- Feb 23, 2024
- 49
- 8
- 8
It starts something like this:
Bilberrykit likes to pounce. It isn’t an unusual thing to see a kit who likes to pounce—on tails or passing paws, on shadows of overhead birds too high to be seen, on nothing at all. It isn’t even unusual for such an action to be accompanied by shouts of killed you! or by the sort of tittering giggles that can only come from a kit who believes themself to be, possibly, the sneakiest and best pouncer in WindClan. Pouncing, for a kit, tends to be a far louder experience than the kit believes it to be.
It is a concerning thing then, when one walks on Bilberrykit’s hunting grounds, there is silence.
Bilberrykit has discovered a new, singular focus. His paws work into the sand with a speed that would make a rabbit jealous. Despite this, the resulting hole grows only incrementally—sand, as it would seem, likes to find holes dug and fill them in by way of shifting. It makes the size of the hole (large enough to fit Bilberrykit’s head as long as he presses his nose directly to the bottom—he knows, he’s checked!) all the more impressive.
Somewhere in the middle was something like this:
Bilberrykit had pounced on nothing. The force of it had sunk his paws into the sand. He had laughed at first, had started to move, and then he had heard the subtle sound—paw on sand, sand on sand. There isn’t a thought in that moment, no what it? that spurs him into motion. There is, at most, the thin start of a wondering that is immediately nipped by the abrupt beginning of Bilberrykit’s brand new project.
Now, it is Bilberrykit and it is his hole, expanding only slightly faster than it is collapsing in on itself, and the accompanying silence that can only come from someone, for the first time in their life, having a narrow focus.
Bilberrykit likes to pounce. It isn’t an unusual thing to see a kit who likes to pounce—on tails or passing paws, on shadows of overhead birds too high to be seen, on nothing at all. It isn’t even unusual for such an action to be accompanied by shouts of killed you! or by the sort of tittering giggles that can only come from a kit who believes themself to be, possibly, the sneakiest and best pouncer in WindClan. Pouncing, for a kit, tends to be a far louder experience than the kit believes it to be.
It is a concerning thing then, when one walks on Bilberrykit’s hunting grounds, there is silence.
Bilberrykit has discovered a new, singular focus. His paws work into the sand with a speed that would make a rabbit jealous. Despite this, the resulting hole grows only incrementally—sand, as it would seem, likes to find holes dug and fill them in by way of shifting. It makes the size of the hole (large enough to fit Bilberrykit’s head as long as he presses his nose directly to the bottom—he knows, he’s checked!) all the more impressive.
Somewhere in the middle was something like this:
Bilberrykit had pounced on nothing. The force of it had sunk his paws into the sand. He had laughed at first, had started to move, and then he had heard the subtle sound—paw on sand, sand on sand. There isn’t a thought in that moment, no what it? that spurs him into motion. There is, at most, the thin start of a wondering that is immediately nipped by the abrupt beginning of Bilberrykit’s brand new project.
Now, it is Bilberrykit and it is his hole, expanding only slightly faster than it is collapsing in on itself, and the accompanying silence that can only come from someone, for the first time in their life, having a narrow focus.
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