- Jun 7, 2022
- 169
- 42
- 28
❝ His shoulder's grown past its aching, an' that's all Hound could hope for as the weather begins to change. Leaves change and tumble from their perches, a better chill stings the earth when the sun's far from the horizon. All that'd been beautiful about this place is slowly being lost, it'd seem. The peacefulness of green grass on the banks, bundles of flowers and gleaming shells. It'd been a slow drag down, and somehow he'd survived the fall. But this pit was not one they'd climb out of, not even together. They'd wait it out, curl up on the coldest of nights– be a clan, he'd hope. A family. It's what they'd meant to be, maybe. Things'd shattered after the battle. Those he'd thought of as friends lived separate lives now, and he could hardly imagine doing it again. Wakin' up one day to find those he'd cared for gone. Watching them grow up from a distance. Stars, he'd hate it.
It feels like all he'd been doing, though. Stuck in the corners, expecting the worse an' not being able to do a damned thing about it. The world'd suffer, and he couldn't fix it like he'd want. A nightmare to always haunt him.
Leaving camp's like waking up. Much as he may mourn leaf-bare's impending march, there's somethin' about the crisp air of leaf-fall that soothes him. Even without the greenery, there's life in the air. Creatures gathering up their strength just as RiverClan does. Twoleg kits are out and about less, and come bundled and clumsy when they do. He remembers the moons he'd spent before coming to the pines. Little more than a kit himself, hiding from them beneath a dormant monster as those hands crept closer. The collar'd been thrown from his throat, but the memories of it linger. The way the others had looked at him with that prison wrapped around him. It never quite left him. Seems he's still stuck trying to prove himself. Do better; be better.
In this, at least, he feels more certain of himself.
In the moons that have passed, Hound's known nothing more steady than his work with Lakepaw. All he can hope is that he'd not taught her his worst habits alongside his best. Maybe that's all this's for. Checking in. Making sure. The time's growing ever closer that she'd find her way through the world without another's guidance. What more could he share? It's a walk. He'd made up a bit'f nonsense about assessing her hunting, though he's certain the molly knew he was full of it. They're some way out of camp now, the bustle of patrols and chatter fading to the distance. He doesn't say anything for now, but gently nudges his uninjured shoulder to hers in companionable silence.
It feels like all he'd been doing, though. Stuck in the corners, expecting the worse an' not being able to do a damned thing about it. The world'd suffer, and he couldn't fix it like he'd want. A nightmare to always haunt him.
Leaving camp's like waking up. Much as he may mourn leaf-bare's impending march, there's somethin' about the crisp air of leaf-fall that soothes him. Even without the greenery, there's life in the air. Creatures gathering up their strength just as RiverClan does. Twoleg kits are out and about less, and come bundled and clumsy when they do. He remembers the moons he'd spent before coming to the pines. Little more than a kit himself, hiding from them beneath a dormant monster as those hands crept closer. The collar'd been thrown from his throat, but the memories of it linger. The way the others had looked at him with that prison wrapped around him. It never quite left him. Seems he's still stuck trying to prove himself. Do better; be better.
In this, at least, he feels more certain of himself.
In the moons that have passed, Hound's known nothing more steady than his work with Lakepaw. All he can hope is that he'd not taught her his worst habits alongside his best. Maybe that's all this's for. Checking in. Making sure. The time's growing ever closer that she'd find her way through the world without another's guidance. What more could he share? It's a walk. He'd made up a bit'f nonsense about assessing her hunting, though he's certain the molly knew he was full of it. They're some way out of camp now, the bustle of patrols and chatter fading to the distance. He doesn't say anything for now, but gently nudges his uninjured shoulder to hers in companionable silence.
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ooc: PLS FORGIVE ME FOR TAKING 10 MILLION YEARS
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──── houndsnarl. trans male, he/him pronouns.
──── approximately 30 moons old, or 2.5 years.
──── bisexual with firm male preference; single.
──── a chocolate tabby with ( stylized ) low white and intense lime eyes. lean and lanky, with whiplike musculature and a long, quick stride. hound's notable features include his impressive height, the long scar across the left side of his face from nose to jaw, his very deep, dense fur, and the confident manner with which he conducts himself. - "speech"
