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He walked amidst the ash for an age. When the earth had at last calmed and no longer shook, the Lord had stayed holed up for a few days. When he at last poked his head out, sure that the danger had passed, he was greeted with silence and in that eerie quiet, the skies wept. Not with water but ash. He was all too familiar with it and its stink. Already a layer of it coated the ground and covered any of the fish that had remained to die under the sun. That light now hidden behind roiling clouds, turning all to perpetual twilight. The Lord was frightened but he knew he could not stay. There was no food and there was no water. He had to travel back from whence he came and thus he did.

It was a meager existence. He was able to scavenge what he could and drink from the foul waters, now choked with ash. It made him sick, even with small mouthfuls but he had too. Even as his body grew lean and his belly ached. The ash became so high he had to close his eyes as he tunneled through it. Worst of all was a great windstorm that had whipped up the ash and blinded the world. He was almost picked up and carried away before he found shelter amidst rocks.

The world smelled of death and brimstone, he could no longer groom himself for the ashen taste would make him sicker. The silence began to wear on the Lord. He had been so used to the chorus of life within his forest home, a home he now yearned for, that the lack of any such noise was almost too much stimulation. He began to call out, just to hear a noise but his throat began to go dry and his voice hoarse, so he had to stop. He kept on going, growing tired more and more each passing day. Eventually the ash lessened and disappeared from the skies. Light shone here and there behind the pale clouds. Perhaps he would see the forest again.

A grey ghost but skin and bones finally made his way back to a great incline. It was not one he remembered and upon his ascent, the incline grew and grew. It was a struggle for the small Lord, as weak and weary as he had become. But he knew what would await him on the other side. A forest of green. Ripe little prey. Fresh water to drink and perhaps a nice burrow somewhere to have a good sleep.

The Lord was not prepared for what he found. He paused in contemplation, his animal mind racing. There was nothing but an ash covered landscape. The same he had traversed. His tail wrapped around his body and the small cat shivered. He could tell there had once been a forest but it was no more. Destroyed by some calamity that had rocked the world. He could not truly grasp what had happened. All the Lord knew is that there had been a great fire, a great flooding and then the world quaked. It had been so long since his last rest without worry and fear. Not since he had found the soft perch in that great hollow tree had he felt safe. Perhaps he never should have left. Perhaps the Pale Giants would have fed him? Oh well. His hopes dashed, the Lord flopped to his side, utterly spent. Dehydrated and starving, he could go on no longer. 

So, the Lord of All Cats shut his eyes and all faded to black.