Post by Silverpaw on Jul 15, 2016 10:54:41 GMT -6
❝ | They say it started with a big bang, But they say it was really just a small thing, Strangely I’m feelin like a big bang, ‘Cause I’ve been making something out of nothing | ❞ |
It hadn't taken him long to get used to sleeping under the stars. He got to spend the moments before he closed his eyes at night knowing that his mentor was up there now, watching, making sure he was okay, just like they did when they were down here beside him. However, it wasn't enough, some nights, like tonight. The nights doubt crept into his mind, whispering that it was all a lie. That they were gone forever and he was little more than a kitten for believing what he was told.
Those were the nights he came out here, to wander the new territory he was supposed to call home. To look out on the flowers and grasses that made his gut twist because somehow, he felt more at home here than he ever had surrounded by reeds and water.
And was that wrong?
He stood, a little white and grey outline against the dark grey of the boulder he perched on. Leaning forward to look out, to breathe in smells of heather and grass and rabbit. They were softer, somehow, than those of mud and fish. Like his mother's fur had been, when he was a kit and his father still visited, albeit briefly, to look at his son and greet his mate with a politeness reserved for strangers.
So lost in thought, in bittersweet memories of the kithood that had ended not so long ago, that he didn't quite notice his proximity to the end of the rock until one of his paws hit nothing but air, leaving the little tom scrambling for purchase on the rock. Making a rather undignified squeal as he stopped himself from almost falling from the rock. And there he hung, just stopping himself from plummeting from the ledge, claws fixed on a particularly stubborn plant growing out of a crack in the rock.
Those were the nights he came out here, to wander the new territory he was supposed to call home. To look out on the flowers and grasses that made his gut twist because somehow, he felt more at home here than he ever had surrounded by reeds and water.
And was that wrong?
He stood, a little white and grey outline against the dark grey of the boulder he perched on. Leaning forward to look out, to breathe in smells of heather and grass and rabbit. They were softer, somehow, than those of mud and fish. Like his mother's fur had been, when he was a kit and his father still visited, albeit briefly, to look at his son and greet his mate with a politeness reserved for strangers.
So lost in thought, in bittersweet memories of the kithood that had ended not so long ago, that he didn't quite notice his proximity to the end of the rock until one of his paws hit nothing but air, leaving the little tom scrambling for purchase on the rock. Making a rather undignified squeal as he stopped himself from almost falling from the rock. And there he hung, just stopping himself from plummeting from the ledge, claws fixed on a particularly stubborn plant growing out of a crack in the rock.
312 WORDS ● @anyone ● this is so cliche i'm sorry
deltra of gangnam style