Abbernathy and the Cat Kingdom

The Blood Moon Rising - EXTRA

*As with all chapters marked extra, it's not necessary to the main plot to read them. They're just something I wrote down and thought I'd share with all of you. Also, they tend to be pretty short. This one takes place during the Rebellion and focuses on a young kit named Calle Pridem. Enjoy or skip, the decision's up to you!*

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Six years ago - Village of Benden Knoll, Kingdom of Aelurus 

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It was the start of something. She knew it, could feel it stir in her bones, see it in the way the sea - wild and restless- lashed against her father's fishing boat. The night was starless and the crescent moon—that'd graced the sky since Calle Pridem had been born—hung low and dim. 

Rain pelted the young Aelurian, stinging her eyes and soaking her chestnut-colored fur, whiskers matted to her face. She heaved as she dragged the last barrel of brickleweed toward her father, who stood at the edge of the dock, gazing out onto the sea. 

Dread filled her. 

"Father," she said breathlessly. "Must you go?"

Tonight is dangerous, she wanted to add, but she felt the words slip silently through her lips. 

Her father turned toward her, his slitted-blue eyes calm and gentle. He flashed Calle a fangy grin she knew all too well. "It is my duty," he said. "Our ben' essra is with kit. She needs nourishment to bear worthy heirs for Aelurus."

 Setting the barrel next to six others of the same, Calle moved beside him. Arms folded across her aching chest, she looked out into the inky darkness. "But—" 

The sea. The sky. There's no stars. It's...

"...godless," she whispered.

Her father reached out and pat Calle on her head, the bangles adorning each of her pointed ears giving a little jingle. "The gods may have left their thrones," he said, moving his hand down over Calle's face to stroke her cheek, before unsticking one of her long, white whiskers. He twisted it around his finger as he had often done when she'd been little and on the verge of crying. "But my duty remains the same, young one." He bent and gave her a kiss on the forehead before striding over to his boat. 

Calle watched his back, tall and strong, his grey tail trailing behind him and gliding over the dock's slick wooden planks like a silvery eel. Her chest tightened as she glimpsed back up at the sky. Mages from the village spoke of nights like this—endless and dark—when great evils were allowed to roam the land. What if— What if he—

No. She could not lose him. Not after mother had been stricken by A'remdal and given back to the gods. 

Gathering up her skirts, she hurried over to the boat, water slipping inside her boots and soaking her feet. "But, she's queen," Calle whined. "She wants for nothing. Surely you needn't risk your life to—"

"Childish words," her father said, his eyes cold as ice. "And you think yourself old enough to be fe'la." 

Calle gulped and looked downward, the heat of embarrassment rising to her ears. She'd only just come of age and been given the title of fe'la. For her father to chastise her as he would her sisters or her brother—kits who still partook of mother's milk—made Calle ashamed. 

Clawing at the drenched brown fabric of her dress, she didn't look up when she addressed him again. "Father," Calle started, meekly. "I'm—" 

"Roll that to me," he said, motioning toward the barrel Calle had strained to carry down the dock. She nodded, knowing her father would not let her say anything more. She would have to live with the consequences of her words, even if that meant living under the weight of her father's disappointment.