As we get moving again, I glance back at the place that gave me this magical pause in the middle of such a chaotic time.
Logic tells me this won’t last. One day soon, he’ll find his people again and head off on a new adventure. And yes, that ending will hurt. But my heart whispers something else: Enjoy every moment you’ve got with him.
So I shove my worries aside and climb into the vehicle with him.
19-Prax
We travel in silence through untouched lands leading to Arabia Terra. My companion is asleep, and I'm deep in thought.
I don’t regret a single thing that happened between us—quite the opposite. I’d hoped for it. Planned it. What I hadn’t anticipated was this overwhelming urge to mark Neela. The process isn’t complete—far from it—but it’s begun. I’ve scented her neck more than once, and I’m dying to do it again. Should I tell her that some deep, primal part of me has chosen her... for life? And what if that’s not mutual?
As we round a bend, I stop abruptly, jolting my beautiful Human awake. A pack of wolves, which I’d failed to notice in my distraction, is feasting on prey. Problem is—they’re right in the middle of the road.
I grab my pistoblaster, set it to stun, and hop out of the vehicle.
“That’s a lot of them,” Neela notes wisely.
“Thank you, my sweet, for the stunning insight,” I reply, full of sarcasm.
There’s no missing the five massive canines turning toward me, their bloody maws soaked in fresh kill. Beyond the metallic tang of blood, I catch another scent—one unmistakably feline. That’s the victim. Her and her kittens, I correct myself, spotting two more tiny bodies.
Sadjim don’t eat our own. Ever. Regardless of our primary bloodline. This isn’t rage I feel. It’s sadness—for the young mother and her babies. But this is nature. I don’t blame the wolves. They need to eat too.
Still, they don’t like how close I’m getting to their feast. All five start inching toward me, lips curled back, drool dripping. Charming. But I’ve neither the time nor the patience to go around. I fire a wide stun blast and knock them all out instantly.
Predictably, Neela rushes over from the vehicle.
“You didn’t hurt them, did you?”
“They’re just out cold. By the time they wake up, we’ll be long gone. Come on, help me drag them off the path.”
She kneels beside the largest and together we pull it a few feet to the side. We do the same with the other four. Soon, the only thing left is a half-recognizable feline body.
“A manul…” my beautiful Human murmurs sadly.
To spare her the task, I move the mother and her two kittens to the side myself. Then I clean my hands with some snow I scoop from the roadside.
My left ear swivels sharply. I freeze, listening. No doubt about it—there’s a faint sound coming from a den nearby. A tiny mewl confirms it—one baby made it.
The sound leads me to a burrow hidden behind a bush. I reach in and pull out a little puffball, barely ten pounds. The kitten stares up at me, growling and hissing in fear, trying to claw my hand. He smells the blood. His mother’s. And he doesn’t know if I’m a threat.
“Oh, he’s adorable!” Neela coos. “What are we going to do with him?”
“His mom’s dead. He can’t be more than five or six months old. He won’t survive alone. Best we could do would be to end his suffering quickly. He wouldn’t feel a thing.”
“Are you out of your mind?” she gasps. “Maybe that’s how things work on your world, but not on mine. Not with me. He’s healthy, uninjured—we are not killing him.”
“How do you expect him to feed himself? His mother wasn’t just nursing, she was out hunting lemmings too. Now she’s gone. He’ll starve.”
“Not if we take him with us,” she declares, hands on her hips.
“Fine. So you’ll nurse him and go rabbit hunting every day to meet his dietary needs, right, Purrsong?”
That tight line of her mouth says exactly what she thinks of my suggestion. She knows I’m right. This little guy’s adorable, sure—but doomed. And considering our situation? Taking in a wild animal isn’t exactly brilliant strategy. But Neela’s not thinking with her head. She’s thinking with her heart.
I know a lost battle when I see one. I pick up the little fuzzball, stare him down, and let out a deep, low growl. He stops his hissing and scratching instantly, staring at me, stunned. He sizes me up. I do the same. He’s about two feet long, tail included—striped, fluffy thing about a foot of that. Flat little face, tiny round ears.
I carry him by the scruff back to the vehicle, Neela beaming behind me. I know this isn’t my best idea ever. But how the hell am I supposed to say no to that radiant woman? Even so, I doubt this kitten will make it without real milk. Still, if he survives... I might just be the perfect one to raise him. After all, if anyone can train an orphaned feline, it’s me.
