- Aug 4, 2024
- 73
- 15
- 8
Howlpaw crouches low to the ground near the nursery, its amber eyes fixed on a small pile of leaves shifting in the breeze. To any passerby, the young apprentice might appear focused, maybe even calm, but a closer look reveals the tension humming through its wiry frame. Its claws dig into the dirt as it waits, every muscle taut as if expecting an ambush. In its mind, the leaves become an enemy—an opponent it must outwit and overpower. The clearing around it is relatively quiet, the midday sun filtering through the trees and casting dappled shadows on the ground. Most of the kits are napping or playing in the nursery, their squeals and giggles muffled by the thick bramble walls. Howlpaw stays just far enough away to avoid being scolded for disturbing them, yet close enough that the faint scent of milk and moss lingers in the air, grounding it in a way it doesn't fully understand.
It exhales slowly, its breath steadying as it visualizes the attack. With a sharp flick of its tail, Howlpaw launches forward, landing squarely on the leaf pile with a ferocity that seems out of place for such a harmless target. Dirt scatters under its paws as it swipes at the imaginary foe, claws extended and striking with precision. It twists, spinning on its hind legs as though countering an unseen blow, then ducks low again, snarling softly to itself. It repeats the sequence—pounce, swipe, dodge—over and over, pushing itself harder each time. Its movements grow sharper, more aggressive, as if it's trying to claw through memories that cling to it like burrs. The ghost of Baying Hound's shadow looms in the back of its mind, a reminder of everything it's endured, and it drives Howlpaw to train harder, faster. A twig snaps nearby, and Howlpaw freezes, its ears swiveling toward the sound. Its amber gaze darts around the clearing, searching for the source of the noise. For a moment, its breathing quickens, a flicker of panic flashing across its face before it schools its expression back to neutrality. When no immediate threat reveals itself, it relaxes—just slightly—and sits back on its haunches, shaking the dirt from its paws. It glances toward the nursery, where a head briefly pokes out. Howlpaw doesn't acknowledge them, turning its back as it begins to groom its fur in short, brisk strokes.
@TWILIGHTKIT ⋆
It exhales slowly, its breath steadying as it visualizes the attack. With a sharp flick of its tail, Howlpaw launches forward, landing squarely on the leaf pile with a ferocity that seems out of place for such a harmless target. Dirt scatters under its paws as it swipes at the imaginary foe, claws extended and striking with precision. It twists, spinning on its hind legs as though countering an unseen blow, then ducks low again, snarling softly to itself. It repeats the sequence—pounce, swipe, dodge—over and over, pushing itself harder each time. Its movements grow sharper, more aggressive, as if it's trying to claw through memories that cling to it like burrs. The ghost of Baying Hound's shadow looms in the back of its mind, a reminder of everything it's endured, and it drives Howlpaw to train harder, faster. A twig snaps nearby, and Howlpaw freezes, its ears swiveling toward the sound. Its amber gaze darts around the clearing, searching for the source of the noise. For a moment, its breathing quickens, a flicker of panic flashing across its face before it schools its expression back to neutrality. When no immediate threat reveals itself, it relaxes—just slightly—and sits back on its haunches, shaking the dirt from its paws. It glances toward the nursery, where a head briefly pokes out. Howlpaw doesn't acknowledge them, turning its back as it begins to groom its fur in short, brisk strokes.
@TWILIGHTKIT ⋆