Femi's gaze swept over the crate's contents, and his shoulders slumped with disappointment. A cracked, weathered water skin canteen and a few grimy bandages were all that greeted him. The bandages were stiff with age, their edges frayed, and the canteen felt light in his hands, its leather surface rough and cracked from years of neglect. He turned it over, shaking it gently, but no sound came from within. Empty. Of course.
"Anything is better than nothing, I guess," he muttered, his voice barely audible in the room's oppressive silence. The words felt hollow, but they were all he had to cling to.
Careful not to disturb the lifeless creature sprawled nearby, Femi gathered the meager supplies and retreated to his corner refuge. The stone floor was cold beneath him, the chill seeping into his bones as he sat down. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through his arm as he moved, a brutal reminder of the creature's jagged teeth sinking into his flesh. He hissed through clenched teeth, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps as he tried to steady himself.
With trembling hands, he uncorked the canteen, hoping against hope for even a drop of water to soothe his parched throat. But the inside was dry as dust, the faint smell of mildew wafting out as he peered inside. He sighed, a sound heavy with exhaustion, and set the canteen aside. It might be useless now, but if he found water later, it could mean the difference between life and death.
Next, he turned his attention to the bandages. They were far from ideal, stained and stiff, smelling faintly of earth, but they were better than leaving his wounds exposed. He winced as he wrapped the rough fabric around the deep bite on his arm, the pressure sending fresh waves of pain radiating through his shoulder. The bandages clung awkwardly to his fur, the material scratching against his skin, but he tightened them as best he could, gritting his teeth against the discomfort.
Then his gaze fell on his tail. It twitched involuntarily, the movement unfamiliar and unsettling. The appendage was sleek but bore a nasty gash where the creature had bitten him. Blood matted the tail, and the wound pulsed with every heartbeat. Femi stared at it, his brow furrowing as he tried to figure out how to wrap it.
"This tail is giving me rat vibes," he muttered, disbelief tinging his voice. "I hope I haven't turned into some giant rodent. That would be too cruel." He chuckled wryly, the sound echoing faintly in the empty room. "Ah, no, my enemies aren't that evil."
Still, the thought lingered, a seed of unease taking root in his mind. Deep down, he knew what he was. His paws were still slick with blood, his claws sharp and unfamiliar. The tail was just another piece of this bizarre puzzle, another reminder that he was no longer the person he had been.
He fumbled with the bandages, trying to secure them around the wound, but the tail's movements made it difficult. Every time he thought he had it, the bandages slipped, the fabric unraveling as the tail twitched again. Femi let out a frustrated groan, his ears flattening against his head. "How am I supposed to work with this?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. The room offered no answers, only the silence of stone and shadow.
---
Finally, Femi leaned his head back against the rough wall, the surface pressing into his scalp. His chest still heaved, the adrenaline from the fight slowly ebbing away, leaving behind a dull ache in his arm and the persistent throb in his tail. The bandages he'd clumsily tied were already slipping, but he didn't have the energy to fix them.
As he sat there, his mind wandered, unbidden, to a memory he hadn't thought of in years. He was a boy again, no older than ten, running through the dense underbrush of the forest near his grandfather's village. The sun had been high, casting dappled light through the canopy, and the air was thick with the scent of earth and greenery. He remembered the thrill of the chase, the way his heart had raced as he darted after a chicken, his small feet pounding against the forest floor.
But then, he'd tripped. A gnarled root, hidden beneath a layer of moss, had caught his foot, sending him sprawling. Pain had shot through his leg, sharp and immediate, and when he'd looked down, he saw the blood, dark and glistening, welling up from a deep gash on his shin.
He'd limped home, tears streaming down his face, his breath hitching with every step. His mother had been in the garden when he arrived, her hands stained with soil from tending to her herbs. She'd taken one look at him and dropped her trowel, rushing to his side.
"Oh, Femi," she'd murmured, her voice soft but tinged with worry. She'd knelt beside him, her calloused hands gentle as she examined the wound. Her touch had been steady, reassuring, even as he winced and sniffled.
"It's going to hurt for a moment," she'd warned, her dark eyes meeting his. "But I'll make it better. Just hold still."
He'd clenched his teeth as she cleaned the cut with water and a pungent herbal paste, her movements quick and efficient. Then she'd taken a strip of clean cloth, part of an old dress she'd cut up for bandages and wrapped it tightly around his leg. Her fingers had worked deftly, tying the knot with a firmness that promised security.
"Femi," she'd said, her voice low and firm, "how many times have I told you to avoid rough play? How many times?"
He'd looked down, unable to meet her eyes, his cheeks burning with shame. She wasn't yelling, but the disappointment in her voice cut deeper than any shout.
"I'm sorry, Mama," he'd mumbled, his voice trembling. "I just… I wanted to catch the chicken. I thought I could."
She'd sighed, a heavy, weary sound, and set aside the cloth she'd been using to clean his leg. For a moment, she'd just looked at him, her dark eyes searching his face. Then she'd reached out, cupping his cheek in her hand. Her palm was rough from years of work, but her touch was gentle.
"I know you want to play," she'd said, her voice softer now. "But playing doesn't mean being reckless. You have to think, Femi. You have to be careful. One day, I won't be here to patch you up."
He'd nodded, swallowing hard, though he hadn't fully understood her words at the time. How could he? She was his mother, strong, unshakable, always there. The idea of her not being there had seemed impossible.
Femi's throat tightened at the memory, his chest aching with a different kind of pain. His mother's face, her voice, her hands were so vivid, so real, it was as if she were right there with him. But she wasn't. She was gone, and he was alone, sitting in the dim light of a cold, unfamiliar place, his own clumsy bandages already failing him.
He opened his eyes, blinking away the moisture that had gathered there. The rough wall was still hard against his back, the pain in his arm and tail still throbbing. But for a moment, just a moment, he'd felt her presence again.
He closed his eyes, trying to block it out, but the images of the creature's yellow eyes and jagged teeth flashed in his mind, refusing to be ignored. Femi's tail twitched again, and he sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. "One problem at a time," he whispered, his voice soft but firm. "One problem at a time."