- Dec 13, 2023
- 53
- 18
- 8
Reliable idiocy runs rampant in the bloodline... he's not keen to forget it, as he sits with a pelt bristling with withheld frustrations. It isn't her fault... most bad happening ever were but it did not change the way his blood boiled with every hour spent wondering. Wondering who'd done it... wondering why... wondering about the if's that spelled her departure from living and breathing and... wondering where she'd go if not here. Pipitclaw hadn't dared to part his lips for fear of the molten words that might come out, dismally aware of himself and made more conscience of it by the loss of the one cat who'd dared enough to call him out on it.
Chilledstar knew. And he'd told them with gritted teeth he would manage just fine. So far, he is uncertain if that's true.
The stink of the Thunderpath is nothing so nefarious as the rot of Carrionplace... but it is equally acrid and not to be assigned as 'enjoyable' either. His tail lashes amongst scattered leaves and dry dirt, skipping over the occasional stone and casting it a small tumble away... For all his efforts to keep control, the seams seem close to bursting. The soft sound of her breath is as much a relief as it is torturous- baiting a hundred words to be summoned but not brave enough to see them cast into the air.
A monster roars by, sending a howling wind through their pelts... and in the silence that follows, he finds his voice. "Where do you think they go," he asks. It isn't what he wanted to go with, but seemed the least likely to set them both ablaze with bitter tongues. "Do they even eat?" Splotches of dark and light fur remind him sorely of an absence that has stretched out for moons, sweepingly replaced by his aunt's own child (who he'd dare not claim as cousin, given the sting of betrayal that her birth represented). He missed Magpie, where-ever that wobbly thorn-mouth had gone off to (he hoped, desperately, that the creature that had swallowed him up into a monster had not chosen to eat him)... at least his jokes about shoving pinecones in his mouth to shut him up seemed like a joke made with him rather than at him.
"Have... you eaten?"
@lilacfur
[ surprise... pipit return ]
Chilledstar knew. And he'd told them with gritted teeth he would manage just fine. So far, he is uncertain if that's true.
The stink of the Thunderpath is nothing so nefarious as the rot of Carrionplace... but it is equally acrid and not to be assigned as 'enjoyable' either. His tail lashes amongst scattered leaves and dry dirt, skipping over the occasional stone and casting it a small tumble away... For all his efforts to keep control, the seams seem close to bursting. The soft sound of her breath is as much a relief as it is torturous- baiting a hundred words to be summoned but not brave enough to see them cast into the air.
A monster roars by, sending a howling wind through their pelts... and in the silence that follows, he finds his voice. "Where do you think they go," he asks. It isn't what he wanted to go with, but seemed the least likely to set them both ablaze with bitter tongues. "Do they even eat?" Splotches of dark and light fur remind him sorely of an absence that has stretched out for moons, sweepingly replaced by his aunt's own child (who he'd dare not claim as cousin, given the sting of betrayal that her birth represented). He missed Magpie, where-ever that wobbly thorn-mouth had gone off to (he hoped, desperately, that the creature that had swallowed him up into a monster had not chosen to eat him)... at least his jokes about shoving pinecones in his mouth to shut him up seemed like a joke made with him rather than at him.
"Have... you eaten?"
@lilacfur
[ surprise... pipit return ]