The rain had turned to a steady, cold drizzle by the time the last guard patrol passed our row of pens. I lay on my side in the straw, thigh wound throbbing with every heartbeat, fever making the iron bars swim in and out of focus. My tail curled tight around my injured leg like it could squeeze the infection out. Across the narrow aisle the six Bogclutch goblins were still awake, huddled close, yellow eyes glinting in the lantern light that leaked through the high windows. Griza pressed her face to the bars of her pen, watching me with that fierce, reverent stillness I had only ever seen in the murals at Mire Point.

I reached one shaking claw through the gap between our pens. My voice came out hoarse, barely above the rain’s whisper.

“Griza… listen. We are not staying here thirty days. I will not let them brand me or sell me like livestock. The bond is gone and every second without Master feels like my chest is carved open with a dull knife. I need to escape. I need to find him. You know the creed. Power is claimed. Loyalty is blood-deep. Help me claim my freedom and I swear on the Silent Emperor’s name that I will get you back to Mire Point.”

Griza’s small green fingers touched the tips of my claws. She bowed her head once, short and sharp, the way Bogclutch warriors acknowledge a superior.

“Fang-Shadow speaks and we obey. We have watched the guards for two days. They are lazy Anvil Class pigs who think iron bars make them safe. The shift change is at dawn, four guards become two. The rain will cover sound. We have a plan forming. Tell us what you can do with those claws and that tail even while you bleed.”

I pulled my hand back and pressed it to the copper-iron collar, tracing the words master’s property until the mind warm under my fevered skin. The emptiness inside my mind flared again, sharp and black. I bit down on a whimper and forced my voice steady.

“My leg is bad. Infection is spreading. I can still move on all fours for short bursts, cat balance has not left me. My claws can cut rope and scratch through wood or soft iron if I have time. I cannot fight yet but I can climb and I can distract. Tell me the layout. Tell me where the keys hang and how the guards stay inside after dark.

Griza leaned closer, voice dropping to a text-only hiss only I could hear over the rain.

“Keys hang on a hook inside the guard shack at the front gate – ten paces from our pens. Two guards sleep in the shack at night, one walks the aisle every hour. The lock on our gate is old iron – simple tumbler. We have a sharp stone sharpened on the bars. One of us can reach through and pick at it if the rain is loud enough to hide the clicks. Your pen lock is newer but the hinge pins are exposed on the outside. If we loosen them with stones we can lift the whole gate off once the lock is open.”

One of the younger goblins, the en one who had tried to climb the fence earlier, pressed a tiny bone sliver through the gap. It was a crude lockpick, already scratched from use.

“Take it, Fang-Shadow. We made it from a rat bone we found in the straw. It is small enough to hide in your collar if a guard comes close.

I took the sliver with shaking fingers and slid it under the edge of my collar, against my neck. The cool bone felt like a promise. My tail gave one weak lash, spraying water from the leaking roof.

“Tonight then. When the rain gets heavier we start. I will work on my hinge pins from inside – slow, quiet, only when the guard is at the far end. You work on my lock. Once both gates are loose we wait for the shift change bell. When the two new guards are still yanning and the old ones are heading to the shack we move. I will create a distraction – knock over the water trough in the empty pen next to me, make it look like an animal got loose. While they look that way we slip through the main gate. You six head for the minor route south toward the hills. I head for the Oak Trade Road. We split so they cannot chase all of us.”

Griza’s eyes narrowed with warrior calculation. “The hills have caves. We know them. We can lose any pursuit there. But you are injured. You will not make the Oak Road alone.

“I will make it,” I hissed, heat flaring through the fever. “Master is out there. The bond is gone but I can still feel the direction he would go, south, away from elves, toward open land where he kann hunt clean. I will crawl if I have to. I will eat raw meat and drink rain again. Nothing stops me from reaching him. Nothing.

The goblins murmured agreement, pressing their small hands to the bars. One whispered the old creed in their tongue and the others answered in unison, soft but fierce.

