- Nov 3, 2024
- 16
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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ — the color of our planet from far, far away .
He's feeling leagues better today. Try as he might to despise herbs for being gross, he can't deny that the illness fog that had followed him for days had finally started to lessen and fade, likely due to Fireflyglow's regular treatment of coltsfoot and rest. The SkyClan medicine cat seems to have real talent for treating sickness, and Flaxkit is inwardly thankful for the help, even despite the taste of nasty leaves and endless scolding that comes with it. And he'll likely be scolded again today; upon finding this morning that his eyes were not running and his nose was not stuffed, Flax had scurried out into the camp in the first few rays of weak dawn light, scampering with bright, determined eyes to the very first warrior he'd spotted. This unfortunate warrior had turned out to be @WOLFGRIN , whom had been trying to rest moments prior—that is, until Flaxkit bounds forth and leaps atop him without warning, sinking his tiny claws into the much larger cat's pelt to find footholds as he scrambles up the length of his body. Now perilously balancing with both paws between the warrior's ears, he wobbles, keeping his place by sticking his bushed tail straight out behind him.
"KITS OF SKYCLAN!" Flax then calls his Clanmates forward in a shrill squeak, relishing the fact that his lungs don't wheeze and his throat doesn't rasp. His cyan blues, sparkling with clear excitement, sweep across a couple nearby victims—those being @Fawnkit~ and @budkit , perfect accomplices to his scheme. They may be unwilling to be caught up in the hijinks of some loner, but what does he care? He wants to play, whether anyone involved wants to join him or not. "Orangestar is no more," he continues onward, "So I'm Flaxstar, your new leader!" Squaring his shoulders, the little tom puffs his chest proudly, ignoring the fact that he doesn't even have a real suffix to his name yet. Surely when Orangestar named him, he would be named after her, right? He knits his brow determinedly, lashing his short tail so hard that he nearly unbalances himself; he has to unsheathe his thistle-sharp claws in order to better glue himself onto Wolfgrin's forehead, and he continues to prattle on, hardly skipping a beat. "Bow before me!" he now commands them haughtily, bending into a lopsided crouch between the ears of his warrior stepstool to peer at his fellow youngsters, as if he's about to leap onto a particularly juicy bit of prey. "Or... Or else!"
// no need to wait! :D
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