Beyond the Stone Womb (for PHEONIX) Dec 14, 2012 2:00:03 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Dec 14, 2012 2:00:03 GMT -5
We come around, a circle meets; at last I feel I'm closer to the beginning...
Nettlefur marveled at how reflective the cavern walls could be. His green eyes moved over the dull gray stone that held NightClan in its shielding embrace. They were not mirrors in the visual sense, but mirrors to a deeper, more concealed degree of being. The bits of thoughtful valor, quiet benevolence, and lucid curiosity buoying in the pensive fluidity that manifest the collective veins of consciousness could surface to what was the equivalent of visibility in the soul, with these stone walls. With merits, rose faults. Harsh ambition, silent resentment, and stagnant fury tugged along at the same pace as the virtues, for the merciful stone was permissive, and did not dictate a cat's choice; simply gave it to them. It was a manifestation of the most hushed regions of inclination, and with the stone as a womb, a cat could choose which to cultivate, see the trickles of character that he did not know were real, and ponder all.[/size]
The stone was alive; neither flora nor fauna, but a life all its own. The living stone was placid, beautiful, and expressed the ultimate in strength. Nettlefur admired the stone; its solidity and its presence inspired his introspective musings. This must be a place, Nettlefur thought, from whence great thinkers were borne in leagues. He felt fortunate, and was turning his thoughts to those who had come before him and those who had yet to come – the latter a larger and more enigmatic affair – as he exited the caverns and entered the frozen territory.
His mottled tabby fur fluffed up against the frigid air, he walked through the snow. Now outside of the caverns, his mind turned to more somber thoughts. Specifically, the catastrophic prey shortage which NightClan was facing. He left now, the morning sun rising into the sky, to fight it the only way he could. He would hunt. The tom paused for a moment, scenting the air and finding it particularly lacking in the department of prey, decided to visit the muddy pools which so often had bounty to offer. His pawprints leaving a clean white trail behind him, the tom trekked deeper into the territory, his thoughts wobbling between the question of altruism and the prey he must catch in order to feed his precious clan.
...A gentle word, a quiet heart; a soul that stirs another to start.
Notes; Oooooh I had muse! Had it in the palm of my hands! But then it died. x3 Sorry for the weak ending.
And good lord, just ignore my title. I am so bad at naming threads. xD