- Jul 30, 2022
- 169
- 18
- 18
EYES COVERED IN INK AND BLEACH
maggotkit | 02 months | female | she/her | physically easy | mentally hard | attack in bold mediumpurple
Maggotkit stood in the shadows at the edge of the nursery, in the gap that was the entrance and exit, watching silently as her clanmates rose for the day. Very little changed from day to day - warriors going on patrols, apprentices doing chores and going out to train, elders grumping about as queens shared tongues - always watching their kits like hawks. Oh how she envied them - the fluidity with which they moved about their day, the casual conversations, the attention and respect they commanded. The carefree joy of her denmates - all of which she lacked.
The rather pretty child had never been like them - she'd never had a mother, she'd killed her at birth. Her father had never bothered to care for her, giving her a name in his spite but nothing else. His other kits more important than his mates murderer. Certainly, Snailcurl had fostered her, but it wasn't the same. And she had her own kits to worry about these days - after all, Sproutkit had just passed away. And Maggie herself had just... faded into the background, forgotten yet never quite gone.
Jaded teal eyes watched carefully - cautious and observant, the look of a child who'd grown up much to soon and seen the harsh realities of life. Prey was scarcer than ever in leafbare, kits just another mouth to feed. The carrionplace the only course of prey, even that tempered by the danger the food source posed.
And yet she was almost untouched by it all - one could not starve if they'd never truly known the feeling of a full belly, and she'd made due for a long time now by eating icicles and digging up insects when the gnawing pains would not leave. One could not be hurt by loss when it was an everyday occurrence - sure, she was sad at the loss of life, loss of a good warrior or kit or elder, but it was the kind of second-hand sadness one felt for a stranger you didn't know or care about. It wasn't as if Sproutkit was her sister, so why should she care? Family was just another word for weakness.
Some might consider her cruel - callous, unfeeling. Broken even, depending on ones view of the situation. But truly, she was just simply there - existing, observing, adapting. For now however, the young girl would slip forwards, sticking to the sidelines as she wove her way over to a nice flat rock and laid down, her senses still alert even as her body seemed to relax into what little comfort the sun touched stone has to offer, gaze watching as pale flakes of snow lazily fluttered about the camp.
The rather pretty child had never been like them - she'd never had a mother, she'd killed her at birth. Her father had never bothered to care for her, giving her a name in his spite but nothing else. His other kits more important than his mates murderer. Certainly, Snailcurl had fostered her, but it wasn't the same. And she had her own kits to worry about these days - after all, Sproutkit had just passed away. And Maggie herself had just... faded into the background, forgotten yet never quite gone.
Jaded teal eyes watched carefully - cautious and observant, the look of a child who'd grown up much to soon and seen the harsh realities of life. Prey was scarcer than ever in leafbare, kits just another mouth to feed. The carrionplace the only course of prey, even that tempered by the danger the food source posed.
And yet she was almost untouched by it all - one could not starve if they'd never truly known the feeling of a full belly, and she'd made due for a long time now by eating icicles and digging up insects when the gnawing pains would not leave. One could not be hurt by loss when it was an everyday occurrence - sure, she was sad at the loss of life, loss of a good warrior or kit or elder, but it was the kind of second-hand sadness one felt for a stranger you didn't know or care about. It wasn't as if Sproutkit was her sister, so why should she care? Family was just another word for weakness.
Some might consider her cruel - callous, unfeeling. Broken even, depending on ones view of the situation. But truly, she was just simply there - existing, observing, adapting. For now however, the young girl would slip forwards, sticking to the sidelines as she wove her way over to a nice flat rock and laid down, her senses still alert even as her body seemed to relax into what little comfort the sun touched stone has to offer, gaze watching as pale flakes of snow lazily fluttered about the camp.
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