Refuge I by Ithildin
Just one of a pair of cold weather drabbles.
As he walked down the path, his breath created clouds of mist around his face; it was the coldest winter Methos remembered in a very long time. Pausing, he wrapped his scarf a little more tightly around his throat. That was when he heard the almost imperceptible cry. Looking down, he spied the source in a pile of wet, disintegrating autumn leaves.
“Where’s your mum, little bit?” he asked the bedraggled kitten as he picked it up, cradling it. It looked up at him, with eyes too large for its half-starved face, and cried again. “Are you all alone too?”