- Jan 1, 2023
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The moonlight rippled along cascades of wispy fur, spilling over the downy plumage and pooling on the ground, pallid hues thick against the blooming spring. Characteristic of the Skyclan forest, the path of titans interspersed the shafts of the moon's grace, though the moon seemed to beam with more splendor than it did in leaf-bare. He was glad, at least, to be present as the vernal winds ushered in the summer's stead. The boy of shadow and flame wove along the quietude of his home, among the soft satins of stillness that he was careful not to disrupt, lest the night cry out. In his months of training, he had honed his stealth enough for heels to never dig at the ground, to traverse the land as though he had been subsumed in it. Still, his paw steps were unsure and unguided by any sort of motive, as though he followed the wayward path of unalloyed curiosity. Truthfully, he didn't have a reason to be out here alone. He hadn't wandered far, just a few fox-lengths away from his slumbering clanmates.
It had been a few days since Quillstrike and Bananasplash officially became mates. Good for them. He kicked at a stray pebble in his path and watched it scramble away into the night. He let out a snort. Chrys then stood still as he allowed the tranquil twilight to wash over him, the cool breezes of edenic season combing over him, running its thin fingers through his plume. The camp seemed to swallow him in all its gossip and its drama, and though he would usually be caught in the midst of the seawater and tar, he felt as though he had bobbed to the surface. No more did he drown in the pitch - or, at least, he would revel in the grace before plunging once more. He just wanted to get away from it all when he could. He just wanted to breathe.
@Bananasplash
It had been a few days since Quillstrike and Bananasplash officially became mates. Good for them. He kicked at a stray pebble in his path and watched it scramble away into the night. He let out a snort. Chrys then stood still as he allowed the tranquil twilight to wash over him, the cool breezes of edenic season combing over him, running its thin fingers through his plume. The camp seemed to swallow him in all its gossip and its drama, and though he would usually be caught in the midst of the seawater and tar, he felt as though he had bobbed to the surface. No more did he drown in the pitch - or, at least, he would revel in the grace before plunging once more. He just wanted to get away from it all when he could. He just wanted to breathe.
@Bananasplash