Abbernathy and the Cat Kingdom

The Fey'la Who Partook of The Poison Water- EXTRA

*As with all chapters labeled 'Extra' you don't have to read them to understand the main story. However, by reading them, you'll learn more about Aelurus and the Kingdoms of Eridan as well as showing some of your favorite characters that little bit of extra love. *

Nine years ago, Kingdom of Aelurus

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His eyes reminded Kinnra of the sky when reflected in the placid surface of the Black Sea- each housing a swath of ever-moving grey in search of their next destination. Gods, she'd loved those eyes, and she couldn't think of anything else she'd rather gaze upon as the last of her life left her.

As blood slipped out of the wound in Kinnra's stomach, staining the forest floor, she could still hear faintly the screams of the other villagers, fey'las and kits who wouldn't be as lucky as she. They wouldn't just be killed, felled by a swift cut across the throat or gouge to the stomach, they'd be tortured, enslaved and sold to the Moonborn with the fattest coin purse.

Kinnra was blessed by comparison. She would get to die, cradled in the arms of the fe'ren she loved, bathed in the waning light of that night's crescent moon. A cool breeze rustled the tops of nearby Ni' elle ah trees, blowing free a flurry of silver, star-shaped leaves that fluttered around them. If they'd come to this forest under any other circumstance, Kinnra was certain Lain would have settled under one of those trees, parchment and quill in hand as he wrote one of his darling poems.

He would have gotten tense and bashful the second Kinnra asked to read it, but Lain would have given into her demands- just as he always seemed to- and she would've eagerly eaten up every word inked on the paper.

She'd taught Lain how to read and write, despite his reservations and concerns that they'd be discovered and punished according to Aelurian law, but once he'd seen the beauty in language, how it could recreate emotions easily lost in the hassle of every day life, he'd fallen in love with it, and in turn, she'd become enamored with his poems.

But in her near future there would be no more poems, no more shared kisses or private jokes. She would never gaze upon the sea, study it, feel the water as it ran over her hands, slipped under her bare feet. She would never discover its secrets, something that she'd promised to do with Lain.

Still, she could gaze upon him, and as far as lasting memories went, that was enough. He was enough. He always had been.

Smoke rose over the treetops, wisps like angry, outstretched claws reaching up to rend the very stars from the sky. Lain didn't turn his eyes back toward the village. He looked only at her, his hand pressing down on her side, trying to keep the blood inside her body.

Kinnra tried to speak, but only syllables, wet and blood-soaked, escaped her lips. In that moment, she saw Lain's horror, the image of herself-mud-covered and bloody-reflected in his gaze, being preserved forever in his mind's eye. Kinnra's heart broke at the very notion of him remembering her this night. He'd be haunted by it, certainly, consumed with his grief. Kinnra wanted anything but that. She didn't want her death to stop Lain from living.

Mustering every ounce of strength she could, Kinnra reached a trembling hand and pressed it to Lain's furred cheek. His eyes went wide at her gentle, almost nonexistent touch, and then tears started to fall.

Don't remember me like this, my love. Don't let my death ruin you.

"Kinnra," he purred, his voice soft, frail, bereft of the confident bravado that almost always coated his words. "Kinnra, I can't-" His hand reached up and cradled her own, trembling and ice cold. His fur was wet and stained with her blood.