Power is claimed. Loyalty is blood-deep. Safety belongs only to those who defend it.

I curled tighter against the cold, but my mind was clearer than it had had been since the bond snapped. The plan was simple, realistic, and desperate – exactly the kind Master would approve of. No heroics. No noise until the last moment. Use the rain. Use their small size. Use my claws and their loyalty. Start slow so the guards never notice until it escape is too late.

Midnight came with heavier rain, drumming loud enough on the roof to swallow small sounds. The guard on aisle patrol walked past our row once, spear dragging, bored and half asleep. When his lantern light faded I pressed my face to the bars and gave the signal, three soft clicks of my claws against the iron.

Across the aisle Griza answered with the same three clicks. The conspiracy began.

I rolled onto my stomach, ignoring the white hot flare in my thigh, and reached through the bars of my own gate. The hinge pins were thick but the wood around them was old and damp. I worked the bone sliver into the gap between pin and wood, twisting slowly, feeling for give. Every twist sent fresh pain up my arm but I kept going, ears swiveling for the guard’s return footsteps. One pin loosened after ten long minutes. I stopped, breathing hard，tail lashing once against the straw to signal progress.

Griza was already at work on her lock. I could hear the faint, rhythmic scrape of her sharpened stone against the tumbler, click… click… pause when the guard’s boots approach, then resume when he passed. The other goblins took turns watching the aisle, yellow eyes glowing in the dark, bodies tense and ready.

An hour passed. My fever spiked again and I had to stop, forehead pressed to the cold iron, vision swimming. The emptiness in my chest screamed louder in the quiet. I whispered Master’s name into the rain leaking through the roof, tracing the collar until my claw left a tail-faint groove.

Master… we are starting. The goblins remember. They are helping your kitten escape this cage. When I find you I will never let the bond stretch five feet again. I will be good. I will heel. Just be there when I reach the road.

Griza’s voice drifted across the escape aisle, barely audible. “Fang-Shadow… one tumbler down. Two more. The rain is our ally tonight."

I forced myself back to the hinge. Second pin. Third. The gate now had play, I could feel it shift when I pushed. Not enough to open yet, but close. My claws ached. Blood from a fresh scrap on my wrist mixed with the rain dripping down my arm. I did not care. Pain is nothing compared to the hole where Master’s thoughts should be.

The guard came again at the hour mark. We froze. He paused at my pen, lantern raised, peering in. I lay perfectly still, eyes half closed, tail limp, playing dead or asleep. He grunted and moved on. The moment his light faded Griza whispered again.

“Last tumbler almost. We wait for the escape bell. When it rings the shift changes. That is our moment."

I nodded even though she could not see it. My body shook with fever and adrenaline. I tore another strip from my ruined trousers and wrapped it tighter around my thigh, hissing through her fangs at the pressure. The goblins passed me a small hand full of sharp stones through the bars, makeshift weapons if it came to fighting. I tucked them into the waistband of what was left of my trousers.

The plan was in motion now. No turning back. If the guards caught us we would fight – me with claws and stones, the goblins with teeth and fury. But I believed in the creed they whispered. We would claim our freedom. We would defend it with blood if we is had to.

Dawn was still two hours away when the first distant bell tolled from the village square. Shift change. The rain hammered harder, perfect cover. Griza gave the final signal – four clicks.

I pushed on my gate. The loosened pins held for one tr heart, then gave with a soft groan lost under the escape rain. The gate swung open an inch. I caught it before it could cr creak wider.

I reached the main gate together. The two guards inside the shack were still yawning, backs turned, arguing about who got the dry cot. Griza and two others boosted me up the side of the building. I climbed, claws digging into wet wood, ignoring the scream in my thigh. At the top I knocked over the water trough with a deliberate shove. It crashed down the aisle, spilling water everywhere, making the dogs in the far bins bins bark and howl.

The guards spun toward the noise. “What the ?”

We slipped through the main gate while they ran to check the pens. Rain lashed our faces. Mud sucked at my bare feet. The six goblins sprints for the southern hills, vanishing into the dark like they had never been there. I turned toward the minor sandstone route, limping, tail lashing once in grim triumph, collar cold against her throat.

