Dune discovered a fondness for cats at a young age. At first, in a way, they were competition-- he begged alongside them at the docks for a scrap to eat or a spare coin. Or, on the worst days, the lost days, he would be happy just to get a shred of kindness; a look, a smile, a touch.
In the beginning the cats didn’t care for him, no doubt sensing that he had nothing to share with them. But as time passed they came to an unspoken understanding, maybe even a kind of kinship. Sometimes, on cold nights, a stray would curl up on his back and, purring, fall into a warm sleep. A great honor for Dune, one he did not take lightly.
Even later in life, as the boy grew up and graduated from penniless beggar to… well, simply being poor, he found in cats a companionship that he never had with other equines. Perhaps it was because they didn’t talk. He let them into his shop and found a comfort in the quiet way they shared the space. Cats were one of the only consistencies in his life, an anchor by which to measure the way the rest of the world changed.
So when he falls asleep and enters a dark dream, when he hears a girl sobbing and senses ghosts, coming and going, over and over in a repressive, devastating loop, Dune shapes his form without thinking. He becomes a little orange cat, scrawny but fastidiously clean. On soft little paws he trots over to the woman on her knees and butts into her shoulder with his head. His tail curls at the tip, pleased.
He begins to purr with a kind of urgency, like he might be running out of time. Like the demons will come back (there, can you sense them at the edge of your vision, taking shape again?) unless she turns her mind away.
In the beginning the cats didn’t care for him, no doubt sensing that he had nothing to share with them. But as time passed they came to an unspoken understanding, maybe even a kind of kinship. Sometimes, on cold nights, a stray would curl up on his back and, purring, fall into a warm sleep. A great honor for Dune, one he did not take lightly.
Even later in life, as the boy grew up and graduated from penniless beggar to… well, simply being poor, he found in cats a companionship that he never had with other equines. Perhaps it was because they didn’t talk. He let them into his shop and found a comfort in the quiet way they shared the space. Cats were one of the only consistencies in his life, an anchor by which to measure the way the rest of the world changed.
So when he falls asleep and enters a dark dream, when he hears a girl sobbing and senses ghosts, coming and going, over and over in a repressive, devastating loop, Dune shapes his form without thinking. He becomes a little orange cat, scrawny but fastidiously clean. On soft little paws he trots over to the woman on her knees and butts into her shoulder with his head. His tail curls at the tip, pleased.
He begins to purr with a kind of urgency, like he might be running out of time. Like the demons will come back (there, can you sense them at the edge of your vision, taking shape again?) unless she turns her mind away.
@Luvena
