Post by Ravynsong on Sept 7, 2019 2:13:28 GMT
Finchkit was in the nursery. She hated the nursery. It was small and cramped and loud. She could put up with the other kits for a little while -they had fun games, after all- but there was no place for her to be alone. Finchkit wanted to gather her thoughts, maybe sleep without being trampled, or, better yet, see what was going on outside the den. She could hear other cats, and, the one time she'd gone to look, had nearly been bowled over by some harried warrior racing out of the camp. Logic told her not to get close, she'd get reprimanded, or worse, kicked around by unsuspecting feet. She'd already been stepped on enough by her fellow tiny denmates, she didn't need to try full sized paws, no thank you. Her eyes darted towards the entrance. She squinted. She tilted her head. Did she want to? Nah, not worth it. Finchkit turned back to the nursery.
The moss was soft under paw and proved enough of a distraction for the small kitten to get her mind off wandering. Finch rolled a chunk of loose moss into a ball. It was just the right size for her to bat around. She stared at it. She twisted her head. She squinted. She wondered, once more, what was outside the nursery, and she pounced.
Her tiny, needle-like claws sunk into the ball of moss and she flipped herself over. Her back paws scrambled clumsily at her imaginary prey, sending tufts flying out of the ball as she tore into it. A small, squeaky growl rumbled out of her chest and she clamped her teeth into the moss. Instant regret. Finchkit leapt to her feet, spitting the clinging fibers out of her mouth. Her claws, too, were clogged with bits of green. Hissing to herself, Finchkit plopped down on her rump and decided the only solution was to glare balefully into the middle distance. 'Let the moss feel bad for hurting my feelings,' she thought childishly, a pout slipping into place as she slouched. 'Dumb moss.'
noctemq
The moss was soft under paw and proved enough of a distraction for the small kitten to get her mind off wandering. Finch rolled a chunk of loose moss into a ball. It was just the right size for her to bat around. She stared at it. She twisted her head. She squinted. She wondered, once more, what was outside the nursery, and she pounced.
Her tiny, needle-like claws sunk into the ball of moss and she flipped herself over. Her back paws scrambled clumsily at her imaginary prey, sending tufts flying out of the ball as she tore into it. A small, squeaky growl rumbled out of her chest and she clamped her teeth into the moss. Instant regret. Finchkit leapt to her feet, spitting the clinging fibers out of her mouth. Her claws, too, were clogged with bits of green. Hissing to herself, Finchkit plopped down on her rump and decided the only solution was to glare balefully into the middle distance. 'Let the moss feel bad for hurting my feelings,' she thought childishly, a pout slipping into place as she slouched. 'Dumb moss.'
noctemq