You walked through the forest, your favorite place to spend a quiet Saturday afternoon. The wind felt nice and cool against your skin, a gentle reminder that fall had just arrived. The leaves on the trees were beginning to get hints of brown, orange and yellow on their tips, and a faint spicy smell floated through the air. This was your favorite time of year.
The forest you were in was not your usual choice, a forty mile drive outside the house you shared with a friend in Danville, Kentucky, the small college town you had lived in since starting school. A classmate in your creative writing workshop had recommended this forest as a place where she would come to get inspired, as there would hardly ever be any other person found there and it truly let one be alone with their thoughts. She hadn't been lying. The gentle rolling hills complimented the varied colors of the trees, and the wildlife seemed to be more active here, not having to worry as much about human encroachment. Birds sang up in the branches, squirrels scampered about, you even thought you saw a fox dart through some of the undergrowth. This was why you had chosen Centre over the other, bigger colleges you had been accepted to: getting away from the city really let your mind truly think creatively.
Pulling a small Moleskine notebook out of your pocket, along with your favorite pen (one that cost you $150 but worked in any condition and had a feel like a figure skater gliding on the ice), you sat down on the ground, leaning against a tree trunk. You had begun to get to work on a historical short story you had started earlier that week, fleshing out the description of the Arabian-style village which was your setting, when you heard the sound of leaves crunching and sticks breaking coming from directly ahead of you. Something - or someone - was coming your way.
Looking up, you didn't see anything at first. After a moment, though, a figure emerged from the bushes and stumbled towards you, clearly injured. As it got closer, you realized it was not a human, but a young feline anthro. You guessed, due to the ruffs of fur under his black-tipped ears and the dark black spots on his light-grey fur, that he probably was a bobcat. You hadn't seen many anthros since moving to Danville, as they generally weren't welcomed by the more close-minded in small towns such as yours and preferred to stay in bigger cities where they had more legal protection.
You could tell right away by looking at him that something was wrong. He was bare-chested, only wearing a tattered pair of stonewashed jeans, and his fur seemed very disheveled. You guessed that he was a few years younger than you, standing six or seven inches shorter and looking rather gaunt, his ribcage visible through his stomach. His paw clutched his left arm and he had a visible limp, dragging his right hind-paw behind him and wincing in pain. His breathing was becoming more belabored, and as he got closer to you, you heard him coughing, a loud, hacking cough that sounded like it was getting worse.
When he got within fifteen feet of you, you quickly jumped to your feet, unsure of whether or not you would need to defend yourself in case he got aggressive. The bobcat turned his head, saw you, and stopped, his heavy wheezing the only thing breaking the silence of the still air. A frightened look filled his eyes, but he didn't have the strength to do anything other than stand there.
The two of you stared at each other for what seemed like hours, but in reality probably only lasted ten or twenty seconds, each of you waiting for the other to make his move. Finally, you worked up the courage to speak, saying, "Do you need any help?"
In retrospect, it was a stupid question; he wasn't going to survive on his own. Without answering, he coughed again, bringing his paw to cover his mouth as he did. When he brought it back down, you were horrified to see that it was now coated in blood.
"My God," you said, stunned. "What happened to you? Who did this?"
"Please.... Help...." the bobcat wheezed. With one final cough, blood now dripping down the white fur around his mouth, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed to the ground in a heap.
Instinctively, you rushed to his side, kneeling down and grabbing his paw. He still had a pulse and was breathing, but you weren't sure how long he would remain that way. There was nothing you could do for him there; he had to have professional help, and as soon as possible.
Taking a deep breath, you stuck your arms underneath his torso and lifted him up, surprised by how light he felt. He must have been even more malnourished than he appeared. You could carry him, you were sure, but it was at least ten minutes' hike to your car, and thirty minutes back to town, even if you sped. You sure hoped he could make it.
As you started walking back the way you came as fast as you could without dropping him, you felt a gentle tug at your shirt collar. Looking down, you saw the bobcat try to force a smile, his wet eyes glistening. "Thank you," he said weakly, "for trying to help."
"You're welcome," you said, smiling back uneasily. "It's the least I could do."
The bobcat took another deep breath. "No," he continued, "most would've left me for dead. There aren't many humans who are as nice as you."
"Like the ones who did this to you?" you asked.
He nodded slightly, turning his head away from you for a bit. You could tell he didn't want to talk about that, at least not right now. When the time was right, you thought to yourself...
Changing the subject, you asked, "So what's your name?"
"Likax," he answered, "Likax Rufallo." he began sputtering up blood again; you could tell that even the simple act of speaking was putting a strain on his body. You began to speed up a little.
"Nice to meet you, Likax," you said. "I'm Carson Fischer. Listen, you should probably stay quiet and rest for a while. I'm taking you somewhere to get help." You tried to smile reassuringly, but in your head you were fretting, trying to figure out exactly where you should take him. The closest hospital was in Lexington, but that was over an hour away, and Likax might not survive the trip. There was a small medical clinic in Danville, but the nurses and doctors there might not be willing to treat an anthro, as neither town council nor state legislature had passed a law requiring them to do so. Maybe the best option would be to take him back home; your roommate was on the pre-med track, and he had volunteered in hospitals for years. Besides, you trusted him more than a random health worker.
As you got to your car and lay Likax, now whimpering in pain, across the back seat, you finally made up your mind on what to do. Getting in the driver's seat, you fired up the engine and pointed the vehicle towards...
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