- Apr 6, 2024
- 9
- 0
- 1
࿔*:･ﾟ༄ Not all who live within the confines of horseplace are wanderers. It is a haven, yes, a welcome place for travelers and exiles, yet it is all that this kit has ever known. The comfort of a roof over her head, kibble from the kindly upwalkers - though nowhere near as tasty as the mice her mother Scarecrow catches. She bears a kittypet name alike the older molly: Harvest. Bounty. A fitting name for a childhood of warmth.
Perhaps a little too warm, now. The siblings she never knew perished in the last cold of leafbare, and now Harvest has lived long enough to see the raging flames of newleaf. It makes her want to hide.
Harvest is a quiet thing, unobtrusive. An addition to the barn as natural as the mice that scurry underpaw. She works quietly now, gathering hay and straw up into little bundles. More pile than nest, she would certainly flatten it if she were to lay upon it - but the kit has other plans. Instead, she pushes some hay away from the base of the pile and quickly scurries forward before it can fall. A cascade of straw makes its way into her pelt (Scarecrow will have to groom it out later; Harvest has never been careful about appearances). Now buried amidst a small pile of hay, Harvest shuffles around until her tiny nose can peek outside of it. Wide, silver-moon eyes survey the reddish glow of the barn outside. To an outsider she may look silly - a kit poorly buried amidst a pile of hay - yet she's rather satisfied with her work. It's the perfect hiding spot; the fire will never find her in here.
Perhaps a little too warm, now. The siblings she never knew perished in the last cold of leafbare, and now Harvest has lived long enough to see the raging flames of newleaf. It makes her want to hide.
Harvest is a quiet thing, unobtrusive. An addition to the barn as natural as the mice that scurry underpaw. She works quietly now, gathering hay and straw up into little bundles. More pile than nest, she would certainly flatten it if she were to lay upon it - but the kit has other plans. Instead, she pushes some hay away from the base of the pile and quickly scurries forward before it can fall. A cascade of straw makes its way into her pelt (Scarecrow will have to groom it out later; Harvest has never been careful about appearances). Now buried amidst a small pile of hay, Harvest shuffles around until her tiny nose can peek outside of it. Wide, silver-moon eyes survey the reddish glow of the barn outside. To an outsider she may look silly - a kit poorly buried amidst a pile of hay - yet she's rather satisfied with her work. It's the perfect hiding spot; the fire will never find her in here.
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HARVEST ⸙ she / her, loner, three moons.
➳ a large, thick-furred molly draped in russet tones and bearing silvery eyes.
➳ cautious, people-pleasing, and cowardly. easily impressionable.
➳ npc x npc; daughter to a horseplace mouser.
➳ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
➳ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.