Chapter Thirteen

“You make a habit of stealing people’s territory or something?”

“We live here. Have done for two years—shoo.”

“If you live here, how come we’ve slept right by that wall for the last two weeks and not seen ya?”

“We live here, alright?”

As I often do these days, I wake up confused. Logically, I know that I am no longer a tiny kitten at my mother’s side. That version of reality is nothing but a memory. In this world, there is a fiery pain in my side which dulls and swells at intervals.

But I don’t remember having such a weird pressure on my other side. It’s body shaped, I think, and reminds me of a fox before a name trickles through my ears and into my mind. Reeve. The fox nicknamed ‘Red’.

“Stay down,” he whispers. Nothing more.

Not wanting to open my eyes, I recall being at my mother’s side before my eyes opened. As a kitten, I lie there, both adult and child. Other senses open up a dark world to me.