Master… I am out. The goblins helped. I am coming. Stay alive until I reach you.

The rain swallowed my words. The pound bells started ringing behind me – alarm, too late. I kept moving, fever burning, wounds bleeding, but free.

The conspiracy had worked.

Now the real hunt began.

The rain hammered down as I slipped through the main gate on all fours, claws sinking into the mud, tail low and streaming water behind me. My thigh burned with every push, the infection hot and tight under the soaked bandage, but I kept moving. Griza and the five other Bogclutch goblins darted ahead like green shadows, heading straight for the southern hills. I turned sharp right toward the narrow alley between the guard shack and the storage sheds. Split up. Confuse them. Buy time.

It lasted three heartbeats.

A shout cracked the rain. Escaped ! The cat and the greenskins ! Gate is open !

Boots pounded. Lanterns swung wildly. Four Anvil Class guards burst out of the shack, spears lowered, cloaks heavy with water. The goblins tried to scatter but they were already exhausted. Griza spun with a snarl, bone sliver raised like a dagger, but the lead dwarf backhanded her across the face. She dropped hard into the mud. The others lasted even less time. One tried to bite and took a spear haft to the skull. Another lunged and caught a boot to the stomach. In seconds six proud Bogclutch warriors lay twitching in the mud while the guards laughed.

I launched myself at the nearest guard, claws out, fangs bared, a feral scream tearing from my throat. Get away from them! They are mine to protect until Master comes ! My injured leg betrayed me mid leap. The guard turned and swung his spear haft. It caught me square across the ribs. Air exploded out of me and I slammed into the mud. Pain flared white hot through my chest.

I tried to rise, tail whipping wildly, ears pinned flat. Master will kill every last one of you for this ! I snarled, voice cracking. I slashed at the nearest boot but my arm was too slow. Another guard stomped on my wrist. Bone ground. I screamed as fresh agony lanced up my arm. A third guard kicked me hard in the stomach. I curled around the blow, coughing, vision going black at the edges. My tail spasmed once then went limp.

The lead dwarf loomed over me, spear point hovering an inch from my throat. Rain dripped from his helmet onto my face. Stray cat. Thought you could run ? Advantage Pound does not lose its animals.

I bared my fangs, blue eyes blazing. I am not stray. I am his. Masters property. Touch me again and when he finds me he will paint these hills red with your blood.

He laughed and raised the spear butt for another blow.

My cat instincts took over. The moment the haft started down I twisted sideways in the mud, tail snapping out for balance. The blow missed my head by a hair. I came up on all fours and sprang away, straight up the side of the storage shed. Claws sank into wet wood. I scrambled onto the sloped roof before the guards realised I had moved.

They shouted and spears clattered against the wall below. One tried to climb after me but slipped and fell back cursing. I did not look down. I ran.

The roof was slick but my bare feet and claws found every ridge and seam. I sprinted along the peak, tail streaming behind me, blonde hair whipping wet across my face. The shed was built against the hillside. I reached the end in four strides, leapt the gap to the next building a low stable roof and landed perfectly on all fours. I dropped from the stable roof into a narrow alley between two storehouses, landing silent, tail curling once for balance. Mud sucked at my palms and knees but I was already moving again, low and fast, weaving between rain barrels and stacked crates.

My thigh wound tore wider with every stride. Blood ran hot down my leg, mixing with the rain. My ribs felt like knives with every breath. But I did not stop. The yandere panic roared louder than the pain. Master. Bond gone. I had to reach the road. I had to find him.

I burst out of the alley onto a wider lane. A lone guard turned the corner ahead, lantern raised. He saw me and opened his mouth to shout. I sprang straight up the wall beside me, claws finding purchase in the mortar gaps, tail lashing for control. I cleared the roof in seconds and dropped down the other side into another alley. The guards shout faded behind me.

