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Nat's heart raced and the palms of his hands grew cold with the sweat that had accumulated there. He looked around the near-silent glade he stood in, a distant memory insisting he had been there before. His guide, an angular werecat, was built like an amazon, taught muscles hidden beneath feminine elegance. Her feline ears twitched about, as if searching for something that was otherwise inaudible. The look of abstract determination in her almond-shaped, amber-colored eyes brought a sense of unease into Nat.
The only sound in that clearing was the soft murmur of daisies being crushed beneath Nat's shoes. Yet, as Nat himself stood still and listened, he could hear a faint whisper, like the shadow of a sound he could remember only vaguely. The sound was like static from a radio that was being smothered by layers of dense pillows. As he moved towards the sound, he could feel a tremendous look of bemusement from the werecat, who now stood silently behind Nat.
He could feel her staring straight into him as though he had suddenly become something even more alien than the werecat herself. In a way, the werecat was not alien at all, Nat considered abstractly as he moved across the glade. He had spent a great portion of his life imagining such creatures, writing stories to give them life, and wishing them to be real that when one did turn out to be real, he gave it no second thought.
With a sense he had no clue he had ever possessed, Nat could feel the wind rustling his guide's pallid-white fur. He could hear a squirrel cry out from over ten miles away, while a bird only a few feet away made no sound but that created by the breathing of its lungs. Nat could feel every sense he had ever perceived strengthen, and, then, new senses arose behind the old ones, and one of those new ones brought to him that sound of muffled static until it was no longer muffled at all, but instead a shrill scream.
As the screech grew louder, Nat pushed himself forward. He focused on moving one foot in front of the other, though that proved itself to be counterproductive as he began to hear the very sound his muscles made and every joint pain he had ever had was amplified unbearably so.
Cofusion had been wiped clean from the werecat's composure, and instead, she followed Nat warily, focused intently on his every move.
The sense overload had taken its toll, and as the sounds and sensations reached the peak of their crescendo, Nat screamed like soldier preparing for war, and charged forward......and disappeared into the pale light of noonday.
The werecat knew what had happened, and she followed him with a soft grin of satisfaction. The last thing to be seen in that daisy-cluttered clearing, was the sight of a slender, milk-white tail slipping away into the sound of muffled static.