[color=D6CC88]Girl and cat ghosted through the dappled shadows of the forest, heading in no particular direction save "away".  Or rather, Wyth ghosted, and young Amuné did her best to avoid making too much noise with much less success.  She could move quietly enough on a good day, but it was not a good day.  In fact, it had not been a good day in quite some time.  A week?  Two?  How long had it been, she wondered, only to shake the question out of her head and focus on the important things.  She needed food, and badly.

Her appearance told the tale of difficult times all too clearly.  What had once been a cute outfit was now covered in dirt, small holes from carelessness grown slowly wider with further hard wear and her father's darning needle nowhere in sight.  Her short, mousy hair was a mess of leaves and tangles, her exposed skin grimy and even her shoes had dried mud where she'd stepped in it during the last rain.  Her nails needed a trim, and her mother would have insisted she wash them before coming to supper, but the caked dirt was evidence of her efforts digging up root vegetables.  She'd foraged enough to get by so far, but it was never enough.  Wyth had brought her a small rodent on two separate occasions.  The second time she was hungry enough that she'd tried to eat it despite not having flint and steel to make a fire for cooking, but the taste of raw meat had made her nauseated and she could only force down a small portion before she gave up.  She thought that eventually she'd be starved enough that it would seem appealing, but that wasn't the case -- at least, not yet.

Maybe she should risk a town, the next one she found.  She'd never stolen anything before, nor begged, but desperation caused a person to do things she wouldn't otherwise.  Flint meant she could make a small fire to cook things, and if she could grab journey foods too that would go a long way towards making a proper meal.  And a fire would help if that large animal she'd heard earlier decided little girls were good eating.  Wyth could drive it off if he had to, but she'd prefer if it didn't come near to start with.

Wyth lifted his shaggy head, whiskers forward as he sniffed at the breeze.  Amuné mimicked him.  She knew his senses were much keener than hers, and she didn't really expect to smell anything, but a dry and faintly smokey scent tickled her nose.  Fire?  She shuddered, reaching out a hand to touch Wyth's flank for reassurance.  It wasn't a big one, or the animals would be calling danger.  So that meant people.  She didn't want to go near people, not after what had happened.  They didn't like Magi, and they didn't like Ydra, and while she didn't look like either, she'd seen far too much of what happened to those they didn't like.  She didn't feel safe near people.

Only there'd be more people in a town, and not as many places to hide.  With shaky but resolute steps, she started following the scent of smoke upwind.  The little group wasn't all that far away.  A handful of people, one of them injured.  One injured, another helping him.  One -- Ydran?  And with a big cat too, though not the same kind as Wyth.  Her breath caught in her throat.  Her daddy said Ydra were much more aware than Murans, and animals were more alert still.  But she had to try.  Most of them looked like town people, nothing like her daddy's tribe.  None were heavily armed, save for the Ydran woman.  So all she needed to do was wait until most of them were distracted or asleep.  Asleep would be better -- and if it was dark, she and Wyth would have a big advantage over most of them.  If the Ydran lady and her cat caught up, maybe Amuné could convince them to let her go and not tell the others.  She sent up a silent prayer to Saint Edos and Saint Oranoak that they'd keep her safe for this, and apologized that she was going to be stealing because it was bad.  But she didn't dare approach them openly.  You couldn't trust strangers.  You couldn't even trust friends.

[i]Please, let my Mommy and my Daddy be okay, and let them come find me soon.[/i]

A soft sound escaped her, though she tried to keep from crying.  That was all it took to alert the other cat, and Amuné felt her blood run cold as its ears perked up and its head turned towards her.  Biting her lip so she wouldn't mess up again, she slowly backed away.  Every leaf that brushed her clothing was the grinding of a millwheel; a broken stick was a crack of thunder.  The cat got up, and the child's nerve broke.  She turned to run.

Amuné made it all of half a stride before the carelessness of blind panic sent her tumbling, a poorly-placed foot catching under a root and bringing her down with the crash of a hundred cook pots.  She managed not to cry out in alarm, but a muffled yelp of distress slipped out all the same.  Wyth planted himself over his girl and snarled a challenge at the panther, and the others as well.  By then they'd made enough noise that everyone in the little rescue party was aware that something was nearby, even if they didn't know who or what.[/color]