The kick hit Reign directly in the side with shocking force, knocking him back a few feet, but he recovered quickly and rounded on the man, lips peeled back in a snarl, and ears forward. He growled at the man and took a sudden step forward, scaring him away.
Reign watched as the man ran, deciding whether or not he should give chase, but he was pulled back by a small meow from the kitten. He turned and looked down at it. The poor thing was shaking in its little paws. Reign winced in pain as he stepped forward and almost in the same instant, Striker ran up to him.
“Are you alright?” He asked urgently, “I’m sorry I wasn’t faster! You startled me when you jumped forward and I stumbled over some trash bags.”
Reign chuckled lightly, then immediately regretted it when the pain made him wince again.
“You-you tripped on trash bags?” He asked in a sarcastic tone.
Striker scowled at him, but soon let it go. They had to keep moving, especially after an encounter that involved violence with a human. The two leggeds didn’t like that very much and tended to call the cavalry as soon as they could.
“Alright,” Striker said, “let’s scoot before the Catchers arrive.”
Reign nodded and bent down to lift the kitten onto his shoulders.
Striker’s paws were aching by the time they next stopped. San Francisco seemed to stretch for miles and neither of the brothers had any specific destination in mind. They were now in a totally different part of the city. It was still familiar, of course. Striker and Reign had spent their entire lives wandering the streets, but that didn’t mean the landscapes were all the same. The place they were at now seemed darker, sadder.
As the pair rounded a corner, Striker almost trod over a man’s foot. He stepped back so as not to be in the way of whatever retaliation came. When nothing happened, he looked up and fully processed the image before him. The man was sitting alone wrapped in layers of grubby jackets and scraps of cloth. His face was smeared with dirt and he had a scraggly salt and pepper beard. He didn’t run, he just looked a little startled.
Striker tilted his head and glanced over his shoulder at his brother, who looked just as confused. He looked back at the man and was almost surprised that he was still sitting there. Unmoving. Striker cleared his throat, and waited for something to happen, but nothing did.
Okayyy. . . He thought, tilting his head. A moment passed, then, on a whim, Striker took a small step towards the man, sniffing quietly. He smelled strangely of cinnamon mixed with what might have been. . . mint? Another, more familiar smell, was mixed in as well: Fear. Interesting. Striker took another small step forward, but the man still didn’t seem to be showing any signs of threat. Instead of trying to get away, the man held his open hand out to Striker. In his palm was what looked to be a small biscuit.
Curious, Striker stepped forward again and snatched the treat. The man pulled his hand back and regarded Striker with muddy brownish eyes. Striker stared right back. After another moment Striker turned and gestured to Reign that they should go.
Even after walking several yards, Striker could feel the man’s eyes on their backs all the way until they rounded a corner out of his line of sight.
