L
Lionsnarl
Guest
A silken collar dangles from his neck, a scrap of a reminder of the life he once led. Pure ginger fur, once a symbol of his status and breeding, is now flecked with mud and dirt. His claws are long and splintering due to improper care. Some time ago, he would've found himself to be a wretch. He would've sworn at the very sight of a cat so dirty. Now he only sighs and looks up at the sky in a mixture of annoyance and bereavement. It would rain tonight. He should try hunting now before the thunder scared away a good catch.
Tugger stretched on his branch, and opened his oddly shaped muzzle into a wide yawn. The branch swayed under his shifted weight, not quite threatening to snap, but bowing beneath its king. It had been years since anything but a branch buckled before him, if he were truthful. He was merely a follower in a merry band of fools. But still, dark eyes surveyed his chosen kingdom below, watching for movement with hawk-like precision.
Yes, a hunt would do nicely.
Tugger stretched on his branch, and opened his oddly shaped muzzle into a wide yawn. The branch swayed under his shifted weight, not quite threatening to snap, but bowing beneath its king. It had been years since anything but a branch buckled before him, if he were truthful. He was merely a follower in a merry band of fools. But still, dark eyes surveyed his chosen kingdom below, watching for movement with hawk-like precision.
Yes, a hunt would do nicely.