private * a simple thing ╱ salamander

[yarrow.]

⚘  in character   out of character   character tags   reference

• 
  ── ( ᴛᴀɢs. )  These cats were full of such arrogant pride. Claiming this world, the land and its supplies as their own– they speak to each other as if divine right could be decided by the living. Her disdain for both groups grow with every complication, and yet...and yet she knows, deeply within herself, that her disdain is nothing more than a shield for her anguish. There are many faces within both places that have become familiar to her. She cares for them, cultivates them, looks after them. Even when they meet in passing, and those that she had once known look at her as if she has betrayed them all, Yarrow yearns to tend to the wounds that must plague their souls. War is an all-consuming thing. She hates not those that engage in it, but the act on its own. The hungry darkness that swallows all of them whole.
  
  These lands, at least, are mostly untouched. She is able to wander the oak lands with her eyes open in wariness but her mind settled in the knowledge that those who come across her will not hold any true numbers. A patrol would not have the full backing. This she could bear. She has caught her own prey to enjoy in the silence– a squirrel, as those in the forest are wont to hunt. They are fine predators, with far greater prey availability than she had seen in the marsh. That, at least, she did not miss about her previous home.​
  
  

  ---

•  
• n/a​
•  
• ──── yarrow, eventually yarrowtongue.  cis female,  she - her pronouns.
  ──── approximately five years old,  though age unknown. ages the first.
  ──── sexuality unknown, presumed to be wholly disinterested in others.
  ──── lilac silver ticked tabby with curly fur  and deep,  muted olive eyes.​
•  
• 

 

[salamander]

Physical and mental exhaustion had been tossed aside. Rest evaded her and outwitted the huntress. It was clever, unlike the limp squirrel in her mouth. It had been a while since Salamander had hunted within the confines of the swamp. The lack of prey was alarming but no one was doing anything about it. Instead, they whined and pointed claws at the pine colony. They argued that they were stealing what was rightfully theirs. Rather than travel the distance to find actual prey, they wasted their energy on their loud and whining complaints. It was sad, really, how so many grown cats refused to open their eyes to the world around them.

Unlike them, Salamander pushed herself to make the long and tedious treks between hunting grounds. And, unlike them, she learned to hunt in varying environments. That lead her to her precarious position on a loose branch high above the ground. The branch caved beneath her weight and she clung on with little grace. The squirrel might have been successfully caught but, in the end, it managed to get the final laugh.

Salamander didn't dare shift her weight or make any sudden movements: the creaking and tearing sounds caused her to remain paralyzed. She examined the distance to the ground. The normally fearless warrior couldn't catch the butterflies in her stomach. Looks like she was afraid of heights... something she probably should have considered before chasing the squirrel up its domain.

As the molly pondered her next course of action (debating whether a fall from this height would harm her or not), a familiar white form appeared underneath. Her teal eyes widened in surprise as she stared at the phantom of a cat she once knew below her. Only, it wasn't a ghost: the cat's sides moving being proof that she still breathed.

"Yawwow?" she called down, struggling to speak through the fur of the squirrel. "You awe-" The squirrel slipped from her grasp and fell lifelessly toward the ground. Salamander watched the corpse nose-dive but her attention had fully shifted. "You're alive." It was both a question and a statement.​