- Aug 1, 2022
- 214
- 46
- 28
Clearsight only manages two bites.
Feline teeth sink into the flesh of a vole. The first bite is mostly fur, but the second is... meatier. Warm blood wets Clearsight's muzzle.
He chokes, Cicadastar's scent in his mouth, smoke-dappled fur soaked red—
The tom jerks to his feet, and the sight of the bitten-open prey makes him woozy. Cicadastar had been prey to them. Skewered open, bleeding out, dragged to their camp like he was nothing more than food, like he was not a man carrying a clan on his shoulders—like he was not tender and ruthless and wild and beautiful, someone's father, someone's love.
Clearsight stumbles away from the corner of camp where he'd sat to eat, toward a patch of reeds close to the riverbank. He flinches away from icecap eyes empty and red-soaked fur—the stench of twoleg and too much blood, the crack of a body gored against wood. He retches, an ugly sound, eyes shut tightly, nothing but bile in his stomach.
"He's alive," Clearsight gasps between dry heaves. His voice is vicious. "He's alive. It's over."
When the heaving finally passes, he's left shaking.
Feline teeth sink into the flesh of a vole. The first bite is mostly fur, but the second is... meatier. Warm blood wets Clearsight's muzzle.
He chokes, Cicadastar's scent in his mouth, smoke-dappled fur soaked red—
The tom jerks to his feet, and the sight of the bitten-open prey makes him woozy. Cicadastar had been prey to them. Skewered open, bleeding out, dragged to their camp like he was nothing more than food, like he was not a man carrying a clan on his shoulders—like he was not tender and ruthless and wild and beautiful, someone's father, someone's love.
Clearsight stumbles away from the corner of camp where he'd sat to eat, toward a patch of reeds close to the riverbank. He flinches away from icecap eyes empty and red-soaked fur—the stench of twoleg and too much blood, the crack of a body gored against wood. He retches, an ugly sound, eyes shut tightly, nothing but bile in his stomach.
"He's alive," Clearsight gasps between dry heaves. His voice is vicious. "He's alive. It's over."
When the heaving finally passes, he's left shaking.
// @willowroot