- Nov 8, 2022
- 39
- 12
- 8
Wasprattle did not consider himself superstitious. It follows him more closely than he ever did it; worried and woes that flitted past his ears. Unconsciously, they find him. Perhaps it had to do with his name. To some, it was unremarkable. To one, rattling wasps had spelt new beginnings; prosperity. And what did anyone else's thoughts matter, when one cat's believing had been enough to make him this way?
In all his life's wanderings, he has stumbled upon good luck and bad luck alike. A stranger might tell him: his find means good things for the future, and who was he to argue? To dispute something anecdotal, he found, was a difficult thing to do. Trust had no limits. No bounds. Why should he forgo something that is plentiful, indeed. Were someone to tell him that an acorn fallen from a tree meant their good hunting — and they said it was always so. That so long as they kept it with them, good things will come, who was he to insist that their belief was mere coincidence? A lack of knowledge, is what it was. Wasprattle would not claim to know more than anyone else.
He is along by the riverside when he sees it: A plain acorn. Where he amongst oak leaves, he may deem it unremarkable. Context; wetland near - devoid of oak, a season that would see it's natural bounties picked clean by prey animals, it what gave it that certain glow.
Often, lately, does he find himself pondering the lands beyond the rivers. Perhaps it is this peculiarity that allows him to stay for a while longer. It would never not fascinate him, things like this.
( Of course, to any other, it was really quite dull. )
Wasprattle takes it between his teeth, regardless. What has him returning to their solitary island is not the setting sun, but instead the opportunity to show something that he rarely ever could. How could one quantify things like appreciation? When there is no aspect of exchange, tit for tat. He hunted, and in exchange, a clanmate may let him pick their prey from the pile. This: he finds, was not quite the same to them. It was beneficial, so much so that it was simply always done. Did this portray what he would otherwise like it to? I'd like to make your home mine as well.
He cannot say for certain. A gift would have to do.
Wasprattle would pad into the clearing, his bounty now at his paws. An anecdote would come easily, murmured ot any cat willing to listen. " I once knew someone that keenly believed in the luck held within acorns. " He would judge the object in question with a paw; rolling it under dark pads. " They carried one with them wherever they went, no matter how seemingly inconvenient that it was to keep track of it... Perhaps I did not believe them at first, but one day, I heard them complain of hunger, and a bird subsequently fell from the sky, a wing clipped. I believed them a little more, after that day. "
The memory floods his mind and sweetens the words on his tongue. Perhaps he would not mind seeing them again – or anyone else he had ever spoken to, in those days.
But he was certain they still held their treasure. Wasprattle ought to hold onto his while he still could. " It was quite strange to find it where I did, " he muses, and perhaps no one was really listening at all, but he'd like to try. " Perhaps someone amongst us is due for good fortune. " Golden eyes would fall upon others around him, dicerning.
In all his life's wanderings, he has stumbled upon good luck and bad luck alike. A stranger might tell him: his find means good things for the future, and who was he to argue? To dispute something anecdotal, he found, was a difficult thing to do. Trust had no limits. No bounds. Why should he forgo something that is plentiful, indeed. Were someone to tell him that an acorn fallen from a tree meant their good hunting — and they said it was always so. That so long as they kept it with them, good things will come, who was he to insist that their belief was mere coincidence? A lack of knowledge, is what it was. Wasprattle would not claim to know more than anyone else.
He is along by the riverside when he sees it: A plain acorn. Where he amongst oak leaves, he may deem it unremarkable. Context; wetland near - devoid of oak, a season that would see it's natural bounties picked clean by prey animals, it what gave it that certain glow.
Often, lately, does he find himself pondering the lands beyond the rivers. Perhaps it is this peculiarity that allows him to stay for a while longer. It would never not fascinate him, things like this.
( Of course, to any other, it was really quite dull. )
Wasprattle takes it between his teeth, regardless. What has him returning to their solitary island is not the setting sun, but instead the opportunity to show something that he rarely ever could. How could one quantify things like appreciation? When there is no aspect of exchange, tit for tat. He hunted, and in exchange, a clanmate may let him pick their prey from the pile. This: he finds, was not quite the same to them. It was beneficial, so much so that it was simply always done. Did this portray what he would otherwise like it to? I'd like to make your home mine as well.
He cannot say for certain. A gift would have to do.
Wasprattle would pad into the clearing, his bounty now at his paws. An anecdote would come easily, murmured ot any cat willing to listen. " I once knew someone that keenly believed in the luck held within acorns. " He would judge the object in question with a paw; rolling it under dark pads. " They carried one with them wherever they went, no matter how seemingly inconvenient that it was to keep track of it... Perhaps I did not believe them at first, but one day, I heard them complain of hunger, and a bird subsequently fell from the sky, a wing clipped. I believed them a little more, after that day. "
The memory floods his mind and sweetens the words on his tongue. Perhaps he would not mind seeing them again – or anyone else he had ever spoken to, in those days.
But he was certain they still held their treasure. Wasprattle ought to hold onto his while he still could. " It was quite strange to find it where I did, " he muses, and perhaps no one was really listening at all, but he'd like to try. " Perhaps someone amongst us is due for good fortune. " Golden eyes would fall upon others around him, dicerning.