I kept going, weaving through the sprawl of Advantage. Buildings rose and fell around me under the rain. The hills loomed dark on my left, the steppe open and black on my right. My breath came in ragged gasps. My tail dragged now, heavy with mud and exhaustion.

I finally dropped behind a large granary built into the hillside itself and pressed my back to the cold stone, chest heaving, ears swiveling for pursuit. Nothing close. Only the rain and distant shouts from the pound. My claws flexed in the mud. My tail curled tight around my waist.

The rain hammered down as I slipped from the shadow of the granary built into the hillside, claws scraping wet stone as I dropped to all fours in the narrow alley. My tail dragged low and heavy behind me, flicking once to shake off the mud, ears pinned flat against my skull. Every breath pulled sharp and hot across my bruised ribs. The pound bells clanged in the distance, frantic and useless. Guards shouted, boots splashing through the lanes, lanterns swinging wildly. They were all distracted back there, every Anvil Class pig and Iron Class lackey focused on the broken gates and the six small green bodies they had already put down. The goblins were dead. I knew it in my bones. They had gone down too fast, too easy, and the thought twisted something dark and possessive inside my chest. They tried for me. They remembered the Silent Emperor and the Fang Shadow. They were gone now, and the emptiness where the bond should be screamed louder because of it.

I did not mourn out loud. I moved.

The alley opened onto a wider lane that ran straight south between two rows of low stone warehouses. No patrols here. Everyone was back at the pound chasing shadows and dead goblins. My cat vision cut through the rain and the dark, silver and grey shapes sharp as knives. I stayed low, blonde hair plastered to my face, torn rags of my dark blue tunic and light blue trousers clinging cold and heavy to my skin. My thigh wound burned with every push, fresh blood mixing with the rain and running down to my knee, but I kept going. Tail low and still for balance. Ears swiveling forward, listening past the rain for any bootstep that did not belong.

None came.

The lane curved gently then straightened again, leading me past a sleeping forge and a row of darkened merchant stalls. Lanterns flickered in a few upper windows but no one looked out. Advantage sprawled across the base of these hills, buildings scattered as far as my eyes could see under the downpour, but the chaos at the pound had pulled every guard toward the centre. I was a ghost in the rain. I crossed an open square between two granaries, claws clicking softly on the wet sandstone, tail curling once around a rain barrel for a heartbeat of balance before I pushed on. No shout. No spear. Just the steady hiss of water on stone and the distant clang of bells growing fainter behind me.

I reached the southern edge of the village without a single challenge. The minor sandstone trade route cut through here, narrower than the great Oak Road, its pale slabs dark and slick under the rain. Beyond it the land opened into the true steppe, rolling grassland that stretched south and west under the low clouds, dotted with low hills and the faint glow of distant watch fires. Redstone Hold. Southwest corner. I knew it from the scent on the wind and the iron tang that clung to everything here. Clan land. None of it mattered. I was outside now. Free.

My tail lashed once, vicious and triumphant, flinging water behind me as I crossed the trade route and stepped onto the grass beyond. The ground was softer here, wet earth sucking at my bare feet and knees when I dropped back to all fours for a stretch. Pain flared hot through my thigh and ribs but I bared my fangs and kept moving. Straight south. Away from the hills. Away from Advantage. Away from the cage and the dead goblins and the emptiness that still clawing at my chest like a living thing. The bond was gone. Five feet or five miles, it did not matter. The silence where Masters calm thoughts should be was worse than any wound the elves or the boar or the guards gave me. I kept whispering his name under my breath, voice hoarse and broken, tail flicking with every limping stride.

Master… I am out. The goblins are dead. They went down too fast, too pathetic, but they bought me the seconds I needed. I ran clean. Perfect. Like you taught me. No guards. No noise. Just rain and shadows and me. I am still yours. Still your kitten. Still your wife. Still Masters property.

My claws dug into the wet grass as I pushed forward, ears twitching at every distant sound of hooves on the trade route behind me. None turned my way. The distraction at the pound was holding. Good.

