one. two. three. four. five... He had kept counting how many clouds passed over the camp. Bored. So pathetically bored. Asteroid stared at the camp entrance. Again. You would always catch him staring at it. What else was he supposed to do? He would remember going down there. Yes, once to meet a cat from another clan. Oh, how were they doing? Would they even remember him? . . . His wings used to work. He'd remember soaring through the air. Balancing along the edge of the mountain. Hunting for his clan. but that was no more. His wings failed him. He'd tried, sometimes moving his wings a little. but never enough to carry him anywhere. His legs hurt as well. Usually after walking so much. . . . He was 36 moons. That wasn't old, was it? He didn't think so. But his body felt like the age of an older cat. He'd look at his wings. They were still there. A constant taunt that he could never use them. He would stare longingly at the camp entrance. but looked away. Nonetheless the bottom of the mountain would still be there tomorrow. it always has. He just wishes he was down there too.
