Post by alee on Jul 23, 2016 10:34:03 GMT
The shadows spoke to him in their low, rasping whispers; calling his name into their depths, luring him further into the impenetrable darkness and beyond. Every paw step was quick and brisk, as the tom gingerly picked his way through the thick of ShadowClan marshes, dirt and tendrils of wispy grass catching between his toes. Honestly, the cloaked warrior thought, one paw pausing mid air as his ears twitched back for the telling scuffle of prey; of all the places to wield as my domain, it had to be here.
He'd never been a fan of the ShadowClan bogs. Perhaps it was the cloying scent, choking at his throat and drying deep within his nostrils, until all he could smell was the thick stench of frog dung and oozing mud. Or maybe it was how everything, and by everything he meant everything, got caught in his fur; bits of twig, fallen leaves, dirt and stones stuffed deep and sharp within the spaces between his toes.
Either way, Nighthawk wouldn't be proclaiming himself a fan of the marshes anytime soon. But alas! Fate had commanded his birthright be tied to these lands, and by the names of his starry ancestors would he pledge his allegiance in toe. Ah, the woe! The injustice of it all! A tom as royal and commanding as he certainly deserved more! Surely!
His childish tantrum was interrupted by a rippling croak. A tussle of bushes shook and from the straggly foliage hopped a frog, landing just before his very paws. All hatred for the territory shoved aside, instinct took hold as with one fell swoop a claw swung out, and swept the slimy creature off its spindly legs. It fell onto its back, struggling and kicking out, but in a moment's heartbeat his jaws had closed around its stomach, and sunk deep beneath its flesh. Gradually its struggles faded, and the life dimmed from its eyes.
A wash of pride flooded Nighthawk, at seeing his rather clean kill, and he was suddenly struck by a longing for Sparrowclaw and Foxswipe to stand at his side, to praise him for his rare show of diligence. But he was alone in the bowels of midnight, with only a sliver of silver moonlight to bathe him in its unearthly glow. Above, watching him with menacing amber eyes set deep into the cusp of a countenance, an owl loomed, its mournful hoot reverberating far and wide throughout the land.
He was alone.
With nothing but his fleas for fellow company.
Ah, who needed other cats anyway! Irritation stung deep beneath his pelt, and on instinct silver claws slipped from their sheaths, ripping sharp into the peaty earth below. His brothers were moronic, and far below one as great as he. Pushing aside that last resonating sting of loneliness, he instead began to mutter to himself, naming the wriggling fleas that twisted and jumped across his back.
To an outsider, perhaps it would seem quite the pathetic sight. And indeed, it was. But his tone lowed to an almost adoring coo, as he twisted his neck around to glance down at his tail, where he felt a nestling of ticks reside. "Isn't that right, my dark souls? You're all I need, aren't you? Don't worry, my dears. Feast upon my blood forever more. One day we will show them our true potential."
Contrary to popular belief, fleas and ticks did indeed make great companions. Other cats ought to try them sometimes.
he will one day bring ruin upon the world
he is the great
ripooc;; feel free to join, anyone! <3