a gamble with fate (o)

There was a rustle nearby, and then Rainstorm emerged! Perfect! They could be leaf hunting buddies! No wait, maybe he was already doing something equally as important. First Atlas would ask, then he would get excited about having a leaf hunting buddy. "Hello Rainstorm! Well you see, there was this leaf okay? It was the most beautiful leaf I have ever seen! All golden and shiny. So I decided to try and track it down, but it blew into the stream and washed away, so I was planning to track it down."

Did it sound silly saying it out loud? Of course not. It was perfectly reasonable. If somebody saw such a beautiful leaf and didn't try catch it, well they were missing out on an adventure! "Do you want to help me? I was thinking we could follow the river and see if it's been caught on any rocks along the way! It'll be a fun adventure, what do you say?"


pigeon

in the crowd of the sad in the crowd of the mad
we are the only smiling faces

words did not exist to describe the wonder he had seen. a delicate golden-satin sheet, perfectly curved and caressed by a skeleton of silvery twine. they just did not do it justice. 'oh it was so beautiful. you'll know it when you see it.' spinning around (quite ungracefully), atlas gazed down the curving ribbon-like waters. this was a challenge for the strong of heart. another cat may have cowered under the prospect of hunting down something as minuscule and meaningless as a leaf. but he was willing to accept this challenge. a cool wind danced around his ears before carrying various sticks and scraps in a wonderful curling stream. it was a sign from above. that was the way they must go. 'c'mon rainstorm, let's go!'

Oh boy. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. This was not good. No, not at all. His best friend was hurt really bad. And just when he had finally decided to enjoy himself a little and go golden leaf hunting! What if Rainstorm developed a fear of leaves? That would be terrible. But if that happened Atlas would still be supportive and kind, even if it meant giving up one of his only passions in life. Anything for his best friend. Carefully climbing down the slippery rocks, Atlas scrambled ungracefully down to where Rainstorm lay, red water swirling around his white paws, the stain beginning to sink in. He did not like this one single bit. Crouching down, the tom gently and carefully grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and lifted him up ever so slowly. Now Atlas was not a particularly strong cat. In fact the word strong has never been used to describe him, except for one instance when he was a very small kitten, and his mother said he was strong for catching an injured and very undersized moth. But if there was one word to describe him in this moment, it was determined. So he began the very, very slow ascent backwards up the stream, (cautiously) dragging an almost unconscious and wounded tom out of the water. "It's okay Rainstorm," he said the best he could through a mouthful of fur and skin, "I'm here to help you, and I am an excellent helper. You can trust me, best friend!"

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