chapter 1

Chapter 1

The hunter lay almost motionless beneath the cool shade of the leaves above him. He had slowed his breath to calm himself before the strike. His eyes narrowed, better to focus and be certain. Cautiously, tentatively, he licked the edge of his lips in anticipation. Above, a bee droned, going about its daily business, unaware. Momentarily the killer’s attention was distracted, but cursing to himself he refocused and returned to the object of his hunt.

The bird was in a patch of dust, a little way away, in the sun. It was taking a brief moment to enjoy the heat and to fluff the dirt up into its wing feathers to rid itself of the irritating ticks. Unaware of the danger it was in, it shuffled down into the dust and spread its wings. By fluttering it could make a pleasing dust shower. If it spread its flight feathers out wide it was able to get the cleansing dust down to the feather quills. It seemed oblivious, blind to everything but the immediate pleasure of the soothing bath. But, being a bird, it was always conscious of danger and threat. Millions of years of evolution had made it naturally alert and wary. Rarely could it relax. So although it seemed wrapped up in the pleasure of the dust bath, it was still in a heightened state of awareness.

The hunter hunkered down lower still to make the most of the cover the leaves and shadows gave him. Slowly, step by tiny step, he moved through the undergrowth like a living shadow. To the unaware, the careless, the casual, he would blend into his surroundings completely. He was one with his environment. The only tell-tale sign was the whites of his eyes, and even they, if you took your attention away for a second or two, became dapples of light, indistinguishable from the myriad of others cast by the sun on the leaves. Again, he paused, and took in his position. His prey may have the advantage of generations of suspicion heaped upon mistrust, but he had stealth, cunning and ferocity. It was the natural order. Some things were made to kill, and others to be killed, pure and simple.

And today he would prove himself. His breathing was barely audible, the merest rise and fall of his chest the only sign. He could smell the bird, its musty aroma and the promise of fresh meat made his mouth water, but he resisted the urge to lick his lips and swallow. The bird continued it ritual, the dust filtering down deep to the roots of its feathers. Bit by bit , with each frenzied flutter, it brushed up more to ease the itch. It buried itself down flat into the hole it had made, revelling in the feeling of relief it gave. It spread its wings wide and took in the sun, all the while its yellow eye alert to any danger. Confident that it was safe, it fluttered once more.

The hunter decided that the time was right to strike. This was it. Time for killing. Slowly, cautiously, he began his crawl, the better to pounce. He kept his belly low to the ground, brushing through the leaf litter, keeping a low profile to avoid detection. His eyes never once left the bird in the open leaf by leaf making his way forward. He extracted his claws, his killing weapons. Eight lethal blades, sharpened to perfection, the better to dispatch his prey quickly and cleanly. He could feel the smooth sleekness of each and every one.

His crawl had taken him to the edge of his cover. Now all that separated him from the kill was two body lengths of open grass. He tensed his muscles, feeling the tautness like coiled springs. Pausing for a fraction of a moment, almost as if by habit, he offered up a silent prayer to the Goddess. Or was it a request? Grant him a clean kill, a quick kill, an easy kill.

His first kill.

The moment over. A breath and then unleash the power and fury. Flexing all of his muscles, claws extended fully, he launched himself, silently at the bird.

But the bird was quicker.

Before he had even landed, the bird had taken flight. Pure survival instinct driving it up and away from danger. It alighted on a branch of an old, overhanging apple tree and turning once to scold the black cat below, it took off for higher, safer grounds.

Jonci picked himself up out of the dirt, spitting dust and feather from his mouth with as much dignity as he could muster. He spat, narrowing his eyes and looking about him. He hoped no one had witnessed his failure.

"You know what your trouble is?"

He turned at the sound of the voice. Typical, he thought, it had to be her! His litter sister, Merelyne made her way out of the undergrowth with a smirk on her face. Her whiskers twitched with self-satisfaction and she held her tail upright. She’d been sat just to Jonci’s left and he hadn’t even noticed her. His concentration had been on the bird. He cursed himself. A good cat is always aware of everything around him.

"What do you want?" he asked, already knowing the answer. She wanted to gloat. She always was the more skilful even though he was older and male. And she liked to remind him regularly.

"You know what your trouble is?" she repeated. Jonci narrowed his eyes at her, his tail swishing irritably.

"What?"

"You try too hard."

Too hard? He’d been attempting to catch a bird for weeks now with no success, whereas Merelyne had already caught two that he knew of. Of course he was trying hard. What else was he supposed to do? And anyway, how can you try too hard. There was simply trying or not trying. And he was definitely trying.

"At least I am trying. I’m doing something, not like you."

"What do you mean"? Merelyne sounded put out, "I do lots of stuff."

"Yeah, if you count cleaning fur and sun-sleeping as ‘doing’!"

"Appearances are very important. A cat can want to look her best can’t she?"

"What for?"

"If I’m going to be queen someday, then I’ve got to be prepared."

"Ha!", Jonci snorted, "fat chance of that for you round here."

"Anyway, I don’t need to try. When it comes to killing, you’ve either got it or you ‘en’t. And you ‘en’t."

