Post by Fireflake on May 2, 2019 1:08:41 GMT
A tom slunk through the forest, weaving around the trees to protect his fur from the rain droplets that had begun to fall. His mink pelt was filthy, decorated with flecks of dust and dried blood, and it had taken him a while to get it in that condition. Few other scents clung to his pelt through the stench of crowfood, except for the faint markings of the rogue group. This and his sharp blue eyes were a recipe for intimidation that Vulture had been putting together for moons. Twenty-four of them, to be exact. His dark ears flattened.
It had been on his mind all moon now. He'd seen all the seasons twice. This time that long ago, his mother had kitted him and his father had named him. His littermates had squirmed all around him. Now he was alone, and slowly cutting himself off from his one remaining brother. Vulture told himself that he didn't mind. He didn't mind that his father had left without saying anything to him. He didn't mind that everyone else had left. He didn't mind that, two years into his life, he amounted to less than he had as a newborn. Vulture stomped loudly on a twig full of dead leaves.
The rogue hissed and sat to pick out the splinters from his paw-pad. He scanned the forest one last time to make sure it was safe to slump over and focus on his paw, but his ears pricked at the sight. The path was a familiar one. No matter how dusk's light had thrown shadows across it, it was undeniably the same one he'd walked when he came along here with Honeyheart as a young cat. He had chosen his place in the rogue group the same day. Fighter... hunter... fighter..? He had gone with hunter in the end. Vulture snapped his gaze away and started to grab for wood splinters with his teeth. The pain helped to cloud the questions in his head-- Would you choose to hunt for them again? Will you choose to hunt for them again?
As Vulture slouched in the light of the setting sun, trying to block out his thoughts and grasping unsuccessfully for the little wood chips stuck in his paw, his rainy surroundings faded away.
It had been on his mind all moon now. He'd seen all the seasons twice. This time that long ago, his mother had kitted him and his father had named him. His littermates had squirmed all around him. Now he was alone, and slowly cutting himself off from his one remaining brother. Vulture told himself that he didn't mind. He didn't mind that his father had left without saying anything to him. He didn't mind that everyone else had left. He didn't mind that, two years into his life, he amounted to less than he had as a newborn. Vulture stomped loudly on a twig full of dead leaves.
The rogue hissed and sat to pick out the splinters from his paw-pad. He scanned the forest one last time to make sure it was safe to slump over and focus on his paw, but his ears pricked at the sight. The path was a familiar one. No matter how dusk's light had thrown shadows across it, it was undeniably the same one he'd walked when he came along here with Honeyheart as a young cat. He had chosen his place in the rogue group the same day. Fighter... hunter... fighter..? He had gone with hunter in the end. Vulture snapped his gaze away and started to grab for wood splinters with his teeth. The pain helped to cloud the questions in his head-- Would you choose to hunt for them again? Will you choose to hunt for them again?
As Vulture slouched in the light of the setting sun, trying to block out his thoughts and grasping unsuccessfully for the little wood chips stuck in his paw, his rainy surroundings faded away.