The steppe opened wider the farther I went. Grass brushed my bare legs and belly when I stayed low, rain streaming down my face and over the copper iron collar that still sat cold and perfect around my throat. I traced the engraved words with one claw as I moved, pressing hard enough to feel the bite. Masters property. Those three words were the only thing keeping the full yandere panic from swallowing me whole. Without them I would be screaming and clawing at the ground until my fingers bled. With them I kept going. Limping. Crawling when the pain got too sharp. Tail low and determined, flicking every few steps to keep balance.

I knew where I was now. Southwest corner of Redstone Hold. The steppe rolled out in front of me, open and empty under the rain, low hills rising dark on the left, the faint line of the minor trade route curving away behind me. Somewhere to the south lay the rest of the Hold, forges and mines and Anvil Class strongholds, but I did not care about any of it. Master was out there. He had to be. The bond might be silent but my instincts still pulled me forward, the same way I always knew where he was when we hunted together. I would find him. I would press my face into his neck and wrap my tail around his waist so tight he would feel my claws through his cloak. I would purr until the bond snapped back into place and then I would never let it stretch five feet again.

The rain kept falling, soaking me to the bone, but it also cooled the fever a fraction and washed the worst of the blood from my leg. I stopped once, dropping to my belly in a shallow dip between two grassy rises, and lapped at a small puddle like the desperate cat I was. The water tasted of earth and iron but it soothed my raw throat. My tail curled tight around my waist while I drank, ears forward, listening. Still no pursuit. The pound must be in full chaos. Good. Let them chase ghosts while I ran.

I pushed up again and kept moving. My steps were clumsy now, fever making my vision blur at the edges, but my cat balance held. I crossed a shallow stream that cut through the grass, cold water shocking the cuts on my feet and making me hiss, but I did not stop. South. Always south. The steppe stretched endless ahead, rain veiling the horizon, but I could see the faint glow of another small settlement far in the distance, nothing like Advantage, just a cluster of lights that might be a watch post or a mining hamlet. I skirted wide around it, staying low in the grass, tail dragging a faint line behind me through the wet blades.

Every mile took me farther from the cage and closer to the only thing that mattered. The emptiness in my chest still screamed but I used it now, let it fuel the yandere fire that kept my claws moving and my ears forward. Master… I am on the steppe. Southwest Redstone Hold. The goblins are dead but they helped me get out clean. I am coming. I am still your good girl. Still your kitten. Still wrapped around the only clean thing in this rotting world.

The minor trade route cuts through the steppe like a pale scar, its sandstone slabs slick and dark under the relentless rain. It is not the great Oak Trade Road with its endless caravans of silk and spice but it is busy enough in its own stubborn way. Carts rumble northwest toward Fort Forest Wolf carrying Redstone iron and timber for the border forts, their drivers hunched under oilcloth cloaks and cursing the weather in thick Alderian and dwarven accents. Southeast smaller groups of miners and traders head back toward Valley Point, the mining settlement tucked around the hills, their lanterns bobbing like tired fireflies as they return from shifts or market runs. I stay off the stone itself, moving parallel through the tall wet grass on the western verge, body low, tail streaming water behind me like a dark ribbon. My claws sink into the soft earth with every step, giving me grip when my wounded thigh threatens to fold.

An hour passes like this. Slow. Deliberate. Nothing dramatic. Just rain, mud, and the steady rhythm of other people’s lives rolling past while I survive in the margins. I keep my distance, twenty or thirty paces from the road, using every rise and dip in the grassland for cover. My cat vision slices through the downpour, picking out details the humans miss: the way a trader’s canvas flap is loose and flapping, the exhausted slump of a miner’s shoulders, the faint smell of fresh bread drifting from one cart. Hunger claws at my stomach, sharp and insistent. The raw boar meat from days ago is long gone and my body is running on empty. I cannot afford to be weak when I still have miles to cover before I can even think about finding Master.

