I pressed on.

The smell grew stronger with each passing moment.

Soon, it was joined by other scents - burnt wood, stone, metal, and something else... something alive.

My nose twitched, trying to make sense of this new scent. It was unlike anything I'd smelled before - a mix of earth and warmth, of life and death intertwined as if spinning in an endless dance like a kitten chasing its own tail.

I dragged myself forward, drawn by this strange new smell.

Then, my paws touched something different - no longer the soft earth of the forest, but hard, cold stone.

I had reached the village!

I limped towards my step with the last of my will, knowing that once I reached my usual resting spot I would most likely perish without assistance.

It was rather difficult because there were unexpected impediments all around, shaped like fallen trees that I kept bumping into. How did these trees get here? Did flying death bring them all to this specific spot? Why?

The scent of warmth grew stronger, and I heard... something. A faint sound, barely there, but after days of silence, it was like a shout.

Footsteps?

I turned, loudly demanding answers.

Suddenly, warmth enveloped me. Hands - the hairless hands of a cat-servant - lifted me gently. I wanted to say more, but I was too tired, too relieved to finally be found by someone!

The hands carried me inside, somewhere warm and dry. I felt myself being set down on something soft. Then, a bowl was pressed to my mouth. Water! I lapped at it greedily, feeling life flow back into my parched body.

As I drank and drank the incredibly tasty water, something strange happened. The darkness that had enveloped me for days began to lift. Slowly, shapes emerged from the gloom. Colors bloomed before my eyes, brighter, sharper than ever before.

I blinked, astonished. I could see again! Not perfectly - everything was still a bit blurry - but it was more sight than I'd had in days.

I looked up at my new charge.

He was young, excessively thin and had a patch of red hair on his head. His silver-blue eyes were cold, cold like winter ice and filled with an impossible weight, a depth that concerned me greatly.

Was this fetchling sick, afflicted with some kind of wrongness, an internal malady that made his gaze so much older than the rest of him?

I relocated myself to his lap, providing him a hearty purr in an attempt to cure him of whatever weirdness ailed him. It didn’t seem to do anything to his eyes, but it made me feel better about our dire state of things, so this was fine.

The know-sense of the tiny mote was wrong.

A survival of all through one? More like survival of one, as ‘all’ got fried and chomped on by Flying Death!

Alas, for all of my paw-flailing, I only managed to save one excessively skinny, pale, sickly-looking cat-servant. We were probably going to starve at this rate or perish from the inevitable cold that was coming, but at least I would not go out alone.

“You’re welcome,” I yawned and closed my eyes, feeling as the slightest threads of know-sense were weaving themselves a new, bewildering pattern all around us, one I could not understand yet and was too tired to chase after.