- Mar 30, 2024
- 37
- 6
- 8
I'm going to be a father. I'm going to be a father. I'm going to be a - NO!! Why does this have to happen to me now, of all times?
Circling anxieties consumed him as readily as the ravens descended on carrion. To say that it ate at him would be a grave understatement - such nervousness pried at the very marrow-borne wiring of his body, tearing through the sockets and the boards and whatever else made of him. He never allowed himself to be bogged down with trivial, fleeting emotions, but this feeling felt inescapable. It was, in a sense, unlike what had befell the beast before. His actions had consequences, and though the adage had flitted from one ear out the other, he hadn't truly felt how that weight dogged on his soul. Campionsong always held a delicate airiness to him, as though he were a free-spirited bird drifting along dreamy clouds, but now he found himself spiraling ever-downwards. Wings shot down by arrows of mercury, he tumbled down to the cold ground now. It can't be all that bad. Everyone makes parenthood look so easy! But goddamnit, I'm not ready! The man, once remarked and prideful on his insouciant matters, now paced along the edges of the thicket-bound camp. Thoughts brewed heavy and plain on his face, as though fleet silver shades now burdened itself with the gravity of stormclouds, and forest-green eyes plagued themselves with nightly shadow.
Reprieve from his worries was all that he sought right now, and the blue silver tabby the quickly rushed through leaf-toothed mouth of the camp entrance, lest anyone catch him bumbling about like a drunken madman. Anything to get away from that place! (And especially from Swiftdawn, who he found himself faltering from the most as of late.) Almost immediately did the babble almost cease to exist, now a dull murmur against the chatter of the territory. Campion let out a great sigh, like he exhumed smoke instead of clear air, and continued along his path. He'd just wander around the forest for a little bit, maybe catch a piece of prey or two. Then, he'd be back within the hour. Maybe not - his excursions tended to follow the way of the heart rather than the head. Along the winding waysides of Thunderclan's vast oak woodlands, Campionsong could breathe, and he did so as though it was the very last air he would ever inhale. Footfall followed the circuits of his home until he happened upon the shadows of the Great Sycamore. He sat underneath the umbrage that lie beneath the bowed boughs, quickly grooming pristine pelt in a fit of fretfulness.
Circling anxieties consumed him as readily as the ravens descended on carrion. To say that it ate at him would be a grave understatement - such nervousness pried at the very marrow-borne wiring of his body, tearing through the sockets and the boards and whatever else made of him. He never allowed himself to be bogged down with trivial, fleeting emotions, but this feeling felt inescapable. It was, in a sense, unlike what had befell the beast before. His actions had consequences, and though the adage had flitted from one ear out the other, he hadn't truly felt how that weight dogged on his soul. Campionsong always held a delicate airiness to him, as though he were a free-spirited bird drifting along dreamy clouds, but now he found himself spiraling ever-downwards. Wings shot down by arrows of mercury, he tumbled down to the cold ground now. It can't be all that bad. Everyone makes parenthood look so easy! But goddamnit, I'm not ready! The man, once remarked and prideful on his insouciant matters, now paced along the edges of the thicket-bound camp. Thoughts brewed heavy and plain on his face, as though fleet silver shades now burdened itself with the gravity of stormclouds, and forest-green eyes plagued themselves with nightly shadow.
Reprieve from his worries was all that he sought right now, and the blue silver tabby the quickly rushed through leaf-toothed mouth of the camp entrance, lest anyone catch him bumbling about like a drunken madman. Anything to get away from that place! (And especially from Swiftdawn, who he found himself faltering from the most as of late.) Almost immediately did the babble almost cease to exist, now a dull murmur against the chatter of the territory. Campion let out a great sigh, like he exhumed smoke instead of clear air, and continued along his path. He'd just wander around the forest for a little bit, maybe catch a piece of prey or two. Then, he'd be back within the hour. Maybe not - his excursions tended to follow the way of the heart rather than the head. Along the winding waysides of Thunderclan's vast oak woodlands, Campionsong could breathe, and he did so as though it was the very last air he would ever inhale. Footfall followed the circuits of his home until he happened upon the shadows of the Great Sycamore. He sat underneath the umbrage that lie beneath the bowed boughs, quickly grooming pristine pelt in a fit of fretfulness.
