Post by just atlanta. on May 8, 2016 1:04:07 GMT
sinclair
The men came and they went as it pleased them during the morning, even more so now that the seasons had turned and the air had grown warm. Most of the hardest labor was completed now in the dark hours of dawn, when the coolness of the night lingered still in the barn. At daybreak, the horses begin to stir, jostling each other for the attention of the farm hands, hoping perhaps for a scoop of oats or a slice of apple. At the commotion, the resident barncat himself rises with a glorious stretch and an over-the-top yawn, and when he’s through with his little morning routines, he peers curiously over the edge of the loft to look below. The murmurings of the men, the sight of the horses tossing their sleek heads in the dawn light, and the sweet smell of the disturbed hay are all soothing and familiar, the predictable bustle that defines this quaint little patch of land.
Pausing only to take stock of a pair of loners (late night travelers who had promised they meant no harm, but he had found out that hard way that rogues were rarely ever honest), Sinclair leapt gracefully down to the floor of the barn, greeting the workers with bright eyes and a waving tail. They were good people, for the most part, and in the few moons he had lived here, he had learned to avoid the bad ones who were always more than happy, for whatever reason, to aim kicks in his direction. But these men were decent today, and most of them stopped what they were doing to pat his head patiently when he pressed up against their legs with a purr. At the diverted attention, the horses stamped their hooves aggressively – they hated him. With an arrogant toss of his sleek head, Sinclair strutted by their stalls with the barest hint of a swagger…after checking they were firmly bolted, of course. They were a jealous lot, you see, and would probably run him down if they caught him on the ground.
Pacing out of the open barn doors, he stuck to the side of the barn and kept a sharp eye out for the tractors and the men’s other dangerous contraptions. The other farm cats that had lived here longer had told horrifying tales of poor old cats that hadn’t watched where they were going one day, only to be gobbled up by one of the flashy machines. Not just hit and killed, like a cat on the side of the road, but vanished completely. Gone without a trace. Springing up lightly to perch on a fence post out of harm’s way, Sinclair cast a suspicious glance at the tractors roaring in the distance. He might not have been the most intelligent creature in the world, but he’d be damned if he was going to let himself get chewed up and spit out by an old rustbucket. Death by jealous horses was a preferable fate.
The post was wide enough for him to settle on it completely, tucking his paws underneath him with a recently-acquired grace. He was really getting the hang of this, this living on his own thing. It didn’t really count, of course – living in the barn, he was only half-wild, but there were still moments where he missed his family, and thought about the father he was supposed to look like, probably gone forever amidst the foaming seas. He thought of them all now, as he watched the sun creep above the horizon, and wondered where they were, and how they were, and if they were watching the same sunrise.
♔ ferocious werepup I SWEAR THE POSTS WON'T ALL BE LONG. I got carried away LOL
Pausing only to take stock of a pair of loners (late night travelers who had promised they meant no harm, but he had found out that hard way that rogues were rarely ever honest), Sinclair leapt gracefully down to the floor of the barn, greeting the workers with bright eyes and a waving tail. They were good people, for the most part, and in the few moons he had lived here, he had learned to avoid the bad ones who were always more than happy, for whatever reason, to aim kicks in his direction. But these men were decent today, and most of them stopped what they were doing to pat his head patiently when he pressed up against their legs with a purr. At the diverted attention, the horses stamped their hooves aggressively – they hated him. With an arrogant toss of his sleek head, Sinclair strutted by their stalls with the barest hint of a swagger…after checking they were firmly bolted, of course. They were a jealous lot, you see, and would probably run him down if they caught him on the ground.
Pacing out of the open barn doors, he stuck to the side of the barn and kept a sharp eye out for the tractors and the men’s other dangerous contraptions. The other farm cats that had lived here longer had told horrifying tales of poor old cats that hadn’t watched where they were going one day, only to be gobbled up by one of the flashy machines. Not just hit and killed, like a cat on the side of the road, but vanished completely. Gone without a trace. Springing up lightly to perch on a fence post out of harm’s way, Sinclair cast a suspicious glance at the tractors roaring in the distance. He might not have been the most intelligent creature in the world, but he’d be damned if he was going to let himself get chewed up and spit out by an old rustbucket. Death by jealous horses was a preferable fate.
The post was wide enough for him to settle on it completely, tucking his paws underneath him with a recently-acquired grace. He was really getting the hang of this, this living on his own thing. It didn’t really count, of course – living in the barn, he was only half-wild, but there were still moments where he missed his family, and thought about the father he was supposed to look like, probably gone forever amidst the foaming seas. He thought of them all now, as he watched the sun creep above the horizon, and wondered where they were, and how they were, and if they were watching the same sunrise.
♔ ferocious werepup I SWEAR THE POSTS WON'T ALL BE LONG. I got carried away LOL
