The wind howled through the broken city streets, the ruins of a world now silent. Rita, a 10-year-old female Dragoncat, paced back and forth. Standing at 3'8", her lithe frame was a perfect balance of agility and power. Her red and orange fur shimmered faintly in the dull light, with small, iridescent scales tracing along her back. Her tail flicked restlessly, and her wings—small but elegant—remained folded against her back.

She stopped, crouching low, her sharp eyes scanning the debris around her, every noise pulling her attention. Her breathing grew ragged, and her claws scraped lightly against the ground. The weight of the silence around her felt suffocating, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of uncertainty gnawing at her.

Rita (muttering under her breath): “Where are they...?”

Her wings shifted slightly, restless. She crouched again, her tail flicking back and forth, each motion more frantic than the last. The air was still, thick with the tension of waiting. Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to calm herself, but the longer she waited, the more her anxiety grew.

Finally, she sat down heavily, breathing faster than usual, her chest rising and falling with each quick, uneven breath. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold on. The others were supposed to return with food, but the silence dragged on—nothing to distract her from the gnawing worry that something had gone wrong.

Rita’s sharp eyes scanned the horizon again. There was nothing to do now but wait...