- May 20, 2023
- 108
- 31
- 28
❝ WE'LL MEET AGAIN ☠︎°.♱ ————————————
For once, Cygnetstare is actually in camp doing something besides eating or sleeping; it's a rare sight. Much of the time, the skeletal cat can (or can't) be found in the hollow underbelly of WindClan's moors; the tunnels, living and breathing their work. She sits neatly if slightly slouchily, the sharp knobs of her vertebra tenting her pelt as though about to burst forth in a mountain range of bones, tail draped over her tucked-up hind paws. Cygnetstare's head is hunched over one forepaw, at which they're absentmindedly gnawing; they have an itch in it, and the texture interests them besides. Their flesh has a not unpleasant give beneath their gnashing molars, hunting down the irritating sensation. A pleasant yield.
The tunneler has no qualms with socializing, despite her generally off-putting appearance; indeed, it doesn't take too much to curry their interest. Her heavily lidded eyes, namesakes, search the camp beneath overlong lashes. Having given up on the chewing at her paw, she settles for licking halfheartedly at it, looking about. Should any cat approach her, they'll be met with a somewhat uneasy silence while Cygnetstare ... well, stares, and waits for them to start the conversation. That, and the stomach-twisting smell of grave-dirt, sour and stale, that hangs about them.
For once, Cygnetstare is actually in camp doing something besides eating or sleeping; it's a rare sight. Much of the time, the skeletal cat can (or can't) be found in the hollow underbelly of WindClan's moors; the tunnels, living and breathing their work. She sits neatly if slightly slouchily, the sharp knobs of her vertebra tenting her pelt as though about to burst forth in a mountain range of bones, tail draped over her tucked-up hind paws. Cygnetstare's head is hunched over one forepaw, at which they're absentmindedly gnawing; they have an itch in it, and the texture interests them besides. Their flesh has a not unpleasant give beneath their gnashing molars, hunting down the irritating sensation. A pleasant yield.
The tunneler has no qualms with socializing, despite her generally off-putting appearance; indeed, it doesn't take too much to curry their interest. Her heavily lidded eyes, namesakes, search the camp beneath overlong lashes. Having given up on the chewing at her paw, she settles for licking halfheartedly at it, looking about. Should any cat approach her, they'll be met with a somewhat uneasy silence while Cygnetstare ... well, stares, and waits for them to start the conversation. That, and the stomach-twisting smell of grave-dirt, sour and stale, that hangs about them.