The Spell of Rosette - Kim Falconer [25]
It was a large black cat, dead or unconscious. As she raised her staff it suddenly came to life, spitting and struggling. Rosette didn’t wait for her next breath. She held her staff high over her head and charged at the birds, screaming, ‘Get away!’ She swung her staff, well before coming into range. ‘Let go or I’ll break your necks!’
She struck at them, yelling at the top of her voice, swinging towards the crow first and sending it cawing to a low pine branch. The buzzard opened its wings as if to stand its ground, but hopped away quickly when Rosette’s staff whizzed by its head. With a few more swings and curses she had the birds scattered enough to turn her attention to the feline.
Kneeling down, she saw that, for all its large size, it was only a kitten.
‘Where’s your mamá?’ Rosette looked around the clearing as she spoke.
Wherever the mother was, the creature would be huge. She saw nothing nearby except the darkening woods and the buzzard swooping to a branch just above her.
The baby cat shuddered in the snow, its nose on the ground. One leg was bent at an unnatural angle and the others were tensed underneath its body. There was blood oozing from its neck and one eye had swollen shut. It tried to leap away only to collapse into the snow, inches ahead.
‘I’ve got you,’ Rosette whispered. ‘You’re safe with me.’
She scooped the kitten up into her arms, unbuttoned her coat and thick woollen sweater, tucking it into the warmth between her breasts. The touch of its cold body burned her skin and made her gasp.
She patted the animal. ‘Don’t worry. They can’t get you now, baby cat.’
She buttoned her sweater over it, tightening her coat as she stood. Drips of melting ice-water trickled down her belly, and something warmer too. The baby’s blood? She grabbed her staff and ran for home.
The birds closed in, seemingly united now in their effort to reclaim the feline, or perhaps even Rosette. She swung her staff and screamed at them before scooping snowballs and firing them at their heads, the fists of ice forcing them to seek cover. Rosette had an accurate throwing arm, thanks to her playful summers with Jarrod and Liam, and she felt grateful for it now as the birds flew higher and higher in retreat.
Constantly looking over her shoulder, the journey home seemed to take forever. At the edge of the woods she turned back, catching her breath. A pale beam of sunlight shone between the clouds. It was near to setting. The baby cat felt warm now, and the dripping had stopped. The double-time tap of its heartbeat against her own reassured her it was still alive.
‘We’ll be home soon,’ she cooed, patting the large bump in her coat.
Hoisting her staff like a fishing pole, she jogged the rest of the way to the cottage.
Around the corner of the ruined temple, on a fallen slab of marble entangled with bare vines and spotted with snow, a mammoth feline stood. She opened her mouth to roar, but let no air escape her lungs. She closed her eyes instead and sat. Her tail wrapped tight around her body, the tip lifting slightly, moving in fits and jerks. Slowly she lay down on her sternum, her forepaws stretched out in front of her like a sphinx. She didn’t flinch, but her heart pounded into the cold marble like a slow, aching drum.
Maudi was tortured by her choice. Was it the right one? She was tempted to run down the girl and retrieve her cub. Her whiskers twitched as Drack, a rust-and-black male, approached, sitting a distance away. She could feel the vibration of his purr through the marble slab, through her heart. She knew it was generated from fear, not joy—an involuntary response to alarm, something like the way humans might laugh when suddenly frightened. Drack probably thought she would eat him alive.
She considered it.
It was the only way, Maudi.
She turned her head towards her mate and snarled, her tongue