- Jul 5, 2024
- 36
- 29
- 18
bayingkit liked to dig holes. a recent discovery ; the feeling of dirt threading her claws, peeling through the oakrot ribboning along her forelimbs and caking into hard clumps that she can pick out like little rocks. if she’s lucky, sometimes, theres a bug under there — caught crawling around beneath frantically scooping pads. sometimes, there’s something even better . . like a big stone, or a mouse bone. there are treasures to be found buried beneath the well - tread dirt, and the striped kitten had already uprooted two in the moments nightbird had returned to the nursery, lodged herself half in the earth with hindquarters anchoring her firmly by claw to the side. her tail lashes an eager wag behind her, whiplike and quick.
digging was fun exploring that she could do herself. digging even sometimes got out that feeling inside bayingkit — the one that trembles and snaps and rages wildfire hot inside her until she gnashes her teeth, bleeds venom from her tongue . . with the strain in her arms helps, somehow, and starclan knew she’d needed help. after the squirrel incident, bayingkit’s fur had yet to lie flat — sparked alert and angry along her spine, the word deathberry echoing in too - tall ears like a tolling bell. she’d seen ivorykit and coltkit spit the meat out, but did that really mean death wouldn’t get them? bayingkit ripped through her meals like something starved, quickly gulped and snarlingly protective of her meal ; she doesn’t understand where the food went, but if the deathberry touched their tongue, didn’t that mean . .
her nose twists, muzzle crinkling. she didn’t want coltkit to be dead, berry or not. he was nice to bayingkit, and she did not crush him when lounging in the rare moments she found herself sprawled in camp. the idea comes to her quickly, and she is covered in dirt by the end of her endeavor — clumps of root twine and bits of grass - smear clumping the shaggy fur from wide paws to her muzzle, more ground than kit by the time teeth have latched onto her sole prize : a big, gnarled root that hooks the bottom of her jaw. she pulls, and she pulls, and she thinks of the bad people in thunderclan that want to hurt coltkit, and ivorykit. she thinks of the angry twitch in her mothers jaw. she pulls even harder, and feels the dirt shift.
the earth submits, releases she deeply - embedded root and sends her tumbling backward onto her tail. she lands with a thump, but recovers swiftly, tossing her head and pacing a quick circle in excitement. her prize, her gift. coltkit would be happy with it, and her, and . . and . . that made her feel good. it made the angry feeling, the warm feeling, subside deeper into her howling chest. with big, happy steps, she wanders camp in search of the mottled kit ( and maybe ivorykit, but her fur was so blindingly bright ; the only reason to dislike dirt. ) until she finds him curled sleepily in the shade beneath highstone. she makes her presence known with a mighty huff from her nose, plodding to his forefront and plopping the weird root at too - big paws.
she is filthy, jutting with leaf rot and soil but she cranes her head down anyway, bares her teeth and wags her haunches friendlily. a string of drool links sharp forefangs to a link of golden bloom ; the sproutings of flowers still clinging on despite the pulpy indents where she'd gnawed it open. dualtoned eyes blink slow, expectant, white - dipped forepaws tip - tapping an idle dance ; he would be proud of her. he would, " for you. " she says simply, whisking a wide tongue across her maw and breaking the glisten of spittle at rubberdark lips . . as well as ingesting the clump of dirt it catches on the way across. this would fix everything.
digging was fun exploring that she could do herself. digging even sometimes got out that feeling inside bayingkit — the one that trembles and snaps and rages wildfire hot inside her until she gnashes her teeth, bleeds venom from her tongue . . with the strain in her arms helps, somehow, and starclan knew she’d needed help. after the squirrel incident, bayingkit’s fur had yet to lie flat — sparked alert and angry along her spine, the word deathberry echoing in too - tall ears like a tolling bell. she’d seen ivorykit and coltkit spit the meat out, but did that really mean death wouldn’t get them? bayingkit ripped through her meals like something starved, quickly gulped and snarlingly protective of her meal ; she doesn’t understand where the food went, but if the deathberry touched their tongue, didn’t that mean . .
her nose twists, muzzle crinkling. she didn’t want coltkit to be dead, berry or not. he was nice to bayingkit, and she did not crush him when lounging in the rare moments she found herself sprawled in camp. the idea comes to her quickly, and she is covered in dirt by the end of her endeavor — clumps of root twine and bits of grass - smear clumping the shaggy fur from wide paws to her muzzle, more ground than kit by the time teeth have latched onto her sole prize : a big, gnarled root that hooks the bottom of her jaw. she pulls, and she pulls, and she thinks of the bad people in thunderclan that want to hurt coltkit, and ivorykit. she thinks of the angry twitch in her mothers jaw. she pulls even harder, and feels the dirt shift.
the earth submits, releases she deeply - embedded root and sends her tumbling backward onto her tail. she lands with a thump, but recovers swiftly, tossing her head and pacing a quick circle in excitement. her prize, her gift. coltkit would be happy with it, and her, and . . and . . that made her feel good. it made the angry feeling, the warm feeling, subside deeper into her howling chest. with big, happy steps, she wanders camp in search of the mottled kit ( and maybe ivorykit, but her fur was so blindingly bright ; the only reason to dislike dirt. ) until she finds him curled sleepily in the shade beneath highstone. she makes her presence known with a mighty huff from her nose, plodding to his forefront and plopping the weird root at too - big paws.
she is filthy, jutting with leaf rot and soil but she cranes her head down anyway, bares her teeth and wags her haunches friendlily. a string of drool links sharp forefangs to a link of golden bloom ; the sproutings of flowers still clinging on despite the pulpy indents where she'd gnawed it open. dualtoned eyes blink slow, expectant, white - dipped forepaws tip - tapping an idle dance ; he would be proud of her. he would, " for you. " she says simply, whisking a wide tongue across her maw and breaking the glisten of spittle at rubberdark lips . . as well as ingesting the clump of dirt it catches on the way across. this would fix everything.
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i. for @COLTKIT hehe
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- ” speech “
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BAYINGKIT
———————SHE / HER, KITTEN OF THUNDERCLAN. NIGHTBIRD xx RACCOONSTRIPE, SISTER TO TWILIGHTKIT, TIGERKIT, STORMKIT & LIGHTNINGKIT. 3 MOONS OLD, SMELLS LIKE DISRUPTED SOIL & WET FUR. PENNED BY ANTLERS.
a large, unsightly black tabby kitten.mongrelish, standing all thistlethorn fur and bared teeth, bayingkit would be thought roguesblood if not for the dogtooth crown she uncomfortably bears. a hereditary haunting lies in the shag of ornate black striping and long limbs that do not yet suit her wide, slouching shoulders ; her fathers daughter, laced in dredge and filth moreso than he’d ever been. a constant, incessant need to make herself small forms in hunched spine and weary, whale - eyed suspicion, communicating mostly in rumbling growls.. bayingkit tends to hold herself with a tuck tailed and trembling livewire of feral volatility.