moni uddin

The Cat and the Beast

The last grains of sand clinging to Sable’s fur fell away as he padded along the dirt path that cut through rolling fields of soft green. The Blue Mountain rose again on the horizon, steady as a promise. Though he had lost precious time, a fresh resolve filled him. His pack was now heavy with the bounty of smoked fish from the Tall Shores, yet another hunger simmered just beneath his satisfaction. The encounter with the mirror had sparked something new—a craving for the unknown. What other mysteries might lie ahead?

The stone lingered in his thoughts. Sometimes, when his mind drifted, he thought he heard it, the faint hum it had made back in the shack. No one in Mowton had believed him, but he made a quiet promise to himself that he would return with proof. A small, triumphant smile crossed his face as he tore into two pieces of smoked fish—one extra today. As the flavours settled in, his thoughts wandered to the castle towns. Would the folk there know of this strange fish? He bet they would trade a fortune for it. He imagined the crowded streets, the tales spilling out from tavern doors, the lions parading in shining white armour—a world of colour beyond Mowton. 

Sable continued down the dirt path, surrounded by grassy fields dotted with small clumps of trees and marked by thick, fluffy clouds drifting lazily above. At first, the short grass brushed softly against his fur, but as he journeyed on, he noticed it growing steadily taller and denser, now tickling him at his sides. He passed a wooden post with a worn sign that pointed towards the Blue Mountains; the word ‘Horntree’ was written on it. 

Ahead, Sable spotted signs of a time gone by. Derelict stone huts with thatched roofs, windmills with broken sails, and abandoned market stalls that once held life and chatter littered the path ahead. The grass had choked the life from the village.

Soon, Sable found himself weaving through the chest-high grass that whispered around him with each step. The bright green blades softened at the ends into a dark, tangled brown. The grass had grown taller still, with thick, wiry stalks that crowded the path. Sable lifted a paw to brush them aside, but his movements slowed as he noticed something strange. The grasslands were silent—no birds fluttered, or insects chirped. It was as if the land held its breath.

Signs of a bygone community still dotted the grasslands. Sable spotted great stone shrines in gardens of the past, their body broken, covered in moss and grass, forgotten. Overhead, the sky had become a murky grey as clouds cast shadows across the grasslands. A small drop of rain struck Sable’s fur, followed by another, then another, until a light drizzle misted the air. The tall grass swayed and darkened with the rain, and with each step, the mud grew heavier beneath his paws, clinging and sucking him down. Sable pressed forward, muscles tense, trying to shake the unease creeping up his spine.

A sudden crack tore through the silence—a low, rolling rumble that echoed across the sky. Sable stopped, ears perked, as his fur prickled. It sounded like thunder, but no lightning split the sky before the sound settled, leaving only the patter of rain and the whisper of tall grass shifting in the breeze. 

For a time, only the rain kept Sable company as he pressed onward on the faint dirt path through the towering grass. But now and then, that crack and rumble would sound again. Slowly, he realised it wasn’t thunder. The eerie noise came from different directions each time, sending ripples through the surrounding grass, causing the tall blades to sway like a quiet warning.

Sable clutched his pack tighter. The cracks and rumbles stopped suddenly, but the vibrations quickened. He felt them deep in his paws, not just faint tremors but powerful, purposeful movements that sent shivers along his spine. Picking up his pace, Sable broke into a small jog. The vibrations pulsed through the ground with the weight of cannon fire, so strong that he nearly lost his balance. Whatever it was, it was moving in the distance—and closer than he would have liked.

His jog turned into a light run, his movements careful and light as he glided between the blades, doing his best not to draw attention. The rain became his only companion again, the ominous sounds fading into silence. Just as he steadied himself, the tall grass suddenly parted, revealing a clearing. Sable skidded to a halt, nearly slipping in the damp mud. He scanned the area—it was empty, nothing but mud, thick and pungent with rain.

Sable decided to take a moment to rest here, away from the suffocating grass and recover his energy. He sat in the middle of the open clearing just so he could spot anything approaching . Taking out his journal and quill, he tried to write, but it was difficult. His trembling paw smudged the letters as he wrote.

The Grasslands, Spring.

What were those sounds . . . those vibrations? If it’s a creature, why haven’t I seen any prey, any other life here, not even a trace of droppings?

I feel my fear spiralling, imagining what this creature could be and all the horrible ways it could eat me.

I need to calm down.

What did that heron monk say to me once in Mowton?

