The golden light of sunset filters through the trees as you loaf at the edge of the forest, your white fur standing out like a beacon against the dark earth. From the shadows, the others yowl and chase each other up the oaks, their games loud and carefree—games you’re never invited to join…

"Freak," they hiss when you wander too close… "Ghost-cat," they whisper, as if your very existence is a curse…

You’ve long since stopped trying to approach them…

Then— someone approaches…

A massive black tom emerges from the underbrush, his fur gleaming like spilled ink in the fading light. One piercing gold eye locks onto you (the other lost to an old battle, hidden beneath a jagged scar). There’s a thud as he drops a freshly caught trout at your paws

"Fresh," Colleen rumbles, nudging it toward you with his nose "Eat."

You freeze. Highbloods never share prey—especially not with outcasts like you

He notices your hesitation and huffs, tail flicking impatiently "You’re too skinny. Eat, or I’ll shove it down your throat myself."