It was a conflicting mixture of amusing and sad seeing the kit jump back from the fish after hesitantly prodding at it. It wasn't like the little cat couldn't understand her dilemma, he'd certainly been nervous about far sillier things in his life, but he swallowed any chuckle that may have bubbled in his throat from the relatability of it all. The poor kit was obviously distressed, and he wouldn't laugh at her for it. Instead, he lowered himself to the ground and tucked his paws beneath his body, curling his finned tail around his side and waiting patiently for the kit to approach the fish again.
Despite his relaxed body language, more to appease the kit than anything, his rounded ears twisted and turned with every rustle in the woods, and his nostrils flared consistently to catch any new scents that might carry on the breeze. Delta had never had any kits of his own, nor had he ever thought of himself as the fatherly type, but an instinctual protectiveness was flaring at his chest as he watched her slink forward and sniff the meal. He'd have to find her other wolves soon, but he could at least keep her safe for now. Well, as well as he could, anyways.
He was so preoccupied keeping watch on the undergrowth that he nearly missed the fact that the kit had stopped moving and was now staring blankly down at the fish with a lost, scared sort of expression. Delta tilted his head, fresh anxiety beginning to build as his legs tensed beneath him. Should he back away? Or get closer? He almost considered asking the kit what was wrong, but quickly remembered that it wasn't as if she'd understand him.
Quietly then, she began to cry, and the little cat's heart ached. She took a bite at least, perhaps the first in who knows how long, but any relief that would have given him was quickly overpowered by helplessness as she broke down further. He had no idea how to help or why she was so distraught, other than the pained utterance of the word nomon.
"Nomon?" he repeated. Was that a word for family? For being alone? Slowly, hoping that he wouldn't startle her, Delta uncurled his tail and stood up again. He stepped around the fish, carefully moving towards the frightened kit with a lowered head and small, cautious body language. It had been a long time since he'd seen his own mother, but he thought of her then as he hesitantly paused beside the kit and leaned forward to rasp his tongue against her tattered wing. Her feathers tasted of blood and grime, and he fought down the urge to wrinkle his muzzle in disgust.
"I-it's okay." Delta muttered, hoping he sounded more reassuring than he'd felt saying it. Gingerly he continued to try and groom the kit's slumped wing, brushing down the mussed feathers and swallowing the urge to gag at the dried ichor and grime catching in his barbed tongue.
His own mother once washed his pelt like this, sans the feathers of course. In the few times he'd seen his siblings as adults, they too had taken the time to exchange customary washes to rid themselves of any stubborn sand caught between their fins or in their fur. The little cat hoped it brought the kit some comfort, even if they were vastly different species.
Despite his relaxed body language, more to appease the kit than anything, his rounded ears twisted and turned with every rustle in the woods, and his nostrils flared consistently to catch any new scents that might carry on the breeze. Delta had never had any kits of his own, nor had he ever thought of himself as the fatherly type, but an instinctual protectiveness was flaring at his chest as he watched her slink forward and sniff the meal. He'd have to find her other wolves soon, but he could at least keep her safe for now. Well, as well as he could, anyways.
He was so preoccupied keeping watch on the undergrowth that he nearly missed the fact that the kit had stopped moving and was now staring blankly down at the fish with a lost, scared sort of expression. Delta tilted his head, fresh anxiety beginning to build as his legs tensed beneath him. Should he back away? Or get closer? He almost considered asking the kit what was wrong, but quickly remembered that it wasn't as if she'd understand him.
Quietly then, she began to cry, and the little cat's heart ached. She took a bite at least, perhaps the first in who knows how long, but any relief that would have given him was quickly overpowered by helplessness as she broke down further. He had no idea how to help or why she was so distraught, other than the pained utterance of the word nomon.
"Nomon?" he repeated. Was that a word for family? For being alone? Slowly, hoping that he wouldn't startle her, Delta uncurled his tail and stood up again. He stepped around the fish, carefully moving towards the frightened kit with a lowered head and small, cautious body language. It had been a long time since he'd seen his own mother, but he thought of her then as he hesitantly paused beside the kit and leaned forward to rasp his tongue against her tattered wing. Her feathers tasted of blood and grime, and he fought down the urge to wrinkle his muzzle in disgust.
"I-it's okay." Delta muttered, hoping he sounded more reassuring than he'd felt saying it. Gingerly he continued to try and groom the kit's slumped wing, brushing down the mussed feathers and swallowing the urge to gag at the dried ichor and grime catching in his barbed tongue.
His own mother once washed his pelt like this, sans the feathers of course. In the few times he'd seen his siblings as adults, they too had taken the time to exchange customary washes to rid themselves of any stubborn sand caught between their fins or in their fur. The little cat hoped it brought the kit some comfort, even if they were vastly different species.