- Jul 28, 2024
- 11
- 3
- 3
loneliness. loneliness. it eats at him like a hungry black hound ; looming overhead, gnawing at the gaunt edges of bone where lilac - woven lacing does not cradle him like a trembling, wounded mother. in the quiet left by his newfound singleness ( was it newfound? ), loonface has only the chittering of insects to keep his company. there is grief rocking his home bounds worse than any sort of relationship trouble he may be facing . . hunting is an easy solace, it finds. a quiet dip into the night ; rainfall pitter - patters against the discarded tin and scrap just beyond the fencing of carrionplace. he stays clear of it, favoring the small, rainstorm - forged creek that fills the ditches and pulses waves of swampish odor through the thinning pine.
he is sniffing into a thicket of dark swampflower when he feels it — pauses in his tracks. when it’s razorwire muzzle lifts, there is something . . grey, right over the bridge of his lupine muzzle. it’s slimish, moving long, beady antennae in separate directions as if attempting to look him square in the eyes . . a snail, he thinks, with a pinch of delight lifting a mitted paw from the marshy ground with a warble of astonished laughter. the showered wetlands had made them brave. loonface lifts its head, eyes crossed to see it against the dimming sky, " desperate for company, my friend? " he speaks, voice as clear and gentle as the leaffall downpour around him. sounds awfully, terribly familiar. to anyone far enough, it would seem it was talking to the sky itself — head tipped, oilspill eyes alight and misted with rain.
it wonders if the thing has a snail family, back in the evergreen bushes. a snail mate, a snail future. it wonders if, if that snail mate left him, too, and it was trailing the edges of shadowclan’s greenery to take its snail mind off the urge to grow legs, distend, stomp into the dirt the remnants of its snail family and that snail mate — in her peripheries, just beyond the curious creature’s brown grey back, he catches a clanmates eye and loonface laughs. a quiet, harmonious thing that doesn’t reach the humor he tries for, windchiming against the stiff breeze like a fawn caught wobbling towards the horizon, " ive, ive gained a passenger! this weather must’ve made the poor thing . . a little sluggish. " he tries, dark eyes glittering sharp amusement . . and fails, despite the pearlescent ( too - many - teethed ) smile he shines their way anyhow.
he is sniffing into a thicket of dark swampflower when he feels it — pauses in his tracks. when it’s razorwire muzzle lifts, there is something . . grey, right over the bridge of his lupine muzzle. it’s slimish, moving long, beady antennae in separate directions as if attempting to look him square in the eyes . . a snail, he thinks, with a pinch of delight lifting a mitted paw from the marshy ground with a warble of astonished laughter. the showered wetlands had made them brave. loonface lifts its head, eyes crossed to see it against the dimming sky, " desperate for company, my friend? " he speaks, voice as clear and gentle as the leaffall downpour around him. sounds awfully, terribly familiar. to anyone far enough, it would seem it was talking to the sky itself — head tipped, oilspill eyes alight and misted with rain.
it wonders if the thing has a snail family, back in the evergreen bushes. a snail mate, a snail future. it wonders if, if that snail mate left him, too, and it was trailing the edges of shadowclan’s greenery to take its snail mind off the urge to grow legs, distend, stomp into the dirt the remnants of its snail family and that snail mate — in her peripheries, just beyond the curious creature’s brown grey back, he catches a clanmates eye and loonface laughs. a quiet, harmonious thing that doesn’t reach the humor he tries for, windchiming against the stiff breeze like a fawn caught wobbling towards the horizon, " ive, ive gained a passenger! this weather must’ve made the poor thing . . a little sluggish. " he tries, dark eyes glittering sharp amusement . . and fails, despite the pearlescent ( too - many - teethed ) smile he shines their way anyhow.
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LOONFACE
———————HE / IT / SHE, WARRIOR OF SHADOWCLAN. MOCKINGBIRDCRY xxFATHER. 23 MOONS OLD, SMELLS LIKE CRUSHED FLOWERS & CARRION. PENNED BY ANTLERS.
a tall, haunting lilac tabby with dark features and syrupy amber eyes.he carries through life an uncanniness he cannot shed. a unique culmination of atypical traits has given it stature like something dredged of nightmare ; like his mother he is doused in sleek waves of marbled lilac, plush softens the underlying jut of sinew and bone at his chest. from afar, he seems unworldly, if a bit sick ; all popping vertebrae and thickly veined membrane, doused in thick waves of fur like his mother. if it weren’t for a face like oil - slick rot & buzz of hungry horseflies clouding it’s features into pitch black, cutting off sharply at the neck as if earth has come to reclaim him. his long snout is torn in ribbons stretching towards the outer corner of his ear in an overgrown and toothy glasgow smile, the only cut of age - tinged color against stark shadow.