For Werecat. The author of many a good tale of the animals of M-e asked for a drabble about them.
"Carefully, Bergil!" Beregond calls, struggling against a father's natural feeling to shield his son from destruction. He's seen worse already. Too late to spare him aught... Still, there're other dangers: their home lies ruined, crushed under a hail of stone like so many in the First Circle.
Heedless of him, Bergil burrows through the rubble by the one standing wall. Wiping filthy hands, Beregond pleads, "Bergil, be–" just as his son whoops, dragging forth a thin, dust-coated cat.
"Told you she'd be waiting!" Bergil crows, triumphant. Ammië meows, and for one lad in this shattered city, the world's righted.