- Jun 10, 2022
- 370
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A pair of cats, and only those two, had warning.
In the dead of night, that frigid stillness, Mallowlark had feigned slumber. It was not a rare occurrence for the white tom to take off in the night, often simply enjoying the embrace of the dark air- and sometimes, it brought up prey opportunities he would not have otherwise had, tracking made easier without patrolling cats about. But this night he had let his vision stretch over the horizon, had watched his path being illuminated by the stars themselves. The earth beckoned him in its breeze, and thus he obeyed it, rising to his paws and taking great care to employ only his finest stealth. He had been in no rush... and once he was out of camp, he was confident he would be able to tell if anyone had followed him.
He was never to return.
A home, for many moons... infected by a maddening corrosion that drove cats against each other. He would not draw blood, nor slay a friend... but he would escape, lest the immunity wane, and because leaving Fourtrees each moon felt more painful every time. There was a place he could go.
The morning came, and there was no sign of the hulking white tom- no glimmer of his grin, no echo of his laughter. His scent was stone-stale upon his nest, and lost to the winds of night.
In the dead of night, that frigid stillness, Mallowlark had feigned slumber. It was not a rare occurrence for the white tom to take off in the night, often simply enjoying the embrace of the dark air- and sometimes, it brought up prey opportunities he would not have otherwise had, tracking made easier without patrolling cats about. But this night he had let his vision stretch over the horizon, had watched his path being illuminated by the stars themselves. The earth beckoned him in its breeze, and thus he obeyed it, rising to his paws and taking great care to employ only his finest stealth. He had been in no rush... and once he was out of camp, he was confident he would be able to tell if anyone had followed him.
He was never to return.
A home, for many moons... infected by a maddening corrosion that drove cats against each other. He would not draw blood, nor slay a friend... but he would escape, lest the immunity wane, and because leaving Fourtrees each moon felt more painful every time. There was a place he could go.
The morning came, and there was no sign of the hulking white tom- no glimmer of his grin, no echo of his laughter. His scent was stone-stale upon his nest, and lost to the winds of night.
☺PENNED BY PIN