![Patchpaw [in.]](/data/avatars/l/0/673.jpg?1665193031){kind=avatar}
- Oct 4, 2022
- 87
- 4
- 8
THERE'S A WORLD THAT WAS MEANT FOR OUR EYES TO SEE
this is from patchpaw's perspective, so things are immensely exaggerated about what she's seeing vs what's actually happening! the blizzard is still picking up, however...
this was also meant to be posted a few days ago, so i apologize for that...
When Patchpaw awoke that morning, she could feel the hairs on her neck stand on end, as though something was so, terribly wrong. The camp had fallen deathly still, hushed by the growing clouds blocking out the sun from shining its golden rays through the branches of the apprentice's den. She pulled herself from the moss and shook off clinging bits, and as she cautiously stepped outside to see what was going on, dread fills her chest like breathing in water. Her eyes rose to the world above, fear sinking into her throat and clawing at her insides. As it darkens into a foreboding grey and the freezing wind ominously howls through the trees, it begins to pick up at an alarming rate, sending warriors scattering into their dens and queens herding kits into the nursery to protect them.
This was so, horribly different from a thunderstorm. Instead of the ground violently trembling from thunder echoing in the air and the rain pouring down in a heavy wall of fury, her ears filled with the ear-splitting, cacophonous harmony of heavy branches and even trees themselves bending sideways in the winds that whipped at her fur and of the wind wailing its mourning song over the canopy. The skies themselves opened up above her like gaping jaws and the clouds changed to a sickening, infected blackness, ready to swallow the tiny apprentice whole as if she was nothing but bones of a newborn mouse.
She wasn't sure what happened next, but her paws moved faster than her mind could register, pushing through the apprentice's den and knocking brambles loose as she stumbles her way through. She wasn't sure who she roughly bumped shoulders with, but all she could do was mumble a nearly inaudible apology as she stumbled and dashed forwards. She couldn't shake it loose--she couldn't get away fast enough, no matter how hard she tried to shove herself into the very corner of the den she once called home. It was the only place she could go to so she could escape--she had to escape, there was no other alternative, it had to be home, it had to be home, but the apprentice's den--
It wasn't home, and all Patchpaw could do was shake as she buries her head into the moss, cradling her ears hoping it would block the scream of the blizzard.
-- -- --
From an outsider's perspective, Patchpaw had taken three steps outside into the heavy snow, froze, and burst back inside the apprentice's den without a single word uttered except a halfhearted 'sorry'. Her fur had puffed up and her head was buried into the moss, and she had taken some of the moss and put it over her ears in a desperate attempt to block out the noise.
this was also meant to be posted a few days ago, so i apologize for that...
When Patchpaw awoke that morning, she could feel the hairs on her neck stand on end, as though something was so, terribly wrong. The camp had fallen deathly still, hushed by the growing clouds blocking out the sun from shining its golden rays through the branches of the apprentice's den. She pulled herself from the moss and shook off clinging bits, and as she cautiously stepped outside to see what was going on, dread fills her chest like breathing in water. Her eyes rose to the world above, fear sinking into her throat and clawing at her insides. As it darkens into a foreboding grey and the freezing wind ominously howls through the trees, it begins to pick up at an alarming rate, sending warriors scattering into their dens and queens herding kits into the nursery to protect them.
This was so, horribly different from a thunderstorm. Instead of the ground violently trembling from thunder echoing in the air and the rain pouring down in a heavy wall of fury, her ears filled with the ear-splitting, cacophonous harmony of heavy branches and even trees themselves bending sideways in the winds that whipped at her fur and of the wind wailing its mourning song over the canopy. The skies themselves opened up above her like gaping jaws and the clouds changed to a sickening, infected blackness, ready to swallow the tiny apprentice whole as if she was nothing but bones of a newborn mouse.
She wasn't sure what happened next, but her paws moved faster than her mind could register, pushing through the apprentice's den and knocking brambles loose as she stumbles her way through. She wasn't sure who she roughly bumped shoulders with, but all she could do was mumble a nearly inaudible apology as she stumbled and dashed forwards. She couldn't shake it loose--she couldn't get away fast enough, no matter how hard she tried to shove herself into the very corner of the den she once called home. It was the only place she could go to so she could escape--she had to escape, there was no other alternative, it had to be home, it had to be home, but the apprentice's den--
It wasn't home, and all Patchpaw could do was shake as she buries her head into the moss, cradling her ears hoping it would block the scream of the blizzard.
-- -- --
From an outsider's perspective, Patchpaw had taken three steps outside into the heavy snow, froze, and burst back inside the apprentice's den without a single word uttered except a halfhearted 'sorry'. Her fur had puffed up and her head was buried into the moss, and she had taken some of the moss and put it over her ears in a desperate attempt to block out the noise.