Submission (#6331) Approved

Anatoliy’s stuck. As stuck as stuck could possibly be, trapped in a cave while a sudden snowstorm rages beyond the lip. He barely had enough wood and flint to start a fire, with most of the surrounding area blanketed by a thick layer of woolly snow. A bear of some kind must have been using the cave to hibernate before being picked off in its sleep, as the bones have been left at the very back of the cavern for scavengers to pick at.

This whole mission absolutely reeked of a setup. From a horribly written note of twice-baked instructions to the drop off location being cased by authorities, Anatoliy has it on good authority that he’s been had.

Now he’s stuck out here in Strynhalde’s ever raging eternal winters, shivering in his deerskin boots and jacket. The rations he’d packed two days ago have long since run out, though he’s been picking at the crumbs for a couple hours now.

If only the storm would let up just a little bit, Anatoliy’s confident he could navigate his way back to the extraction point.

“Stupid blizzard; stupid note; stupid goddamn Marcoh,” Anatoliy whispers furiously. At this point, spite may be the only thing that can keep him going. “If I ever see his face, for as long as I live…”

The words trail off, and Anatoliy rubs his paws against his eyes. It would be dangerous to fall asleep now. Was there any guarantee he would wake up? Or will the exhaustion take him out before the cold can? Anatoliy doesn’t know anything for sure, but any move could be his last.

Suddenly, he wishes he were back in Enmir. Despite the disgusting conditions, at least there was someone new in town there, someone Anatoliy could’ve seen himself getting along with. Seemingly sweet, without too much of a stick on his shoulder—what was his name again, some kind of tool?

Well, whatever, Anatoliy shakes his head, dispelling the daydreaming as his shivering worsens. The paltry fire seems to be dwindling by the second, throwing embers and hissing like a kitten as it breathes its last couple breaths.

And then, without further ado, the fire goes out.

A deep chill immediately sets in Anatoliy’s bones, going from his paws to the tips of his ears in seconds. It feels like the air has rushed out the cave entrance, pulled into the snowstorm. Ice chilled bones creak as he tucks himself into a ball.

There’s not much left to do but wait for the inevitable. And when it comes, Anatoliy will welcome it with open arms.

He’s so tired. Nothing will change that, but he had wished, at least with his most recent missions, that he could’ve gotten out of the Teahouse for the long term. Or that the newcomer could’ve helped him do so, as the Elnin had so callously mentioned at their last moonlight meeting.

But good things like that don’t happen to kittoms like Anatoliy. Shuddering out a sigh, he feels the last of his hopes drift out of his mouth and dissipate in the air as fog.

Anatoliy drifts off for a time. When he comes to, he’s not quite sure if he’s dead, or just hallucinating. Something is poking and prodding at his side as if rummaging around for scraps of food. He barely has the energy to huff out a ghost of a laugh.

That seems to startle the small maybe-creature-maybe-hallucination. Somehow Anatoliy’s fallen onto his side, with his back against the cold cavern wall. The tiny thing is pulling at the fabric of his jacket, and he can’t muster up any indignation at being foraged upon. 

All the small creature seems to do is scrabble for purchase against his clothing, though. After a couple of minutes of scratching, he feels it give up and curl up against his snout.

Anatoliy cracks open one of his eyes. It’s too dark to make out much of anything, but the moonlight reflected by the crystalline snow near the lip of the cave gives him just enough to make out some features.

An inky, jet black body. A pearly white face. Small, dagger claw tips. Swirling patterns of icy blue. And most daringly, a strip of his jacket has been torn from his body and now lays wrapped around the creature’s neck like a scarf.

“A… Pomu?” Anatoliy warbles out uncertainly. To manifest one had been seemingly impossible for him before, but now… he supposes it’s better than dying alone. “Sorry… you won’t… last long—“

A sudden chirping shriek has Anatoliy moaning in pain. It yells in his face, as if daring him to repeat the sentiment. The inkblot wrings it’s fingers together, casting looks around the cave as if trying to decide what to do.

But before the Pomu can get any crazy ideas, there’s a clatter from the front of the cave, followed by harried shouting. And that can only mean one of two things; either someone’s come to finish the job, or he’s just stumbled upon enough cosmic luck to tide him over for the century.

He hopes it’s the latter. Anatoliy wouldn’t mind getting to know the lovely Elnin he left behind in Enmir, after all; and now that he has a possibly-real-possibly-hallucinated Pomu to show off, Anatoliy finds the idea even more exciting. For now, though, the kittom lets his eyes drift shut again.

Whatever fate has in store for him, Anatoliy lets it come to take him swiftly.