Post by Meo on Nov 10, 2017 3:57:45 GMT
 | Newtspirit Warrior of mistclan The young, diminutive she-cat sauntered amongst a rather unfamiliar pavement, which she'd been unaccustomed to. What was this strange, displeasing feeling beneath her paws, which somewhat pricked her sticky paw pads. It was concrete, of course, but she hadn't known that, as Newtspirit had never dared going farther than MistClan without permission or without another clanmate. She had decided to go off on her own, for once, being her own individual. This could be a marvelous experience, or not turn out so fantastic on her part. But any-who, back to Newtspirit being slightly irked and agitated by the unpleasant feeling beneath her puny mitts. She usually wasn't so easily annoyed, but this just didn't seem right. Where was she? What was this place? Why does the landscape feel like this? Were questions that ran through the she-warrior's mind repetitively. Eventually, she came upon soft foilage. It was grass! The grass was so healthy and vibrant. It had been mowed short, but it was just enough to see the the grass shutter. It waved like two-legs in a stadium, catching the light in a way that shows it isn't one green but many. The blades can be skinny or broad, but in this strange, uncommon field they are packed so tightly she could barely see the earth beneath. It was neat too. The grass was as neat as astro-turf with corners more square than a book. This place was just gorgeous! After long moments of pondering and admiring the stunning, green grass, she was finally, well, somewhat, delighted; content. She had been noticing strays, or in more simple words, kittypets passing by, which she soon came to realize, this was two-leg territory...right? She, however, didn't leave. She was too busy enjoying her time at this park. However, if was getting dark...very dark. Newtspirit did sneak out after all, as the sun began to set. She'd been out for about an hour, and she'd come this far. She couldn't turn back yet. The lissom, she-cat put on her midnight paws and prowled into the thickening night. In the stillness her acoustics could tell her things that were drown out in the daytime. Monsters, how she hated them with their dirty smell and loud noise. Newtspirit raised her nose to the sky, a kiss of dampness hung ready to meet the tender earth. She switched her tassel left to right as if to rid herself of the gathering tension that came with a hunt. Moving down the garden paths with the slink all true felines possess, claws still sheathed, her mind surged sending tingles right to her toes. What had been in front of her was a small raven. How fun. She soon brought herself forwards, leaping out and forcing her weight onto the smaller creature, her claws unsheathed. The bird's feathers and thin flesh clung to her hooked talons, and with this, Newtspirit hunched over and opened her maw, snapping the flying creature's neck. She soon arose, the limp and lifeless raven dangling from her jaws. She shifted back upon her haunchces, dropping the small bird at her paws, satisfied. Moments of silence roamed the bitter atmosphere. For Newtspirit, it was a somewhat peaceful feeling which brought ease to the diminutive, lissom molly. Her chasms staring at the abyss intensely. That orange color that brings hope and life no matter what has happened. And looking into those eyes, anyone could see it. And she knew that anyone could. Soon, enough, breaking her gaze from the sky, taking a few quick glimpses around, once more. Her eyes were the glimmering color of amber, sparkling in the light of the morning sun like a fresh sheen of morning dew. When she turned her head, this way and that, they caught the light and played tricks with anything and everything that screamed 'summer.' And when she lifted her craniul back up to the sky, amber shifted into the color of deep vermillion shimmering in the moonlight. Matte charcoal black uncontrollably covered in thousands and millions of bright specks. He loved to see star, after star, after star, a never ending void of light that projects no means of guidance in her eyes. He envied others that could read the stars. The complicated configurations and patterns of light which have taken years to be seen by the average naked eye. |
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