The Olles

Pale moonlight reflects on the wet cobblestones of a small bridge, and the shimmering ribbons of a jasmine river. Small plips echo throughout the village, and clouds cover the moon.

A slim, quiet figure slips across the bridge. Its shape is small and wispy, with curved limbs and a rippling tail. It is looking for something. Its wet, pink nose almost touches the ground on the other side of the bridge as it brushes its whiskers and sniffs silently. Thin, pale scents reveal her objective had been this way, along with another. She could tell by the new smell that the other was an Olle.

Shocked by worry for her kitten, the shape continued. Olles have a reputation of murdering cats and stealing kittens. Then the Olles would raise the kitten as another Olle, teaching them their ways of robbery and violence. In some cases, the kitten would be forced to kill their own mother without even knowing it!

The shadowy cat follows the faint scent to the riverside. The smell abruptly stops, washed away by the river, along with all hope of finding her kitten. She raises her striped head, yowling in agony. She had tried to protect her litter from the Olles, but it had not been enough. Four kittens had been stolen, and she only had one left.

As the cat crept back to her alleyway, she promised herself she would do everything in her power to save that last kitten . . .

X X X

Six Months, three weeks, four days later

March 23, Friday

A small squeaking echoed in the alleyway. Two pointed ears incognito twitched ever so slightly and tensed. A tiny but well-fed mouse sniffed an overturned garbage can, searching for a few tasty bits. Its whiskers twitched now and then as it scurried calmly about. It stopped at an old apple slice, and began nibbling excitedly.

Suddenly, a blinding gray and brown flash streaked toward it. Before it could take more than a few paw steps, a gray paw with three gleaming claws pinned it to the cement. Syra looked down at the mouse struggling in her grasp. She picked it up and bit its neck to end it. She sat down to eat, and wondered where her mother was. Probably searching for Syra's siblings. They never had been found since they had been stolen. Syra barely remembered them, and mostly remembered her brother, Pilos.

Syra's head turned to the entrance of the alleyway. A faint yowling and scampering erupted from somewhere distant. Syra stood, fur bristling and claws drawn. At any moment, a group of Olles could come down the alleyway and have her cornered, and possibly killed.

There was an eerie silence. The wind howled through the street and leaves blew down the alley.

Blasting through the silence, a cat charged down the ally. Syra jumped and scampered around, trying to find an escape. She didn't know how to fight, so that was the only option. Just as the cat was close enough to kill her, she recognized her.

"Mom!" Syra meowed, more relieved than ever. "Oh, Mom! You scared me to death! I thought you were an Olle, and they had got you!"

Syra's mother sighed. "And if I was, you would have died. That's why I'm going to teach you how to fight."

"What? Mom, can't we just, well, just ...Mom, I didn't even know you could fight!" Syra flustered.

Her mother sighed. "Your father was the best fighter. He taught me strategies, techniques, stances, forms, how to be as good of a fighter as he was. I never had a knack for it, but by the way you move and hunt, I believe you have inherited his."