My story begins like all others. I was born along with my brother, Rain. I had a mother and a father. They loved me.
I was the happiest kit in the world, nothing bothered me. My life was perfect.
Then it all came crashing down.
My mother left one night, along with my father to go hunting for me and Rain. Ah, Rain, the best part of my life. My best friend.
They didn’t come back. We waited. And waited. For days.
I wanted to stay, to continue waiting even though I was dehydrated and starving. Rain made me go. He dragged me out of our den, screaming at me that they weren’t going to come back. That they were gone.
I ran from him and collapsed in a hole somewhere. He found me later that day and he brought a mouse with him, along with soaked moss. He made me eat, even though I almost vomited the prey up. He made me drink, even though the water made me gag. He curled up with me, comforting me as I cried out into the night.
My best friend. He was my best friend.
I remember the day he died.
We were hunting like any other normal day, by this time we had grieved for our parents and learned to hunt from the little skills my father had taught us when we were young. We grew up into lean cats and we learned to be happy.
He was chasing after a rabbit and I remember laughing as we ran after it, the wind streaming on our fur. The rabbit ran straight off a cliff, Rain falling after it. My scream was the most horrifying thing I’ve ever heard and I almost jumped after him.
My life collapsed again that day, it never repaired.
I hunted and tried to be happy but I couldn’t be. My brother was the only thing that could make me happy.
The day my brother died I died with him. I ate deathberries a year later after freaking out and screaming as loud as I could, begging for him to come back.
I regretted it as soon as I ate the berries. Pain overwhelmed me and regret poured into my heart, tears streaming down my face.
My best friend. My brother.