Standing in the dimly lit alleyway, his stern gaze fixed on the bustling crowd of Boston, Ratonhnhaké:ton ignored the small group of cats that surrounded him, listening to them as they mewed softly. He'd set down a bit of fish before, the remnants of his last meal, on the cobblestones for them to scarf down, and he figured they were just showing their appreciation. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts of the Templars, but as he bent down to sink his hand into the sea of mewing creatures, he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of duty to them, as though they were as much a part of his world as the people he fought for.

He straightened, stretching out his legs after the long trek through the dense, oppressive streets of the city--the cats, hungry and persistent, continued to nibble at the fish and brush against his legs--and with a soft grunt, Connor turned to leave, his heavy boots echoing in the silence of the street. As he started walking away, he didn't notice the growing number of eyes watching him from the shadows. What he thought was a mere handful of cats was slowly turning into a herd--a silent, furry army quietly trailing behind him.

Each step he took, a new cat joined the procession seemingly knowing that the large man was someone the strays appreciated, their padded feet nearly silent on the stones. Their eyes remained fixed on him, and soon, he was unaware that he had inadvertently become the center of a feline parade. As the chatter of passersby quieted around him, Ratonhnhaké:ton felt an odd sense of unease at their attention but couldn’t quite place the source of his discomfort. His hand instinctively drifted to the hilt of his tomahawk hanging off his belt as he quickened his pace, unaware that every move he made was followed by the soft padding of paws. It wasn't until a soldier dressed in blue pointed him out to his partner that he finally turned to see the expectant gazes of what looked like hundreds of cats.

Really? He hissed, only to be answered by a chorus of meows.