Her fur bristled at the shouting, a mother instinct to run towards the suffering and not away. Without thinking, an instinct that ran through her body and pushed her legs forward. Had it been her son, her kit, she’d never think of the danger. Only that he’d be in possible harm.
That always spilled out towards other cats. Soft’Willow wasn’t a muscular cat but she was still tall and fit for her age. She could hold her own against most smaller predators.

Her rushed steps stilled at the sight of the other she-cat. Her breathing relaxed , there was no blood. No instant looking danger.

“Oh sweetheart” she approached, her shoulders sagging some, slouching lower to appear less like a threat. Her body language softening to ensure her intentions weren't mistaken. “You’re going to catch a cold like this” motherly concern bloomed out from each word.

“Let’s get you dried off, are you ok?”