- Jul 28, 2024
- 11
- 3
- 3
the sun has begun it’s lazy stretch beneath the horizon when thrasherthroat calls him out of camp with a subtle flick of their tail — smoldering its thick crimsons behind the sparse pine, twinging the sky some sickly viscous color that bleeds pink into tattered cloud. it’s romantic, he thinks blearily as he follows the standard two paces behind them, taking the moment to watch how the fur ripples along their shoulders, a sleek chocolate like the mud beneath his paws ; he means it kindly, fully. bony knuckles splay dizzily against the ground, a criss - cross sway towards where he only assumes thrasherthroat is leading them — he’s not said a word yet, but such is common. they’re friends, friends, so far as eyes can see . . he doesn’t need a word, not a breath. only this, this moment, this feeling . .
he takes these moments as stolen glimpses of heaven, a warm contentedness beneath gilded eyes. ), and spiderstep has never pushed them to speak before they’d readied themself. before they were far enough from camp, tucked behind the burnt sycamore where they could whisper amongst just themselves. where they could curl together, and thrasherthroat could tuck his head in the crook of spiderstep’s plush throat ( if they wanted. they didn’t want to often. only once. it was daring, but things had felt different lately, so maybe.. ). the clearing opens up suddenly after a quiet walk, slim paws coming to a skittering slow as his partner ( friend? interest? what was this? ) stops abruptly. vultures crow abovehead, surely haloing above some wretched thing strewn over thunderpath, but spiderstep has eyes for only thrasherthroat.
sapdark, heavy - lashed gaze flutters, though he isn’t sure if the feline had seen it — he does not look at him. boldly, dark eyes flick about, before stepping forward to try and brush against their side ( his heartbeat quickens, rabbit-fast, high pitched screaming pulse of blood in his ears ), ” it’s . . ah . .“ hesitance, tremble - tongued but purring sweet as peach rot when he cranes his head down for a familiar nose touch, ” early still, you — you’re not . . what’s this about? “ they went out at night, when it was safe, when it was careful, when they couldn’t get away with being patrolmates ( close friends, just close. his best friend. ). daylight? it meant . . it meant something. too much. one day, he would tell mother of this. one day, he would ask her brilliant advice, and she would be delighted to know — though he supposed the whole clan may as well know, if he uttered a word to her. what was there to utter?
she would guide him through this, whatever it was ( with his best friend. that was what thrasherthroat wanted to be. ).
he takes these moments as stolen glimpses of heaven, a warm contentedness beneath gilded eyes. ), and spiderstep has never pushed them to speak before they’d readied themself. before they were far enough from camp, tucked behind the burnt sycamore where they could whisper amongst just themselves. where they could curl together, and thrasherthroat could tuck his head in the crook of spiderstep’s plush throat ( if they wanted. they didn’t want to often. only once. it was daring, but things had felt different lately, so maybe.. ). the clearing opens up suddenly after a quiet walk, slim paws coming to a skittering slow as his partner ( friend? interest? what was this? ) stops abruptly. vultures crow abovehead, surely haloing above some wretched thing strewn over thunderpath, but spiderstep has eyes for only thrasherthroat.
sapdark, heavy - lashed gaze flutters, though he isn’t sure if the feline had seen it — he does not look at him. boldly, dark eyes flick about, before stepping forward to try and brush against their side ( his heartbeat quickens, rabbit-fast, high pitched screaming pulse of blood in his ears ), ” it’s . . ah . .“ hesitance, tremble - tongued but purring sweet as peach rot when he cranes his head down for a familiar nose touch, ” early still, you — you’re not . . what’s this about? “ they went out at night, when it was safe, when it was careful, when they couldn’t get away with being patrolmates ( close friends, just close. his best friend. ). daylight? it meant . . it meant something. too much. one day, he would tell mother of this. one day, he would ask her brilliant advice, and she would be delighted to know — though he supposed the whole clan may as well know, if he uttered a word to her. what was there to utter?
she would guide him through this, whatever it was ( with his best friend. that was what thrasherthroat wanted to be. ).
- i. execute him @THRASHERTHROAT
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SPIDERSTEP
———————HE / HIM, WARRIOR OF SHADOWCLAN. MOCKINGBIRDCRY xxFATHER. 23 MOONS OLD, SMELLS LIKE CRUSHED FLOWERS & CARRION. PENNED BY ANTLERS.
a haunting, delicately curled alabaster tom with lilac ribboning and syrupy brown eyes.he is all willowy limbs and glassy adverted eyes, dark underlids rung sleepless red and heavily lashed to pillow abyssal, sapdark irises. standing taller, gaunter, paler than the average shadowclanner, spiderstep is a delicate blotch on the boggy marshlands, painted in swathes of sleek lilac striping.. despite presenting as a mild-mannered momma’s boy, soft & homely. encapsulating all things filthy and beautiful, spiderstep gravitates coyly towards anyone taken with haunting good looks, biding his battle against the grotesque need growing within.
