Comhroinn Fuaime

No one had ever beaten El Grande. No one had even scratched him. Except her. “You… you don’t know—” the orange tabby stammered. “I know how much I want to be a warrior,” Milady said, cutting him off. The tabby blinked, then straightened his boots. “I’m Gato,” he said. “Of course you’re a cat,” Milady replied, confused. He chuckled. “No, no. My name is Gato. It’s just a name.” He rested a paw on the hilt of the blade strapped to his belt. His eyes softened — just a little.