Post by darkpoppy on Oct 25, 2010 16:59:18 GMT -5
Once again Wren found herself appreciating her odd, borderline ugly pelt. Even as the sun set ad the final streams of golden light sank beneath the horizon, it still managed to keep her hidden. She sat, half buried it seemed by long dead leaves and dark, smashed twigs. There was no real reason for her to be here, no prey wandered around and she was certainly not hiding from anyone, not that a landscape offered any protection from the elements. Any logical cat would find her being her ridiculous and a waste of time, which was probably right.
Truth was, Wren was thinking, musing on the events of the day. The serenity, and peace of the dead forest was simple and empty. Peace among the dead.
She had been visiting her sister, on one of their regular meetings. While hunting with Nightingale, they had come across a kittypet kit. It had been abandoned going by its tiny form and limp responses. They had tried to look after it, licking it to keep it warm and trying to crush tiny chunks of food for it to eat, but it had been too young and too weak. They had buried it near where they had found it.
Wren could see the difference in their reactions. Nightingale had gone quiet, anger seething in her eyes and pouring from them, but she had stayed still and silent.
Wren had hissed angrily and clawed a nearby tree until the sap had coated her claws.
Two-legs were good for nothing, first their father, now a kit not old enough to know its mother.
As always the two she-cats had separated as the night began to close in. Wren watched, face blank, as the sun disappeared, yet its rays still polluted the night sky, smashing through the light of the stars and breaking up the beautiful purple background.
Truth was, Wren was thinking, musing on the events of the day. The serenity, and peace of the dead forest was simple and empty. Peace among the dead.
She had been visiting her sister, on one of their regular meetings. While hunting with Nightingale, they had come across a kittypet kit. It had been abandoned going by its tiny form and limp responses. They had tried to look after it, licking it to keep it warm and trying to crush tiny chunks of food for it to eat, but it had been too young and too weak. They had buried it near where they had found it.
Wren could see the difference in their reactions. Nightingale had gone quiet, anger seething in her eyes and pouring from them, but she had stayed still and silent.
Wren had hissed angrily and clawed a nearby tree until the sap had coated her claws.
Two-legs were good for nothing, first their father, now a kit not old enough to know its mother.
As always the two she-cats had separated as the night began to close in. Wren watched, face blank, as the sun disappeared, yet its rays still polluted the night sky, smashing through the light of the stars and breaking up the beautiful purple background.