Post by minnowleap on Jun 18, 2014 1:58:42 GMT -6
[attr="class","fallowshell"]
[attr="class","fallowpostshell"]
[attr="class","fallowlyrics"]CRAWLING BACK TO YOU
[attr="class","fallowpostbody"]
Minnowleap knew she was dreaming when she found herself tucked beside her grandfather. The familiar scent of wet soil and reeds washed over her. She lifted her head from her paws and looked at the sleeping form beside her. The tip of his tail would twitch every so often and she could see the tremble of his lips when a snore lodged itself deep in his throat. She shifted so that her chin lay against her grandfather’s paws, her tail twining with his own. His fur was rough, like brushing up against pine needles, and there was a faint tang of mouse bile. She wondered, if she stayed awake in her dream, would it never cease?
In the end, Minnowleap couldn’t remember if she had managed to keep herself awake in the dream. The rays of the dawn, like gold and purple ribbons, roused her from her nest. Muffled snores filled the den she shared with the rest of the warriors. Their pelts mirrored the sunrise; curled in their nests like droplets of splattered paint. She watched them for a moment, deaf to the birdsong and the soft thrum of the crickets and frogs. Their chests rose and fell in even beats, their faces peaceful, smoothed, as if all their worries had been stolen away in the night. The she-cat turned away from her clan mates, her eyes downcast as she slithered out of the den and toward the camp exit.
Her father or perhaps her cousin, Yewtail, would be rising soon to organize the dawn patrol. While Minnowleap held no qualms when it came to her duties, she found herself too ill at heart to be competent. It seemed that her grandfather’s scent still lingered in her nostrils. The clouds were beginning to thin, revealing a chasm of blue, and the sunlight was sifting through the gnarled tree tops, dappling the ground. She wanted to run. Her heart felt waterlogged; swollen, sore, deprived of blood and oxygen. Yet, her strides remained slow and lethargic. And all you will have left is your father. What will you do then, Minnowleap? Her aunt’s words plagued her; always poking holes in her subconscious. In truth, the patched she-cat had plenty of family left besides her father. Starlingstream, her aunt, was still around as was some of her siblings from younger litters. She saw them, the felines that matched her pelt hue or shared her eyes, but she didn’t know them. Her mother would have chided her. She would have explained the importance of family and what it meant to have been so fortunate. But you’re no longer here, Minnowleap reminded herself as she slid through the undergrowth.
The vegetation had thinned, revealing a grassy slope leading to the half-bridge. The patched she-cat paused as she watched the murky, green spotted water, lap at the shoreline. Typically during green leaf the area would be consumed with two-legs and their odd looking monster-like objects. Their kits would toss mud at one another or jump from the end of the half-bridge. However, today they appeared to have vacated. Minnowleap wondered if they were still sleeping in their dens and if they were, did they too dream? And if they did, did any of them ever wish to stay there, trapped in a world that only existed in a pocket of their subconscious? Pull it together, she though, shaking her head. The living waste away if they cannot accept the dead, Minnowleap reminded herself as she trotted onto the awkward little bridge.
The surface was hard, like that of a stone, but grainy. She positioned herself at the end of the half-bridge, her lithe body stretched out against the wooden planks. As the waves came in, the half-bridge trembled, but Minnowleap didn’t take notice. Instead, she focused on the horizon, staring until she couldn’t see where it ended.
Minnowleap knew she was dreaming when she found herself tucked beside her grandfather. The familiar scent of wet soil and reeds washed over her. She lifted her head from her paws and looked at the sleeping form beside her. The tip of his tail would twitch every so often and she could see the tremble of his lips when a snore lodged itself deep in his throat. She shifted so that her chin lay against her grandfather’s paws, her tail twining with his own. His fur was rough, like brushing up against pine needles, and there was a faint tang of mouse bile. She wondered, if she stayed awake in her dream, would it never cease?
In the end, Minnowleap couldn’t remember if she had managed to keep herself awake in the dream. The rays of the dawn, like gold and purple ribbons, roused her from her nest. Muffled snores filled the den she shared with the rest of the warriors. Their pelts mirrored the sunrise; curled in their nests like droplets of splattered paint. She watched them for a moment, deaf to the birdsong and the soft thrum of the crickets and frogs. Their chests rose and fell in even beats, their faces peaceful, smoothed, as if all their worries had been stolen away in the night. The she-cat turned away from her clan mates, her eyes downcast as she slithered out of the den and toward the camp exit.
Her father or perhaps her cousin, Yewtail, would be rising soon to organize the dawn patrol. While Minnowleap held no qualms when it came to her duties, she found herself too ill at heart to be competent. It seemed that her grandfather’s scent still lingered in her nostrils. The clouds were beginning to thin, revealing a chasm of blue, and the sunlight was sifting through the gnarled tree tops, dappling the ground. She wanted to run. Her heart felt waterlogged; swollen, sore, deprived of blood and oxygen. Yet, her strides remained slow and lethargic. And all you will have left is your father. What will you do then, Minnowleap? Her aunt’s words plagued her; always poking holes in her subconscious. In truth, the patched she-cat had plenty of family left besides her father. Starlingstream, her aunt, was still around as was some of her siblings from younger litters. She saw them, the felines that matched her pelt hue or shared her eyes, but she didn’t know them. Her mother would have chided her. She would have explained the importance of family and what it meant to have been so fortunate. But you’re no longer here, Minnowleap reminded herself as she slid through the undergrowth.
The vegetation had thinned, revealing a grassy slope leading to the half-bridge. The patched she-cat paused as she watched the murky, green spotted water, lap at the shoreline. Typically during green leaf the area would be consumed with two-legs and their odd looking monster-like objects. Their kits would toss mud at one another or jump from the end of the half-bridge. However, today they appeared to have vacated. Minnowleap wondered if they were still sleeping in their dens and if they were, did they too dream? And if they did, did any of them ever wish to stay there, trapped in a world that only existed in a pocket of their subconscious? Pull it together, she though, shaking her head. The living waste away if they cannot accept the dead, Minnowleap reminded herself as she trotted onto the awkward little bridge.
The surface was hard, like that of a stone, but grainy. She positioned herself at the end of the half-bridge, her lithe body stretched out against the wooden planks. As the waves came in, the half-bridge trembled, but Minnowleap didn’t take notice. Instead, she focused on the horizon, staring until she couldn’t see where it ended.
[attr="class","fallownotes"]642 words for dusthawk. notes. this was a bit rough ><
