- Jan 15, 2023
- 609
- 168
- 43
Tunneling is an often silent task, one that is normally done in small groups or pairs, but cats occasionally branch out onto their own paths—and without a partner to talk to, it’s easy to lose oneself to the damp dark of the underground. Scorchstreak herself has fallen prey to the way that time seems to shift, to move differently down here where the sun’s rays can’t reach her pawsteps.
And of course, there’s the way that some cats have adjusted to life in the darkness. Ambertail and Lambcurl, in particular, intrigue her. The ghostly tom is just generally odd, from the way he speaks to the way he looks, and Scorchstreak makes a point to avoid partnering up with him for any reason. Ambertail, though, isn’t so bad. The red-patched tunneler is a strange one, but not unfriendly. Carrying on conversation with him is easy enough, and he seems to have his wits about him. He’s blind, sure, but aren’t they all blind down here?
It’s quiet when she slinks over to the other tunneler, dragging a paw across the dirt to—alert him of her presence, or something along those lines. She’d hate to take him by surprise and earn another scar across her pelt. "Ambertail," she greets them bluntly. She doesn’t bother introducing herself, though; she has faith in all her fellow tunnelers to recognize her voice.
She allows a moment of silence before speaking again. "You speak to something down here." It is an observation, one stated without judgment. Scorchstreak has always presumed that the other tortoiseshell is speaking to the dirt, with how often they appear to be engrossed in conversation with nothing visible. She would be lying, to claim that she hasn’t, in a moment of desperation, spoken to the dirt of the tunnels around her. Please hold steady. Don’t fall. Don’t trap me down here.
But to speak so openly, so willingly to the dirt around him, to the open air? Ambertail must be desperate.
// @AMBERTAIL
And of course, there’s the way that some cats have adjusted to life in the darkness. Ambertail and Lambcurl, in particular, intrigue her. The ghostly tom is just generally odd, from the way he speaks to the way he looks, and Scorchstreak makes a point to avoid partnering up with him for any reason. Ambertail, though, isn’t so bad. The red-patched tunneler is a strange one, but not unfriendly. Carrying on conversation with him is easy enough, and he seems to have his wits about him. He’s blind, sure, but aren’t they all blind down here?
It’s quiet when she slinks over to the other tunneler, dragging a paw across the dirt to—alert him of her presence, or something along those lines. She’d hate to take him by surprise and earn another scar across her pelt. "Ambertail," she greets them bluntly. She doesn’t bother introducing herself, though; she has faith in all her fellow tunnelers to recognize her voice.
She allows a moment of silence before speaking again. "You speak to something down here." It is an observation, one stated without judgment. Scorchstreak has always presumed that the other tortoiseshell is speaking to the dirt, with how often they appear to be engrossed in conversation with nothing visible. She would be lying, to claim that she hasn’t, in a moment of desperation, spoken to the dirt of the tunnels around her. Please hold steady. Don’t fall. Don’t trap me down here.
But to speak so openly, so willingly to the dirt around him, to the open air? Ambertail must be desperate.
// @AMBERTAIL
[ LIKE A RATTLESNAKE ]