- Jan 1, 2023
- 325
- 184
- 43
Chrysaliswing never saw much use for the continuous cycling of kittypets and daylight warriors and loners and rogues into and out of Skyclan. A vicious spiral, the tom was sure that it would spell death for his home one day. Even as he was born here, the chimaera never found the reason why Blazestar let so many of those freeloaders and traitors into the clan - or, at least, a reasoning that he personally agreed with. He had wondered, briefly, if their predecessors allowed this injustice to happen, or if they were just as woolly-eyed as the current state of those that lived within the pines. It angered him, but he knew his anger was not enough to change the world.
In his stupor, he bumped into yet another unfamiliar face with the stench of the Twolegplace to match. That foul smell made his lip upturn almost subconsciously, and though he could never exactly describe it, it was a persistent and gangrenous thing anyhow. Like the bane of the wolf, it was a deathly and bright feature, almost as though an identifier of sorts. No matter how much an outsider washed in their rivers and rolled in their soils, they could never erase where they came from.
A sneer crossed his visage as he saw the piece of prey in Macaroni's mouth. She hadn't hunted for it - she hardly deserved to be in their clan, let alone eat. That sense of pure entitlement (to him) filled him with an indescribable rage, a white-hot flash that pulsed through the frayed wires for veins. The orange-and-white molly earned his easy ire for the moment, like catching fire between her paws - too hot to ever hold for long.
"Do you think you deserve that fresh-kill, you fat excuse for a kittypet? You have enough blubber to last twelve leaf-bares. Leave some for the rest of us hard-working warriors."
@MACARONI
In his stupor, he bumped into yet another unfamiliar face with the stench of the Twolegplace to match. That foul smell made his lip upturn almost subconsciously, and though he could never exactly describe it, it was a persistent and gangrenous thing anyhow. Like the bane of the wolf, it was a deathly and bright feature, almost as though an identifier of sorts. No matter how much an outsider washed in their rivers and rolled in their soils, they could never erase where they came from.
A sneer crossed his visage as he saw the piece of prey in Macaroni's mouth. She hadn't hunted for it - she hardly deserved to be in their clan, let alone eat. That sense of pure entitlement (to him) filled him with an indescribable rage, a white-hot flash that pulsed through the frayed wires for veins. The orange-and-white molly earned his easy ire for the moment, like catching fire between her paws - too hot to ever hold for long.
"Do you think you deserve that fresh-kill, you fat excuse for a kittypet? You have enough blubber to last twelve leaf-bares. Leave some for the rest of us hard-working warriors."
@MACARONI