- Sep 22, 2023
- 74
- 3
- 8
your entire existence gives me a headache, go stand over there .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶
How troublesome. To be suspended in nothingness, not even an ounce of color to shine through the pit he stumbled into willingly. Even more helpless than a newborn kit walking for the first time—times that tasted like sweet nectar now soured in his mouth erupting a crinkle of his muzzle, helm jerking away from the half-eaten prey between massive paws.
With some effort, Fogbound stumbled from his lounging position to face the winter cold biting at his cheeks, paws hesitant for the first time in moons. It left Fogbound stiffening, lips peeled into a frown, at a loss for what to do. His other—taken by an adventurous badger—allowed blurry shadows, appeasing the curling terror that had sunk in during their retreat. It wasn’t anything worth bragging about, squinting with the effort to see who appeared in front of non-responsive and worthless that Fogbound truly thought that death would have been far kinder to the monstrous tom. He grinned, away with the frown to snort in half-hearted amusement, tossing his head up to stare ahead, unable to make out most of their temporary home with scents he’d long forgotten to curl a tail around his paws, still crinkled and in need of a groom.
He felt disgusting, dried with blood and irritated skin from missing fur, Fogbound breathed, shaking his helm with an annoyed puff of air. It was a relief, to hear that the others lived to tell another tale, and yet scolded him for his brash decisions, making the brute laugh, the sound curling like smoke. He had joked then, confident, that if he couldn’t overcome this, then perhaps he was good as dead. Oh, how those words burned now, uncertainly trickling in, but even he dared not express that to anyone. He had his doubts, that his death would be that of a celebration, gone would his charming grin and dangerous words that bled like thorns.
Fogbound hummed in amusement, rolling his shoulders back, helm poised high to calculate his next move. He wasn’t nearly as injured as some others, and perhaps with practice, Fogbound could navigate this nothingness, however temporary or permanent it would be if death didn’t knock on his doors before he accomplished it. The smokey moor runner rumbled in amusement, gaze crinkling. “A shame if I were to die, no?” He spoke, tone curling like liquid honey while pulling himself onto his paws with a swish of his tail, ignoring the feel of his skin prickling from his pathetic attempt to groom it out while navigating the unknown.
With some effort, Fogbound stumbled from his lounging position to face the winter cold biting at his cheeks, paws hesitant for the first time in moons. It left Fogbound stiffening, lips peeled into a frown, at a loss for what to do. His other—taken by an adventurous badger—allowed blurry shadows, appeasing the curling terror that had sunk in during their retreat. It wasn’t anything worth bragging about, squinting with the effort to see who appeared in front of non-responsive and worthless that Fogbound truly thought that death would have been far kinder to the monstrous tom. He grinned, away with the frown to snort in half-hearted amusement, tossing his head up to stare ahead, unable to make out most of their temporary home with scents he’d long forgotten to curl a tail around his paws, still crinkled and in need of a groom.
He felt disgusting, dried with blood and irritated skin from missing fur, Fogbound breathed, shaking his helm with an annoyed puff of air. It was a relief, to hear that the others lived to tell another tale, and yet scolded him for his brash decisions, making the brute laugh, the sound curling like smoke. He had joked then, confident, that if he couldn’t overcome this, then perhaps he was good as dead. Oh, how those words burned now, uncertainly trickling in, but even he dared not express that to anyone. He had his doubts, that his death would be that of a celebration, gone would his charming grin and dangerous words that bled like thorns.
Fogbound hummed in amusement, rolling his shoulders back, helm poised high to calculate his next move. He wasn’t nearly as injured as some others, and perhaps with practice, Fogbound could navigate this nothingness, however temporary or permanent it would be if death didn’t knock on his doors before he accomplished it. The smokey moor runner rumbled in amusement, gaze crinkling. “A shame if I were to die, no?” He spoke, tone curling like liquid honey while pulling himself onto his paws with a swish of his tail, ignoring the feel of his skin prickling from his pathetic attempt to groom it out while navigating the unknown.
thought speech