“Fear is what you build up in your mind. Focus on what’s really there, and it often goes.”

Yes, I’ll try that. I will focus on the soft mud beneath me, moulding into my form—the patter of the rain like a lullaby . . . a sweet lullaby.

I shouldn’t sleep. I can’t. Maybe I’ll just close my eyes for a bit . . .

Sable jolted awake to darkness and rain, his heart racing as though released from one bad dream into another. The small peace he had found earlier was replaced by a cold, uneasy feeling. Something was close—so close that his fur prickled. 

Heavy rain blurred the view, and instinct kept him rooted in place. Then he heard a deep grunt directly above him, followed by a cloud of warm, white breath. It floated down and danced with the rain in ghostly wisps, carrying with it the faint smell of decay.

He lifted his head inch by inch, careful not to make any sudden movements. Just a few metres above, crumpled layers of auburn skin came into view—a massive creature, no, a beast. . . It turned its head slowly from side to side, grunting as it released heavy gusts of breath, its black horns slicing through the air as it searched for something it couldn’t quite place, a scent it hadn’t encountered before, which had clearly disturbed it. 

Sable caught a glimpse of it. Pointy, flattened ears, each topped by a black horn, with a dense golden ring piercing the septum of its nose. But what chilled Sable to his core was the deep hollow craters where the beast’s eyes should have been.

Then, silence and darkness. Sable closed his eyes. There was no running, not yet; he had not been noticed. His only chance, he reminded himself, was to focus on what he could control. Now, more than ever, he would need it. Drawing his attention inward, he steadied his breath.

They were heavy at first as the weight of his fear pressed down on him. Slowly, he steadied them, each breath becoming lighter, more controlled. Once his breathing came naturally, he shifted his focus to the rain, listening to its rhythmic patter once again. The beast let out a deep grunt every so often, and with each movement, the earth trembled. Still, Sable kept his eyes shut. He could feel the rain hit the top of his head, some droplets soaking into his fur while others rolled down his face, cold and oddly comforting. Now and then, fear crept back in, threatening his calm. But each time, he returned his mind to the present, holding his ground in stillness.

A warm, yellow glow pierced his closed eyelids, and he felt the sun’s gentle warmth spreading over him. He opened his eyes cautiously, surprised at how much time had passed. Though unease lingered, he felt he had endured the worst. His fur and clothes were damp from the rain, but the sun’s rays began their work, bringing a welcome warmth. He heard a grunt behind him, but it sounded lighter, less urgent. The beast, no longer searching, lay at the edge of the clearing. It was enormous, at least the size of several shacks, its auburn body rippling with thick muscle. Its body rose and fell gently as it slept. Yet the hollow eye sockets seemed to stare, even in sleep. Was this the beast the tigress had warned him about?

Fear surged again, and Sable quickly looked away, shutting his eyes. As brave as she seemed, he doubted even the tigress could take on this beast. He took a moment longer to gather himself, focusing on the gentle sway of the tall grass. The beast hadn’t sensed him before, likely because of his size and scent. Village cats didn’t venture this far out, he doubted it even knew what one was.

With slow, deliberate movements, Sable rose to his feet. Ahead, he saw several paths of trampled grass where the beast had moved. He chose the middle path and began to creep across the clearing, silent as a shadow. Just a few more steps, and he would be out. But then, a splash broke the silence. His foot had sunk into a puddle from last night’s rain.

A deafening roar tore through the air, and Sable clapped his paws over his ears, desperately trying to block the sound. Without a second thought, he bolted, his body moving on instinct alone. He ran on all fours, feeling the earth shake as the beast pursued him. Its thunderous steps grew closer, each roar splitting the air and rattling his bones. The tall grass whipped against his face, his pack slamming against his back with every stride. He changed directions as often as he could, but the beast was relentless.

Then, suddenly, the grass gave way, and Sable tripped on his feet, crashing onto the ground. He lay there and scrunched his face, waiting for the worst to happen, his body trembling uncontrollably.

But nothing happened. He heard a final, terrifying roar as the beast halted its pursuit, retreating deep back into the grasslands. Sable lay still, weak but grateful. Why had it stopped? It had almost had him. His entire body ached, and as relief washed over him, exhaustion settled in. Soon enough, he drifted into a restless sleep, visions of faces with soft patterns and warm expressions blurring in his mind. These shadow figures lifted him gently. He didn’t care where they were taking him, he was too tired to resist.