Foundling (flashfiction)

‘Look Sookie, shelter,’ Vladimir said, indicating the ruined barn. If the little cat was surprised by the structure, she showed little evidence of it. She lifted her small head and gave a plaintive mewl at her owner. Vlad paused, reached down to stroke the cat’s head:
‘No rain for us tonight, Sookie,’ he promised. ‘Tonight we sleep warm.’
With this he hurried towards the structure, his young charge trotting at his heels. It had been seven days now since they'd seen any evidence of a building and Vlad had begun to wonder whether they were still heading the right way, towards civilization, towards people.

Now, emboldened by the find he broke into a small hum, gripping tightly to the barrel of his rifle as they entered. Within, there came the smell of damp, a thousand rotting things that had last seen the light of day when the building was first constructed. The man gave the debris a desultory poke with the muzzle of the rifle. A few rats, scurried from a stack of worn tires, were snapped up rapidly on the end of his bayonet and in Sookie’s quick jaws.
‘Dinner!’ Vlad exclaimed, grinning. ‘Tonight, we eat as well, my love.’

This prospect seemed to cheer the cat more and she enthusiastically set upon her still squealing prey as Vlad scrounged up the wood for the fire that would keep them warm through the night.
‘There,’ he said softly and with a small, satisfied smile breathed the pyre he'd constructed into flame. With deft movements he skinned and cleaned the rats and once they were suitably charred consumed them with as much satisfaction as the creature beside him had earlier.

It took mere moments after that for sleep to find him, his head drooping by the fire as a soft, icy rain started up outside. Watching him, Sookie waited until the stop-start of his head turned into the slow droop that indicated true sleep. Satisfied he would not wake, she stretched herself into the long shape of a girl, the silver Siamese fur giving way to an equally unruly mop on her head. Fixed her eyes, even bluer in her human form, on the rise and fall of his broad chest. It was easier to protect him this way, when he thought she was just a cat. Not some spirit of the forest that would provoke his superstitions. She needed to protect him, to make sure he was safe. He was the very last human in the world.

This piece was written for the photo-prompt alldutchcreation contest here:
https://steemit.com/alldutchcreations/@alldutchcreation/the-winner-of-writing-wednesday-and-the-new-photo
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