backwritten TO CAST A SHADOW ☆ sparrowkit

[CICADAFLIGHT]

A thick mist rises from the roiling river beyond the Beech Copse's safety, drifting unobtrusively in and out of the makeshift dens like a ghost. The morning is chill and damp with its slinking presence; tendrils of fog ghost across his cheek and then float away to bother some other cat. Cicadaflight passes the time by gnawing ambitiously on a stunted-looking eel, working narrow strips of tough meat off thin bones with a fury that makes his already-aching head protest even louder. Perhaps with enough time and salty eel-flesh, it will thump loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

Uselessness. It eats at him like the worst disease. His claws slide unsatisfyingly through the eel's slimy flesh, dealing glancing and bloodless scratches as his two-pawed grip on it tightens. When the eel is spent and stripped to sinew-laden bones, he turns his dark eyes on his denmates as he settles his head onto his crossed wrists. Shapes that have slid blurrily in his peripheral begin to sharpen into colors and bodies, the bustling shapes of Moonbeam and the warriors permitted to work. Able to work. An acid bolt of misery finds a conduit in his spine. He hates this.

A sound burbles beside him and he glances over at the source. One of Claythorn's brood, who he's familiar with from countless visits to drop off prey. Much like himself, @SPARROWKIT has been set to bed by a shallow blow to the head and the aching confusion that insistently follows. Unlike himself, Sparrowkit is not missing out on work to be done. Sparrowkit is automatically useful. He swallows heavily and shifts his sore head on his paws, his bicolored eyes meeting honey-gold that reminds him of her mother. After a moment, he props himself up on his elbows, watching the kit almost warily. As if he doesn't quite know what to make of her.

" Would you like to hear a story? " he tries tentatively. Time will pass anyways, and kits like stories, right?

OOC : —

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