“Because I’m a mother” she sighed and sat down “my wife has been devoted to caring for kits, raising them. Helping those lost” soft’willows tone was soft. She understood the fear, the loneliness. In a world of lions, bears, giant predators. They were prey. They had the instinct to hide or gather.

“You don’t have to be alone, I know you don’t know me or my son. But we could use the help as well. We could make this forest a haven for cats, keep eachother safe” she smiled, her expression warm. She held out her paw, offering it to the other. Soft’willows paw pads were hardened with age and experience. Not the soft pads of someone pampered or with an easy life. Many of her kits had died. She’d birthed four, and only one still walked next to her. She’d done her best, but the forest was cruel, especially alone.
She didn’t wish that on any cat around her. Numbers would provide safety, numbers and structure. A lone cat would die , but a group had a chance. They could use the trees, have spotters during patrols, they’d take care of the sick.

She needed this to work, for her son. His health was declining, he’d need taken care of. Herbs. Something. She wouldn’t be around forever to hunt for him. Sick cats didn’t live, she refused to bury another kit.