- Apr 2, 2025
- 5
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It's always something, he tells himself: finds paws scrabbled in grass, dirt muddied up to his belly, searches on and on for answers that aren't there and answers that will never be there. Corpses unearthed, swallowed whole by earth and soil and rotworms, and sometimes Butterflypaw's not all that sure he's got the kicks to continue. When your parents die young, there's something sick about it; the scent cloys, swamps, buries in deep, fleas on fur. He's sure others can see it, too, take one lobbed look at him and go: "Yeah, that's the one." Finds himself drowning in it, wavering and floundering in his dreams, images of eyes he misses and eyes he doesn't even know— like mother, like father, he sanctifies. Dad left long ago, a speck of dust in the wind, there and gone. Mom left, too, in different ways. Eyes glowing dark before she was gone, her saccharine scent muddled into all the death and decay.
And yet... he picks his feet up and continues on, because when inconsolable feelings can't be consoled, there's nothing left to do but move. Doleful blues swarm into something different, something brighter- finds himself on the receiving ends of crackling giggles and burst laughter, realizes that it warms something inside that's long been buried deep. He does things for cats because, unlike him, others deserve to have a little fun— don't deserve to be bogged down by the graves picketed in their backyards.
That's where he finds himself today, all smooth sailing as he finishes off the last bone on this bunny's body, bright blue eyes staring at the camp entrance. He itches to go do something, wants to wear and tear at the grass gushing over WindClan's territory, feel the cascade of dirt and the thrill of a catch and warm copper in his mouth. But he can't do that without someone to come along. Can't do that without some buddies, at least. With that, he gets to his paws. A beat passes ... "What's a guy gotta do around here to make some friends?" All grins and friendly smiles, [possible] rude words molding into something surprisingly more affable. All to say: come be pals with me!
And yet... he picks his feet up and continues on, because when inconsolable feelings can't be consoled, there's nothing left to do but move. Doleful blues swarm into something different, something brighter- finds himself on the receiving ends of crackling giggles and burst laughter, realizes that it warms something inside that's long been buried deep. He does things for cats because, unlike him, others deserve to have a little fun— don't deserve to be bogged down by the graves picketed in their backyards.
That's where he finds himself today, all smooth sailing as he finishes off the last bone on this bunny's body, bright blue eyes staring at the camp entrance. He itches to go do something, wants to wear and tear at the grass gushing over WindClan's territory, feel the cascade of dirt and the thrill of a catch and warm copper in his mouth. But he can't do that without someone to come along. Can't do that without some buddies, at least. With that, he gets to his paws. A beat passes ... "What's a guy gotta do around here to make some friends?" All grins and friendly smiles, [
ooc ( please wait for @Russetpaw & @Stoatpaw ! )
