Post by Deleted on Nov 26, 2015 3:58:14 GMT
TIMBERPAW.
weep for yourself my man, you'll never be what is in your heart.
weep little lion man, you're not as brave as your were at the start.
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Things found where they did not belong were the bane of his existence. They might have as well been a thorn right in his side! Everything had it's place, and it was there for a reason. Apprentices had their apprentice den, the leader had their space, and you could always find the fresh kill pile in the same section of camp. It was just the way things were, and Timberpaw liked it that way. This, however, was not where it belonged.
Dark, tabby scored ears pinned against the crown of his skull as his dusty brown fur fluffed up in anxiety. The tom's expression was a mixture of muted stress and discomfort. Pale green eyes were wide as they stared down at his left forepaw, which he held suspended in front of him. His pads were beginning to grow rough as his paws toughened up with training. They were no longer kitten soft - not like they had used to be. And from that canvas of dark, hardened flesh poked a tiny (yet alarming) thorn.
The moment it had lodged into his pad, he had froze he his tracks. After a few winces and uncomfortable hobbles, Timberpaw now stood ridged at the camp's heart. A few agonizing heart beats later, the tabby tom had summed up the courage to closer inspect his war-torn paw. There it was, that blasted thorn, which did not have a place lodged in his paw.
Anxiety aside, Timberpaw pulled up his paw and gave it a few hasty licks. He could feel the thorn plucking at his nerves (which was extremely unsettling and discomforting, by the way) and to no avail, would not dislodge. For a moment, the tom looked about camp like a deer in the headlights. Would he forever be doomed to the three-legged, thorn-riddled life?
Green eyes, at last, settled onto the medicine cat den. A wave of relieve washed over the apprentice, and a few moments later, he was hobbling in it's direct. Timberpaw pause at the mouth of the den and ducked inside. Green eyes narrowed at the dim light that greeted him. The scent of herbs wafted over him, which was oddly foreign smelling, yet soothing.
Timberpaw swallowed the lump in his throat and extended his forepaw as though it were the plague. "H-hello?" His husky voice called into the dimness of the den. "I, uh, this - I have a-uh problem."
Dark, tabby scored ears pinned against the crown of his skull as his dusty brown fur fluffed up in anxiety. The tom's expression was a mixture of muted stress and discomfort. Pale green eyes were wide as they stared down at his left forepaw, which he held suspended in front of him. His pads were beginning to grow rough as his paws toughened up with training. They were no longer kitten soft - not like they had used to be. And from that canvas of dark, hardened flesh poked a tiny (yet alarming) thorn.
The moment it had lodged into his pad, he had froze he his tracks. After a few winces and uncomfortable hobbles, Timberpaw now stood ridged at the camp's heart. A few agonizing heart beats later, the tabby tom had summed up the courage to closer inspect his war-torn paw. There it was, that blasted thorn, which did not have a place lodged in his paw.
Anxiety aside, Timberpaw pulled up his paw and gave it a few hasty licks. He could feel the thorn plucking at his nerves (which was extremely unsettling and discomforting, by the way) and to no avail, would not dislodge. For a moment, the tom looked about camp like a deer in the headlights. Would he forever be doomed to the three-legged, thorn-riddled life?
Green eyes, at last, settled onto the medicine cat den. A wave of relieve washed over the apprentice, and a few moments later, he was hobbling in it's direct. Timberpaw pause at the mouth of the den and ducked inside. Green eyes narrowed at the dim light that greeted him. The scent of herbs wafted over him, which was oddly foreign smelling, yet soothing.
Timberpaw swallowed the lump in his throat and extended his forepaw as though it were the plague. "H-hello?" His husky voice called into the dimness of the den. "I, uh, this - I have a-uh problem."
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your grace is wasted in your face, your boldness stands alone among the wreck.
skyy and her socks, hallelujah
skyy and her socks, hallelujah