It was a cruel dig, he knew, made crueller by the fact that fundamentally it was true. Merelyne had been a born killer from the moment she opened her eyes. Her instincts were sharper, her balance better. When she was barely weeks old, it seemed she was catching moths and beetles in their barn. Jonci was two months old before he caught his first butterfly, and that was only because she had torn it’s wing already. Although he was the older, she always had the edge. She was the first to walk along the high beam in the big barn by climbing up the hay bales. When Jonci had tried, he had fallen into a gap behind the old barrow and had to be rescued by their mother. Merelyne was the first to explore out of the barn, into the yard with its space and noise and smells. Jonci had been terrified of the sky, a huge space where the ceiling should be, and had taken much flack from his sister to get him out.

Over time though, Jonci had become braver, more courageous. His climbing abilities had improved, his balance was better. He could walk walls as well as Merelyne and even climb higher on occasions. He was less afraid of things unknown now. He had also grown and now matched his sibling nose to tail, but in the area of hunting, she still had it. She was a natural and there was no denying it. It was as if she possessed an extra sense that he didn’t know about. She could conceal herself till she was all but invisible and her reactions were as quick as the lightning flashes they occasionally saw across the wide bay. He didn’t like to admit it, it hurt his male cat pride, but she was better than him, without trying.

"Anyway, don’t care who’s best or not, I’ve had enough." Jonci turned his back and began to walk away. Merelyne hurried after him.

"Wait for me, I’m coming too." And with that the disagreement was forgotten as it always was. She came up beside him. "Where’re you going?"

"Back t’ yard. I’m hungry. There’ll be food there." The young cats still relied on the food provided for them. It was placed each morning in an old chipped ceramic bowl in the corner of the outbuilding where they slept. Some of the older cats refused to eat metal container human food, preferring to fend for themselves. But all succumbed when times were hard and the young cats knew nothing more.

They made their way back through the garden, walking around the edge of the grass, instinct sticking them to the shade and cover of the plants. At the corner they jumped up on the edge of the wall. From this vantage point they could survey their world. The garden with its hiding places, cool grass and in one corner, a pond with frogs to torment. Over the wall was the farmyard, all dust and noise and smell. You needed to keep your wits about you here. There were vehicles coming and going constantly with huge wheels ready to flip or crush and unwary cat; there were the cattle that, although generally harmless, would easily trample without thinking; there was all manner of machinery ready to catch or trap a cat; and then there was Avagdu.

He generally spent most of his time attached to a long chain dozing in his small wooden house. Whilst he had never actually attacked one of them, the two cats knew it was best to keep out of his way. He had a fine reputation for catching rats and they had seen what he was capable of. When he was not on his chain they stayed alert and often kept to the high places where he couldn’t reach. Today, though, they could see him safely tied up and dozing half in his home.

The pair sat on the wall for a moment in the afternoon sun. Beyond the yard was the rest of the world. They had not yet left the relative safe confines of the land near the farm, but they would. They could feel the need to explore further growing inside of them, the pull of the unknown becoming too strong to ignore. Immediately beyond the yard lay the fields where the cattle grazed in summer and in the corner of one, sat an old vehicle rusting away. That was about as far as they had ever been. Beyond the fields in one direction were the dunes, hills of yellow sand and grass that carried to them tantalising scents of salt and fish and mystery. Past them lay something called ‘see’. Both cats had heard talk of it. Older cats would tell tales on dark nights of vast moving fields that could roar and swallow a cat whole, but if truth be told, neither of the youngsters had any idea what it really was. What could you see from the top of those dunes? What could see you? They didn’t know, but when they concentrated they could hear the distant roar that was so constant in their lives they barely noticed it. Only on the times when the sky turned black and the wind turned fierce from the direction of the sunset did the roar grow louder and they wondered with a shudder if the ‘see’ would be looking for them. The gull birds came screaming in from there occasionally, but the cats tried to avoid them with their vicious beaks and their dead eyes. It was said that one peck from them could snap you in half. And besides they smelled bad.

In the other direction, away from the dunes, in the distance were the hills. They were simply too far away for the cats to consider exploring, but sometimes Jonci liked to sit on some high vantage point and watch and wonder. Was it possible that in those far distant places there were other cats like him? Maybe even looking back in his direction and wondering the same.

The cats dropped down off the wall and into the yard, their world, happy and safe, and unseen by them, watched from the shadows.

Reviews

[Sonia Griggs]

First impressions - I am intrigued and definitely want to read on.

One or two suggestions for grammar/spelling/whatever (I’m sure you know better than me, but here goes):

“she’d been sat” – I thought it should be - she’d been sitting, or, she sat ?
“crush and unwary cat” – an not and
“…inside of them…” – do you need the “of” ? (I think it reads better without!)
“… corner of one, sat an old vehicle rusting away…” – don’t need the comma ?

Final sentence just doesn’t read quite right to me – maybe change to something like …and/as the unseen eyes watched from the shadows. That’s not right either, but do you see what I mean?

Finally I like the way the world is viewed through the cat’s eyes (makes me look at things with fresh perspective) – but it seems that here and there they view things as humans eg the “see” makes a noise and is a bit frightening, but they know what sand and dunes are.

Hope it helps - keep writing!

[Ian Crook]

Thanks Sonia

[Helen Day]

Just testing. Not sure I want to rate it out of 100 although I can see how this would be useful for publishers wishing to pick up on popular fan fiction etc.