Dawny
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MUHAHAHAHAHAH[ss:the.new.lulla by.]
Joined: Aug 2009
Gender: Female 
Posts: 20
Location: Montana, USA
Karma: 0 |  | Sigh** {Open}
« Thread Started on Aug 27, 2009, 4:34pm » | |
A rustling sound came as the cool breeze drifted in, moving ghost-like over the rippling sea of grass. Browned with the sun, they gave way to the black dot sliding through them as a leader in a sea of kits. And from above, the feline form seemed to move with much pride and grace. A feminine look to it, such a tiny, delicate form, surely a female kitten.
But despite the little size, a short, thick tail like a foxes dipped low as it slid through behind like a snake trailing it's prey, this was a tom-cat.
None other than Desertpaw, a young orphan. At first glance you'd see very little to his body. A short, tiny black thing, he was. Looking at his delicate face, you'd nearly miss the gruff, sharp jaw, catching sight of the deep chips of ice embedded within his skull. Because, naturally, is the eye not drawn to these at first, making him seem cruel, perhaps even a better opponent.
Not a kit, lost on the battle-field.
Friendless, if you could say, and kin-less.
If any cat called themselves an alliance to him, Desertpaw sure didn't know of it.
He stood alone in the world of chaos, extreme pain, and now, terror and raid.
Blood, fighting.
Violence, indeed.
His clan, if even that, was like a limbless mouse, bound, broken.
It's time was done as it's predator closed in on it.
Carried it back as a mere item, a trophy.
What did thanks mean to anyone? "Thank you for giving of it's life" just didn't have the same ring to it when you were a killer. A blood-thirsty cat of Tempestclan. At such an early age, he'd already been exposed to a world of violence. Such a tender, little life, young and fragile.
Much like a butterfly in the great gusts from the cold North, Desertpaw was prey in a Barren land of his own.
He quivered, now. Tears had gone, oh, so long ago. Just as the tiny pool at the edge of the territory that he had so delighted in drinking from had dried up many seasons ago, his tears too had. But what were they, really? Meaningless things, just as this fight against Starclan's will was. Did they really think that moving from the territory could ever solve this?
But still, he held onto hope as a leaf pounded by the spring rains that would drive him from his home-land, the only thing he truly had left.
Perhaps this was Starclan's wish.
Perhaps now they would show him true suffering, for, as long as he had lived and walked among these brave cats, these beautiful cats, these warriors, a period of only eight turns of the moon, he had tasted the vengeance of fate.
Was there reason, now, as his clan was caught in the tide, to go on living?
The removal of his life was but that of a mouse's, no, a flea's, to the other tom-cats. To Tempestclan, to his enemies.
To Bearheart, the murderer who had done him wrong.
The wretched creature whom had taken the lives of his family, of his gentle mother, of his father, of his brother.
Of the only cat whom he had ever bared to look to, the older tom-cat who was his hero as a kitten.
His savior.
Desertpaw spit at the ground, icy jewels of eyes narrowed.
That just went to show; Starclan would rape him of every thing he cared for, take it all away.
Strip him of it just as surely as his claws would rip of the old bark on a tree, as it would strip away the life of a mouse, to eat.
to take, just like that. A single swipe. Perhaps they were all prey in this world, hunted by the unseen enemy, death, to be taken one by one. Above, high in the glorious blue of the sky, like a reflection of the ocean he had heard so much of as a kitten, perhaps a voice echoed, a laugh. Amused, delighted, to take of his life, to create his misery as he himself were created. Did it rain these things, this malicious desire to consume them all?
There were no answers here, none to be found until he could no longer speak of them. Until Starclan claimed his soul, gave him wings with which to soar through the heavens and a will strong as the mountains.
Satisfied with this accomplishment and mix of thoughts, he took up his prey now in his jaws, sharply out-lined.
Ribs shown slightly through his lush pelt, and he hungered deeply for the taste of it's blood, to devour it here, alone.
He wanted nothing more than to let loose the torrent of red, to let it seep over his paws as it had only moons ago with past raids, to drink of it just as Bearheart had enjoyed the bath of blood from his parents, from his brother.
This mouse held no meaning, now. It would be but a vessel of his anger, a model of the fiendish enemy, to destroy.
But it was Desertpaw's duty, his duty to his clan, to return with this prey, the gentle life that could have once been his.
What more to life was there than but a duty to fulfill and to live in the moment?
To do as best as you could, and let life take it's course.
It seemed as if a second flew by to an hour, and he realized even then how much time had passed now, letting open his jaws reluctantly to lay the mouse on the little pile.
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One, two, Freddy's coming for you
Three, four, lock your door
Five, six, grab your crucifix
Seven, eight, gonna stay up late
Nine, ten, Freddy's back again
Celestial:: Fernpaw, Desertpaw
Tempest:: Bearheart
Zephyr:: None
Vertigo:: None
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