- Feb 16, 2024
- 75
- 15
- 8
[ TRIGGER WARNING: Graphic descriptions of rotting bodies and decomposition. Please read at your own risk! ]
Privetfrost felt nothing as he dragged his father along a familiar path. If anything, he noted how much stronger he had gotten - or how much weaker Snakehiss truly was than him. Still, the young warrior did strain as the weight, as emaciated and rough-hewn as the other rogue had become in his last moons. If a feeling were to be ascribed to this, it would be tedium - and the mere act of allowing the former Windclan deputy's flesh to nestle comfortably within his maw was not a welcome sensation. Nettle-sharp teeth dug into the harder skin of Snakehiss' nape, like the cadaver resisted his touch even after death, lagging his limbs upon the destitute earth. Of course, the corpse bore little air to breathe and even less to complain about the journey. A more humorously sardonic feline would have joked that there would be no more problems in the world if all cats were so complacent.
Privetfrost made sure to wait until the grievous wound had ceased to actively bleed, like the end of a harsh wave's wake, until the white sands did not run with scarlet sea. Whiplike whiskers twitched as he waited for the sanguine to pool onto the ground, to splay itself as it escaped from where it was once held captive. Fern-green gaze harbored no light within it, not even as what remained of Snakehiss had been exhumed to the surface. Only afterwards did he make the journey to a well-acquainted border, and the waning crescent moon shone as though it granted him a languid smile, never inviting but never condemning him within the embrace of its rays. Hot breath raced through his nostrils and maw, and still he continued. Overbearing scent of civilization, as well as the scraps of heather nectar's aroma before it would fade for the season, jutted into his senses. Perfect.
The Duskclan warrior practically threw the tuxedo-pelted feline to the ground once he had reached his destination, an interment blossoming from his own hatred, and the act of simply perceiving him in this pitiful state seemed more like reverence than abhorrence. He coughed for a few moments, as though he had swallowed a feather, though quickly composed himself. "I have no use for you. Not anymore. Let this be the last act of mercy I give you, for you never earned it in the first place." Privetfrost spat at his father's ill-timed grave, though quickly did the magpie-plumed tomcat sweep through the wildgrasses, as though he were nothing but a beast dredged from the oilspill shadows that had weaned him. All throughout the night, he did not feel anything, and perhaps the absence of sensation was far less comforting than an implosion of any of them within his roiling gut. It perplexed him, and he wished that at least fury could bubble to his countenance. At least grief could paint his ducts with tears. At least happiness could allow him the catharsis he sought when he landed the killing blow. Was it all for nothing, once more? Was it not enough to be satisfied with the aftermath - and the thrill only remained as momentarily as an ephemeral bloom? He wondered so as he headed back to the scrublands.
When the Windclan cats would find Snakehiss in the morning, he would face his belly skyward with arms outstretched, like a lizard seared by the will of the molten sun. With his maw agape, he did not pray. The botflies had already claimed their stake, slithering into the open invitation of the festering wound. Morning's heat had already begun to take its toll, and the stench of decay began to seep into the very air around the bloated corpse.
Privetfrost felt nothing as he dragged his father along a familiar path. If anything, he noted how much stronger he had gotten - or how much weaker Snakehiss truly was than him. Still, the young warrior did strain as the weight, as emaciated and rough-hewn as the other rogue had become in his last moons. If a feeling were to be ascribed to this, it would be tedium - and the mere act of allowing the former Windclan deputy's flesh to nestle comfortably within his maw was not a welcome sensation. Nettle-sharp teeth dug into the harder skin of Snakehiss' nape, like the cadaver resisted his touch even after death, lagging his limbs upon the destitute earth. Of course, the corpse bore little air to breathe and even less to complain about the journey. A more humorously sardonic feline would have joked that there would be no more problems in the world if all cats were so complacent.
Privetfrost made sure to wait until the grievous wound had ceased to actively bleed, like the end of a harsh wave's wake, until the white sands did not run with scarlet sea. Whiplike whiskers twitched as he waited for the sanguine to pool onto the ground, to splay itself as it escaped from where it was once held captive. Fern-green gaze harbored no light within it, not even as what remained of Snakehiss had been exhumed to the surface. Only afterwards did he make the journey to a well-acquainted border, and the waning crescent moon shone as though it granted him a languid smile, never inviting but never condemning him within the embrace of its rays. Hot breath raced through his nostrils and maw, and still he continued. Overbearing scent of civilization, as well as the scraps of heather nectar's aroma before it would fade for the season, jutted into his senses. Perfect.
The Duskclan warrior practically threw the tuxedo-pelted feline to the ground once he had reached his destination, an interment blossoming from his own hatred, and the act of simply perceiving him in this pitiful state seemed more like reverence than abhorrence. He coughed for a few moments, as though he had swallowed a feather, though quickly composed himself. "I have no use for you. Not anymore. Let this be the last act of mercy I give you, for you never earned it in the first place." Privetfrost spat at his father's ill-timed grave, though quickly did the magpie-plumed tomcat sweep through the wildgrasses, as though he were nothing but a beast dredged from the oilspill shadows that had weaned him. All throughout the night, he did not feel anything, and perhaps the absence of sensation was far less comforting than an implosion of any of them within his roiling gut. It perplexed him, and he wished that at least fury could bubble to his countenance. At least grief could paint his ducts with tears. At least happiness could allow him the catharsis he sought when he landed the killing blow. Was it all for nothing, once more? Was it not enough to be satisfied with the aftermath - and the thrill only remained as momentarily as an ephemeral bloom? He wondered so as he headed back to the scrublands.
When the Windclan cats would find Snakehiss in the morning, he would face his belly skyward with arms outstretched, like a lizard seared by the will of the molten sun. With his maw agape, he did not pray. The botflies had already claimed their stake, slithering into the open invitation of the festering wound. Morning's heat had already begun to take its toll, and the stench of decay began to seep into the very air around the bloated corpse.
-
Privetfrost will be long gone once the body is discovered, but the stench of Duskclan can be detected :) Also read this thread for context!
-
-
