- Mar 23, 2023
- 9
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- 3
The sun hangs low in the sky, drenching the vast moor in a golden hue. Long, slender blades of grass dance gracefully in the soft breeze, creating ripples that stretch far into the distance. Shaggydog sits perched on a knoll, its long, shaggy fur blending seamlessly with the earthy tones of the soil. Its eyes sweep across the wide expanse of land, taking in the serenity of the scene. There is a certain peace in the air, punctuated only by the distant call of a lark and the whisper of the wind. The scent of heather, sweet and floral, wafts gently through the air, mingling with the crispness of leaffall. Shaggydog’s ears twitch as it listens, rather attuned to the subtle sounds of the moor by this point. Below, a rabbit bursts from its burrow, its sleek body darting across the terrain; Shaggydog’s instincts flare momentarily, muscles coiling in preparation to launch itself after it, but it quickly suppresses the urge to chase. There is no need to interrupt the tranquility of the day with a hunt. The rabbit is better off in its burrow, and Shaggydog is content to observe.
Shaggydog’s gaze drifts toward the horizon, where the sky is painted with hues of orange and pink, the sun preparing to dip below the hills. Clouds float lazily, their cotton-like shapes casting soft shadows on the ground. It finds comfort in these moments of solitude—an escape from the incessant chatter of the clan and the unspoken expectations that weigh heavily on its shoulders. The sound of distant voices breaks the serene stillness of the evening, a blend of laughter and conversation that reaches its ears like a faint echo. Curiosity stirs within, a flicker of interest in the chaotic dance of social interactions that it usually tries to avoid. What are they discussing? Perhaps yet another bout of gossip about clan politics, or maybe a newly popular hunting spot? Shaggydog snorts softly, dismissing the thought. Those matters are hardly worth its time; navigating the complex maze of social dynamics feels like an exhausting endeavor, one it prefers to avoid when at all possible.
With a huff, Shaggydog rises to its feet, stretching out its stiff limbs, the fur along its back bristling in the wind. The moor is expansive, but the shadows are familiar, a comforting shroud it can hide behind while still keeping a watchful eye on everything. It pads down the knoll, its paws pressing silently into the soft earth, each step calculated and deliberate as it moves through shadows cast by shrubs and clouds alike. The voices grow clearer as it draws nearer, a mixture of excitement and playful banter. Shaggydog pauses, lingering at the edge of the line where the grass meets the slightly denser brush. It can see the shapes of its clanmates moving in the distance—heads bobbing, jaws working to spill out words, tails flicking—unaware of its presence. A small part of it feels a tug of longing to join them, to be part of that lively energy, but it quickly silences that thought. Such thoughts are useless.
Shaggydog peers through the foliage. Its clanmates can be unpredictable sometimes, and so it is better to know what is happening than to be caught unaware. With a steady breath, it settles into its position, ready to observe the unfolding scene, the quiet sentinel of the moor.
Shaggydog’s gaze drifts toward the horizon, where the sky is painted with hues of orange and pink, the sun preparing to dip below the hills. Clouds float lazily, their cotton-like shapes casting soft shadows on the ground. It finds comfort in these moments of solitude—an escape from the incessant chatter of the clan and the unspoken expectations that weigh heavily on its shoulders. The sound of distant voices breaks the serene stillness of the evening, a blend of laughter and conversation that reaches its ears like a faint echo. Curiosity stirs within, a flicker of interest in the chaotic dance of social interactions that it usually tries to avoid. What are they discussing? Perhaps yet another bout of gossip about clan politics, or maybe a newly popular hunting spot? Shaggydog snorts softly, dismissing the thought. Those matters are hardly worth its time; navigating the complex maze of social dynamics feels like an exhausting endeavor, one it prefers to avoid when at all possible.
With a huff, Shaggydog rises to its feet, stretching out its stiff limbs, the fur along its back bristling in the wind. The moor is expansive, but the shadows are familiar, a comforting shroud it can hide behind while still keeping a watchful eye on everything. It pads down the knoll, its paws pressing silently into the soft earth, each step calculated and deliberate as it moves through shadows cast by shrubs and clouds alike. The voices grow clearer as it draws nearer, a mixture of excitement and playful banter. Shaggydog pauses, lingering at the edge of the line where the grass meets the slightly denser brush. It can see the shapes of its clanmates moving in the distance—heads bobbing, jaws working to spill out words, tails flicking—unaware of its presence. A small part of it feels a tug of longing to join them, to be part of that lively energy, but it quickly silences that thought. Such thoughts are useless.
Shaggydog peers through the foliage. Its clanmates can be unpredictable sometimes, and so it is better to know what is happening than to be caught unaware. With a steady breath, it settles into its position, ready to observe the unfolding scene, the quiet sentinel of the moor.
