- Feb 18, 2023
- 394
- 58
- 28
don't raise your voice . improve your argument .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶
“Come on, sweet girl, sit still for yer grandpa.” He muttered, pausin’ to hold the wigglin’ kit between his paws with a loud chortle, helm shakin’ good-naturally at the sight before him — it was somethin’ else, Duskpool would admit with great mirth at the half-groomed molly nestled between hefty paws. “Pretty soon yer gonna be lookin’ like yer grandpa before ya even hit 20 there, kiddo.” Better than nothin’. Ignorin’ the spiky fur stickin’ out, of course.
Duskpool will admit that he ain’t a saint with daily groomin’, lettin’ his fur grow matted after battlin’ to tear out leaves and twigs nestled within obsidian fur. Other times, someone else took pity on the old warrior and helped him pick out the worst of it before it matted.
“How about this, sweet girl—” He began, timbre a low, drawl against the humid air rainin’ down on them this mornin’ and already dreadin’ the afternoon heat. Ain’t gonna let up, are ya? He thought to no one. “Why don’t I tell ya a story while we finish here?” He prompted, reachin’ up with a paw to brush against Ghostkit’s flank, mangled ear swivelin’.
“Recoken I should tell ya the time I went on the Great Journey with the other clans.” He hummed, tone guttural soundin’ beneath the sun’s mornin’ rays, wooly plumage comin’ to sweep forward and curl around his bulky frame sprawled out on his side, tongue raspin’ over Ghostkit’s frame.
Half-heartedly, Duskpool wondered if this specific tale wouldn’t be age-appropriate, but it ain’t like anyone died. However, the obsidian warrior had nearly given up when the tunnels became too narrow, havin’ resigned himself to livin’ in pitch darkness till the hunger pains ( or dehydration ) killed him. “It’d been a normal day walkin’ past towerin’ rocks on either side of us when it came crashin’ down on us.” He recalled, helm cocked at the memory, brows creased while raspin’ a tongue over Ghostkit’s wooly locks. “None of us had the time to think, boltin’ to the sidelines to find cover when the lot of got separated, findin’ ourselves stuck in a maze of tunnels once the dust settled.” He drew on, timbre a low, monotonous rumble, molten hues far away till they peeked down his muzzle at Ghostkit.
/ please wait for @Ghostkit
Duskpool will admit that he ain’t a saint with daily groomin’, lettin’ his fur grow matted after battlin’ to tear out leaves and twigs nestled within obsidian fur. Other times, someone else took pity on the old warrior and helped him pick out the worst of it before it matted.
“How about this, sweet girl—” He began, timbre a low, drawl against the humid air rainin’ down on them this mornin’ and already dreadin’ the afternoon heat. Ain’t gonna let up, are ya? He thought to no one. “Why don’t I tell ya a story while we finish here?” He prompted, reachin’ up with a paw to brush against Ghostkit’s flank, mangled ear swivelin’.
“Recoken I should tell ya the time I went on the Great Journey with the other clans.” He hummed, tone guttural soundin’ beneath the sun’s mornin’ rays, wooly plumage comin’ to sweep forward and curl around his bulky frame sprawled out on his side, tongue raspin’ over Ghostkit’s frame.
Half-heartedly, Duskpool wondered if this specific tale wouldn’t be age-appropriate, but it ain’t like anyone died. However, the obsidian warrior had nearly given up when the tunnels became too narrow, havin’ resigned himself to livin’ in pitch darkness till the hunger pains ( or dehydration ) killed him. “It’d been a normal day walkin’ past towerin’ rocks on either side of us when it came crashin’ down on us.” He recalled, helm cocked at the memory, brows creased while raspin’ a tongue over Ghostkit’s wooly locks. “None of us had the time to think, boltin’ to the sidelines to find cover when the lot of got separated, findin’ ourselves stuck in a maze of tunnels once the dust settled.” He drew on, timbre a low, monotonous rumble, molten hues far away till they peeked down his muzzle at Ghostkit.
/ please wait for @Ghostkit
thought speech
