- Oct 7, 2024
- 12
- 4
- 3
@ASHENFALL
Promisekit sits in the shade, a chill welcoming itself into his curly coat. Half lidded eyes find camp with a minute amount of glee, more or less people watching his Clanmates as they pass by. Some share their meals, others chatter about their latest patrol. More often than not the child keeps his nose out of the business of adults, but as he grows and learns more, he cannot help but attach himself to the rare morsels of knowledge that intrigue him.
His father is near. Something clicks in Promisekit's little mind as the tom mutters something to himself - something about a grave. The word has been said several times in his short life, though admittedly the kitten doesn't exactly understand what it is. It's not something he can eat, and more often than not he notices that cats grow uncomfortable with its mention. He doesn't think it a predator, for Ashenfall doesn't grow fearful with acknowledging it. His father stands, likely intending to attend to his routine visit, and his eldest son strides a step extra to block his path.
"Where are you going?" he preens, his head tilting and too-tall ears flopping. Mismatched eyes - one still struggling to make headway into yellow - blink once, twice, and he parts his childish grin next with, "Can I come with?" To the graves no doubt, to face the (terror? Solitude? Brevity of existence?) Promisekit inclines his head with a long, "Pleaaaasseee?"
Promisekit sits in the shade, a chill welcoming itself into his curly coat. Half lidded eyes find camp with a minute amount of glee, more or less people watching his Clanmates as they pass by. Some share their meals, others chatter about their latest patrol. More often than not the child keeps his nose out of the business of adults, but as he grows and learns more, he cannot help but attach himself to the rare morsels of knowledge that intrigue him.
His father is near. Something clicks in Promisekit's little mind as the tom mutters something to himself - something about a grave. The word has been said several times in his short life, though admittedly the kitten doesn't exactly understand what it is. It's not something he can eat, and more often than not he notices that cats grow uncomfortable with its mention. He doesn't think it a predator, for Ashenfall doesn't grow fearful with acknowledging it. His father stands, likely intending to attend to his routine visit, and his eldest son strides a step extra to block his path.
"Where are you going?" he preens, his head tilting and too-tall ears flopping. Mismatched eyes - one still struggling to make headway into yellow - blink once, twice, and he parts his childish grin next with, "Can I come with?" To the graves no doubt, to face the (terror? Solitude? Brevity of existence?) Promisekit inclines his head with a long, "Pleaaaasseee?"