- Aug 1, 2023
- 150
- 35
- 28
☆ CW: Blood, mentions of injury, strong language.
The day's patrols are done, the sun dipping slowly but surely beneath the wavering distant horizons in a bloody smear. Iciclefang had told him that, on the journey, they had glimpsed the place where the sun went—a great pool of water that drowned that blazing scarlet light and let the day bleed away into night. He wonders if he'll ever see that—selfishly, he hopes so. He's out for a solo hunting patrol, although it's half a walk, a quiet stroll by himself where he can permit himself this small peace as the sky turns scarlet, then dusty purple, then blue - black night the color of his father's fur. The soft rustle of reeds, the comfortingly strong scent of the border, whispers of foreign smell where they've been safely deterred.
Maybe it's the peace - bringing sight of his sister safely ( albeit slowly ) recuperating, or the glowing faces of his little cousins when they make their first catches or come in from a day of training, the guaranteed safety of their youth; maybe it's his newly - kindled friendship ( acquaintanceship? Clanmate - I - kind - of - knowship? He's hesitant to call them friends just yet ) with Driftwood, or just the sweet smell of the river and the soft buzz of the cicadas, but there's something serene about tonight.
The reeds rustle, ever so gently; the foreign scent across the border increases, ever so minutely.
His head turns.
" Fucker! " he snaps out in a hard click of fangs, rivulets of blood trickling slowly from the tatters of his feathery ear down over the curve of his muzzle. The claw - marks torn through soft, dusty pink skin and tufted black fur are enormous, but recognizably those of a cat, the injury more a stinging irritant than anything serious as he storms into camp, bottlebrush tail flicking so hard there's a whip - crack! with each motion of fur snapping back and forth.
Thank the stars, he looks more angry than in danger of collapse, as his sister had only a few sunrises prior. The scent of rogue and the border clings to him with the blood dripping off his ear and muzzle; more crimson splatters his claws, but it's clearly not his, if the half - satisfaction glimmering low in his eyes is anything to judge by. At some cat's question, he shakes his head to dislodge the blood, clears his throat and flicks red - flecked spit into the sand before he answers. " Some black - furred kittypet, this fucker, on the border. "
" If you're worried about this— " he gestures to his shredded ear, " —you should see him." He growls under his breath, concluding with some measure of satisfaction, " Sent him packing with some scars to show for it, at least. "
☆ 100th milestone! He's not at all seriously injured, just a torn ear and a split lip. Set pre - Lichen death / dog attack number 34832.
The day's patrols are done, the sun dipping slowly but surely beneath the wavering distant horizons in a bloody smear. Iciclefang had told him that, on the journey, they had glimpsed the place where the sun went—a great pool of water that drowned that blazing scarlet light and let the day bleed away into night. He wonders if he'll ever see that—selfishly, he hopes so. He's out for a solo hunting patrol, although it's half a walk, a quiet stroll by himself where he can permit himself this small peace as the sky turns scarlet, then dusty purple, then blue - black night the color of his father's fur. The soft rustle of reeds, the comfortingly strong scent of the border, whispers of foreign smell where they've been safely deterred.
Maybe it's the peace - bringing sight of his sister safely ( albeit slowly ) recuperating, or the glowing faces of his little cousins when they make their first catches or come in from a day of training, the guaranteed safety of their youth; maybe it's his newly - kindled friendship ( acquaintanceship? Clanmate - I - kind - of - knowship? He's hesitant to call them friends just yet ) with Driftwood, or just the sweet smell of the river and the soft buzz of the cicadas, but there's something serene about tonight.
The reeds rustle, ever so gently; the foreign scent across the border increases, ever so minutely.
His head turns.
— — ☆ — —
" Fucker! " he snaps out in a hard click of fangs, rivulets of blood trickling slowly from the tatters of his feathery ear down over the curve of his muzzle. The claw - marks torn through soft, dusty pink skin and tufted black fur are enormous, but recognizably those of a cat, the injury more a stinging irritant than anything serious as he storms into camp, bottlebrush tail flicking so hard there's a whip - crack! with each motion of fur snapping back and forth.
Thank the stars, he looks more angry than in danger of collapse, as his sister had only a few sunrises prior. The scent of rogue and the border clings to him with the blood dripping off his ear and muzzle; more crimson splatters his claws, but it's clearly not his, if the half - satisfaction glimmering low in his eyes is anything to judge by. At some cat's question, he shakes his head to dislodge the blood, clears his throat and flicks red - flecked spit into the sand before he answers. " Some black - furred kittypet, this fucker, on the border. "
" If you're worried about this— " he gestures to his shredded ear, " —you should see him." He growls under his breath, concluding with some measure of satisfaction, " Sent him packing with some scars to show for it, at least. "
☆ 100th milestone! He's not at all seriously injured, just a torn ear and a split lip. Set pre - Lichen death / dog attack number 34832.
" speech "
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