L
Lionsnarl
Guest
"LIFE DOESN'T DISCRIMINATE BETWEEN THE SINNERS AND THE SAINTS"
He'll never admit it. Not on his life. Not in a million years will he ever say it aloud, to any cat, to any soul... but he misses her. Her warm scent still curls around him late at night. He dreams about her too often for it to be coincidence. Longing and want have curled into the pit of his belly, a sort of urge that wasn't particularly spiked with need but hurt. He loved her. He loved her so deeply. And now she was gone without a trace.
He retracted into himself. What little time he wasn't spending alone in the canopy, far from his clan-mates' pitying eyes and questioning head-tilts, he was patrolling the unstated border of the river, searching for any sign of her. Every evening he came back with nothing and the every night that same lance of white-hot rage would pierce him again, right in the heart. Gone without a trace, as if they were nothing.
He woke up suddenly tonight, mere hours after drifting off into uneasy sleep. Another dream of her. A dream of her with a veritable bundle of squirming kittens at her belly, all squeaking and suckling at their mother as peacefully as they can be. He wished he could urge his paws forwards and by the stars, he tried, but he didn't move an inch while she only drifted further and further away. His eyes itched.
Tugger huffs in his nest and tightens himself into a ball - his long, fluffy tail curling around to touch his nose. It seems there is no rest for the wicked tonight, and so his eyes stay painfully open as the minutes tick into hours and the sky slowly begins to lighten beyond his bed.
He retracted into himself. What little time he wasn't spending alone in the canopy, far from his clan-mates' pitying eyes and questioning head-tilts, he was patrolling the unstated border of the river, searching for any sign of her. Every evening he came back with nothing and the every night that same lance of white-hot rage would pierce him again, right in the heart. Gone without a trace, as if they were nothing.
He woke up suddenly tonight, mere hours after drifting off into uneasy sleep. Another dream of her. A dream of her with a veritable bundle of squirming kittens at her belly, all squeaking and suckling at their mother as peacefully as they can be. He wished he could urge his paws forwards and by the stars, he tried, but he didn't move an inch while she only drifted further and further away. His eyes itched.
Tugger huffs in his nest and tightens himself into a ball - his long, fluffy tail curling around to touch his nose. It seems there is no rest for the wicked tonight, and so his eyes stay painfully open as the minutes tick into hours and the sky slowly begins to lighten beyond his bed.
✦ ★ ✦