- Sep 6, 2023
- 267
- 116
- 43
\ tw for prey-animal injury
Featherpaw would be a warrior soon, no matter what the fire had to say about it. No matter the smog-drenched fear that was beginning to swirl around them all- no matter the uncertainty that anything would even be there the next day. He would hunt, still- he would provide, he would protect, because what else was there to do? Training was what she knew, what she defaulted to... with stinging yellow eyes braving the rolling smoke, she would hunt. It was her duty.
Tracking was a near-effortless thing, now- Featherpaw had learned her talent for it early, and honed it into complete perfection. Thus, she noticed when a rabbit-scent began to turn into the abnormal- began to decay and sharpen, began to stink. Even an untalented hunter would notice it, she would wager- but curiosity tugger the chocolate tabby forward, especially as the stink began to weave with screaming. It was a childish little sound, and for a moment- darkly- Featherpaw wondered whether it was not a rabbit, but a kitten.
Discovery soon corrected her, set her back on the right path. It was a rabbit- but a scorched rabbit, squealing like a baby. she'd never heard them keening like that, wailing for the death it knew was coming, by flame or by Featherpaw's teeth. And it was screaming, screaming- rheumy desperation in its eyes, blinded by the pain, fur blackened along its back. Featherpaw knew that stinging-nettle burn- knew that sound. She saw herself, moons younger, pinned beneath a fiery claw, yelling and yelling, unable to defend herself...
And it was dragging itself away, pathetically, to an aid that would never come. Featherpaw wrinkled his nose up; he didn't even have to run to catch up. The kind thing to do would be to put it out of its misery- they needed its flesh to feed on more than the rabbit needed its life, now so injured by the fire that it could not move properly. So why did she feel the beat of nausea through her bones, through her teeth? Why did its scream tie itself to his blood, to his will, and freeze him- even if just for a moment?
"It'll b-b-be over, soon." He did not know who he spoke to.
Featherpaw brought his head down in a blood-rush of sound and killed it. The screaming died- Featherpaw felt the final, choking vibration against his gums. Something like pity, concocted with anger, flared in her eyes. What was the warrior code they themselves had made? Sootstar, before the madness... prey is killed only to be eaten.
But Featherpaw had wanted it to shut up, too.
Featherpaw would be a warrior soon, no matter what the fire had to say about it. No matter the smog-drenched fear that was beginning to swirl around them all- no matter the uncertainty that anything would even be there the next day. He would hunt, still- he would provide, he would protect, because what else was there to do? Training was what she knew, what she defaulted to... with stinging yellow eyes braving the rolling smoke, she would hunt. It was her duty.
Tracking was a near-effortless thing, now- Featherpaw had learned her talent for it early, and honed it into complete perfection. Thus, she noticed when a rabbit-scent began to turn into the abnormal- began to decay and sharpen, began to stink. Even an untalented hunter would notice it, she would wager- but curiosity tugger the chocolate tabby forward, especially as the stink began to weave with screaming. It was a childish little sound, and for a moment- darkly- Featherpaw wondered whether it was not a rabbit, but a kitten.
Discovery soon corrected her, set her back on the right path. It was a rabbit- but a scorched rabbit, squealing like a baby. she'd never heard them keening like that, wailing for the death it knew was coming, by flame or by Featherpaw's teeth. And it was screaming, screaming- rheumy desperation in its eyes, blinded by the pain, fur blackened along its back. Featherpaw knew that stinging-nettle burn- knew that sound. She saw herself, moons younger, pinned beneath a fiery claw, yelling and yelling, unable to defend herself...
And it was dragging itself away, pathetically, to an aid that would never come. Featherpaw wrinkled his nose up; he didn't even have to run to catch up. The kind thing to do would be to put it out of its misery- they needed its flesh to feed on more than the rabbit needed its life, now so injured by the fire that it could not move properly. So why did she feel the beat of nausea through her bones, through her teeth? Why did its scream tie itself to his blood, to his will, and freeze him- even if just for a moment?
"It'll b-b-be over, soon." He did not know who he spoke to.
Featherpaw brought his head down in a blood-rush of sound and killed it. The screaming died- Featherpaw felt the final, choking vibration against his gums. Something like pity, concocted with anger, flared in her eyes. What was the warrior code they themselves had made? Sootstar, before the madness... prey is killed only to be eaten.
But Featherpaw had wanted it to shut up, too.
✦ penned by pin