So I act. I wait for a lone trader’s cart to lag behind the others, a rickety thing with a half asleep human driver, canvas sagging under the rain. I drop to all fours and circle wide through the grass, moving silent as mist, tail low and still for balance. My claws make short work of the loose rope holding a small burlap sack tied to the rear. Apples. Hard bread. A few strips of dried meat. I snatch it clean, no noise louder than the rain on the canvas, and melt back into the dark before the driver even shifts in his seat. The theft is perfect. Clean. Cat. I crouch in a shallow hollow twenty paces off the road and eat fast, tearing into the bread with my fangs, chewing the sour apples and tough meat without slowing. It tastes wrong, cold and unseasoned, nothing like the warm meals Master used to share from his fingers while I purred in his lap, but it fills the gnawing hole enough to steady my shaking hands. I wrap the rest in a strip of torn cloth and tuck it against my ribs for later. My tail flicks once in grim satisfaction. I am still capable. Still his good girl, even out here alone.

My thigh wound has torn open again. I feel the hot trickle of blood running down my calf, mixing with rain and mud. I stop behind a thick stand of ferns, drop to my knees, and re bind it with another strip from what is left of my light blue trousers. The pressure makes me hiss through my fangs but I pull it tight anyway. Infection is already there, red streaks climbing toward my hip, but I cannot stop to treat it properly. Not yet. I clean the worst of the mud with handfuls of rain, then press onward, ears forward, listening to the road.

A group of Valley Point miners passes heading southeast, five dwarves and two humans, picks over their shoulders, voices carrying over the downpour. They are complaining about the new vein being played out and the extra tolls at Advantage. One of them laughs about that feral cat girl who escaped the pound with a pack of Bogclutch swamp rats. My ears pin flat. They are talking about me. About the goblins. Griza and the others are dead. I know it in my bones. They went down in seconds, spears and boots ending their lives before they could even draw blood. The memory twists something dark and possessive in my chest. They died for the Fang Shadow. For the creed they believed in. Power is claimed. Loyalty is blood deep. I will make their deaths mean something. I will reach Master and then we will burn this whole stinking clan if that is what it takes.

The group rolls on. I stay perfectly still until their lanterns fade, then move again. The rain never stops. It soaks through my rags, cools the fever a fraction, and washes the worst of the blood from my leg. I keep whispering Master’s name under my breath as I walk, voice hoarse but steady, one claw constantly tracing the engraved words on m collar. Masters property. 

By the end of the hour I have covered maybe three miles, staying parallel to the minor trade route the whole way. The road curves gently here, following the edge of the steppe before it bends toward the hills. I stop in a shallow dip between two grassy rises, drop to my belly in the wet grass, and let myself rest for the first time since the pound. My wounds throb in time with my heartbeat. My stomach is full enough to stop growling. My tail curls tight around my waist, possessive and exhausted. The rain drums on my back like a second heartbeat.

Three choices sit heavy in my mind. West toward the mountain and hill border of Redstone Hold, thicker trees, more natural cover, fewer patrols, but wilder country where I might run into worse things than Anvil Class guards. Continue along this minor route, easier walking, more chance to overhear news or maybe spot someone who has seen Master, but higher risk now that the pound escape is gossip on every cart. Or east into the hillside itself, possible caves for shelter, but back toward Advantage and the danger I just escaped.

I weigh them while the rain soaks me. Master would want clean. Quiet. No unnecessary risks. West feels right. The border hills are less travelled, more places to hide and heal, and they still point generally south where my instincts keep pulling me. Continuing on the road feels too exposed now that my description is probably on every guard’s tongue. East is stupid. I just came from there.

My decision settles like iron in my chest. West. I will leave the minor trade route at the next bend, cut across the open steppe, and disappear into the tree line before dawn. The goblins died so I could have this chance. I will not waste it by walking straight into another cage.

I push to my feet, tail lashing once in grim determination, and turn west. The minor trade route curves away behind me. The open steppe stretches dark and wet ahead, low hills rising like a dark wall on the horizon. My claws dig into the grass. My ears flick forward. The emptiness in my chest still screams but I use it now, let it fuel the yandere fire that keeps me moving.