Written in the Stars

A New Beginning (August Writing Challenge) - [MALLARD, rogue]

The world was howling. Where once the bayou hummed with the sounds of its fauna, the creatures living there now hunkered down and away out of the reach of the tumultuous weather. Under the surface of the water, in the embrace of gnarled tree roots, in nests and - in the case of a certain tortoiseshell - shivering underneath a plank of wood. A small collection of abandoned twoleg junk offered some reprieve from the stormy weather, and Mallard had tucked herself atop a tire below the aforementioned wood and half a plastic tarp. The wind whipped the tarp, stretching at the threadbare cord that attached it to the junk pile - ostensibly, it was once used to cover the items now left behind. A situation in her favour, given the current conditions.

Could be worse, the thought came unbidden in a familiar voice not her own. She scoffed, and immediately felt dread turn the blood in her veins to ice. The sounds of the storm were her only reply. Eventually, stiffness in her shoulders forced Mallard to move. She shuffled deeper into the pile of junk, avoiding the damp ground as she moved to a marginally comfier spot. She brushed away the cobwebs and curled up in the corner to wait out the storm. The ferocity of the weather around her made sleep unlikely for a cat so often on edge. She let her eyes close anyways, trying to at least rest while her surroundings screamed.
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"You know," Vulture began, and Mallard didn't hesitate to cut them off. 

"If you're about to say 'I told you' so I will throw you into the swamp," the snarl lacked any true malice, but the scarred tortie was very aware of the situation the two found themselves in. The rain seemed to come down in sheets, slamming into the corrugated metal above their heads. The shed beside the two cats was shut and locked, leaving them with only a sheet of metal and a stack of rotting wood to keep the storm off them. Even so, they perched together closely to keep their paws off the soaked ground. Mallard glared out of their shelter as though she could stare the storm back into oblivion - missing the troubled look on their sibling's face.


"I wasn't! ... Well, maybe a little," Vulture trailed off, noting the lack of attention currently being paid to them. They pressed into Mallard's side, not missing the way she leaned back into them. It was her idea to check this spot out, and the sudden onset of the storm had caught them both by surprise. Still, the bite of the wind was dulled when they were facing it together.

Vulture offered to keep an eye out (which was misleading - they were terrible at keeping watch largely because they didn't have the same paranoia Mallard did). But she took the out for what it was, and though the ferocity of the storm was surrounding them, she wouldn't have too much trouble getting some shut-eye. The presence of her sibling was enough, and she closed her eyes.
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Crash!

Mallard yowled as the wood above her slipped down the tree trunk it leaned against, smacking into her back though she did her best to dodge it. She could feel a couple splinters in her tail as it squeezed out from underneath, and the tarp tore away from its loose anchor. The rain was softer now, the storm abating as she stalled in her would-be shelter. She was miserable and wet, but the worst was over. That's what she told herself - the worst was over. The thought tasted like a lie.

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"I think I'd like to stay somewhere."

Mallard didn't look at Vulture as they spoke, or else she may have noticed how serious her sibling had turned. As it was, she picked her way along the edge of a barrel with care. Her nose touched the surface as she noted the scents, thinking about coming and going and trails and -

"Mallard?"
"What?"

Vulture wasn't smiling. They looked at their paws, then back towards the twolegplace proper. The sounds of life - monsters and twolegs and the orchestra of the streets - came back with the departure of the storm. Something about the sober expression kept Mallard quiet.

"Just ... staying somewhere. I feel like we've never - I mean we haven't had a place of our own," Vulture murmured, oblivious to the unease creeping through their sister. "Maybe it would be nice. A fresh start ... a new beginning, you know?"


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The bayou was awakening again, just as Mallard left her ruined hiding spot. She didn't walk away yet - her eyes fixed on the ruined pile of junk. The ice in her veins was still there, thick and uncomfortable. Something about this moment and this place pulled on the parts of her heart she thought she'd buried. Her eyes burned, and she felt suddenly like she could burst - like a pressure was building up and the only way she could escape it was by letting it tear her apart. Maybe she should. Breakdown and have a tantrum like a spoiled kit.

Eventually the discomfort died down, back to a dull ache under her skin. The pile of junk was just that - ruined pieces of twoleg refuse left to rot in the wilderness. Nothing of value, and now with the arrangement come apart, nothing worth sticking around for. Nothing worth interrupting her wandering. It took some effort to turn away from the temporary shelter, but the need for food and somewhere new to stay urged her onwards. The same drive, same motions just - faded. Her side felt cold and - it was just another day. A day she was starting wet and miserable, but just another day nonetheless. Already, being awake and moving made it easier to leave memories behind to dry with the puddles. 


This time, as she turned her mind to the coming day, the voice in her head was her own.

A new beginning. What a joke.