![Tybalt [Stagstrike]](/data/avatars/l/0/397.jpg?1666054888){kind=avatar}
- Jul 23, 2022
- 190
- 11
- 18
Honey, wet moss. Honey, wet moss. Honey, wet moss.
The short list looped in Tybalt's head as he padded through the territory scraping moss from trees. He took as much as he could carry in his jaws and tucked the rest beneath his chin, though he made no move to soak it. At least not yet. He carried it out of the territory and then skirted along the edge of the river--feeling completely miserable the wetter he became--until he was standing on the edge of Twolegplace beside his parents' graves. Gingerly, he tucked the moss between the stones and then went slithering between twoleg garden fences, eyes flitting up toward the treetops every few seconds. There had to be at least one of what he was looking for around. He'd seen enough of them around as a kit, and the inner twolegplace hadn't even had many trees.
After some time of careful searching, amber optics finally settled on what he'd been looking for. A bee's nest in the lower branches of a tree, too far from the forest territories to be completely polluted by smoke yet. He slipped over the fence and stood looking up at his target for a few moments, considering how best to tackle it. He wouldn't be able to carry whatever he got out back along with the moss--unless he wrapped it in moss, and he didn't want to waste it by getting it sticky.
A glint of shiny black caught the tom's eye then, and he caught sight of a silver trash can with the top off, empty except for the thin black skin that was meant to hold twoleg garbage. Scrabbling up the sides of the slick container, he grabbed the skin between his teeth and yanked. It ripped, but he came away with a sizable chunk, still attached to the red string on it's edge. Good enough.
Turning his attention back to the tree, Tybalt sank his claws into the bark and clambered up onto the branches. He crept toward the hive, flinching as the agitated bees peppered him with warning stings. He smacked the nest with a forceful paw, gritting his teeth through the stings until it fell and broke on the hard ground. The bees scattered after a moment, most of them coming back to sting him.
Tybalt scrambled down the tree and breathed a relieved sigh as he confirmed that the honey was not, in fact, polluted by smoke as he had initially feared. Hurriedly, he shoved the honeycomb into the black skin that had been left fluttering on the ground, yanked it closed as tightly as he could manage, slung the red strap around his neck, and bolted back over the fence the way he had come, bag of honeycomb flailing wildly. He reached the forest boundary, grabbed the moss, and began his miserable trek skirting along the river again, becoming very wet in the process. The moss soaked, but the black skin full of honeycomb bobbed lightly on the water behind him.
He staggered up onto dry land, his sides heaving as he dragged his bounty back towards the camp, wincing at the angry, blistering stings that were scattered over his skin. Triumphantly, he shoved his way back through the camp, dropped the still dripping moss, and slipped the tangle of red strap back over his neck. The black bag fell open and the honeycombs tumbled out onto the grass. He dragged them over to Cinderfrost and then wordlessly took to yanking the stingers out of his pelt.
// Light @cinderfrost tag but feel free to reply before!!
(basically he's been gone a hot minute from the sore throats thread and has now staggered back into camp looking like a literal drowned rat)
The short list looped in Tybalt's head as he padded through the territory scraping moss from trees. He took as much as he could carry in his jaws and tucked the rest beneath his chin, though he made no move to soak it. At least not yet. He carried it out of the territory and then skirted along the edge of the river--feeling completely miserable the wetter he became--until he was standing on the edge of Twolegplace beside his parents' graves. Gingerly, he tucked the moss between the stones and then went slithering between twoleg garden fences, eyes flitting up toward the treetops every few seconds. There had to be at least one of what he was looking for around. He'd seen enough of them around as a kit, and the inner twolegplace hadn't even had many trees.
After some time of careful searching, amber optics finally settled on what he'd been looking for. A bee's nest in the lower branches of a tree, too far from the forest territories to be completely polluted by smoke yet. He slipped over the fence and stood looking up at his target for a few moments, considering how best to tackle it. He wouldn't be able to carry whatever he got out back along with the moss--unless he wrapped it in moss, and he didn't want to waste it by getting it sticky.
A glint of shiny black caught the tom's eye then, and he caught sight of a silver trash can with the top off, empty except for the thin black skin that was meant to hold twoleg garbage. Scrabbling up the sides of the slick container, he grabbed the skin between his teeth and yanked. It ripped, but he came away with a sizable chunk, still attached to the red string on it's edge. Good enough.
Turning his attention back to the tree, Tybalt sank his claws into the bark and clambered up onto the branches. He crept toward the hive, flinching as the agitated bees peppered him with warning stings. He smacked the nest with a forceful paw, gritting his teeth through the stings until it fell and broke on the hard ground. The bees scattered after a moment, most of them coming back to sting him.
Tybalt scrambled down the tree and breathed a relieved sigh as he confirmed that the honey was not, in fact, polluted by smoke as he had initially feared. Hurriedly, he shoved the honeycomb into the black skin that had been left fluttering on the ground, yanked it closed as tightly as he could manage, slung the red strap around his neck, and bolted back over the fence the way he had come, bag of honeycomb flailing wildly. He reached the forest boundary, grabbed the moss, and began his miserable trek skirting along the river again, becoming very wet in the process. The moss soaked, but the black skin full of honeycomb bobbed lightly on the water behind him.
He staggered up onto dry land, his sides heaving as he dragged his bounty back towards the camp, wincing at the angry, blistering stings that were scattered over his skin. Triumphantly, he shoved his way back through the camp, dropped the still dripping moss, and slipped the tangle of red strap back over his neck. The black bag fell open and the honeycombs tumbled out onto the grass. He dragged them over to Cinderfrost and then wordlessly took to yanking the stingers out of his pelt.
// Light @cinderfrost tag but feel free to reply before!!
(basically he's been gone a hot minute from the sore throats thread and has now staggered back into camp looking like a literal drowned rat)
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