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Post by Insidious on Dec 22, 2014 9:59:23 GMT -5
S I L E N T P A W
- - - - - - He sat among the wavy grass, watching with still, pale blue eyes the way that the various prey animals ventured through their homes, unaware of the predator that sat statuesque nearby. His claws itched to sink into their flesh, each and every one of them, but a wave of sympathy always washed over him seconds before he'd dare spur into action. Hunger didn't gnaw at the contents of his stomach; if he hunted one of these animals, it would be for a reasoning much too morbid for his fellow Clanmates to endure. Next, it was embarrassment that suddenly had his ashy gray ears flattening, succumbing to the fact that, among his kind, he was different.
He often wondered what would have become of him, had his father never sent him with Riversong to live in StoneClan. He didn't feel overly thankful for the opportunity to be a part of a Clan; he'd likely be living a life just as peaceful, just as free of interference (for, even in a Clan as he was, he felt ignored and unwanted) except he'd have as many opportunities as he wanted to partake in his rather interesting hobby.
StoneClan certainly wasn't going to keep him from doing something that he enjoyed, though it was admittedly harder to actually do said something that he enjoyed when he could feel the Clan's watchful, judgmental eyes upon him. Nobody seemed to trust him, albeit with good reason. He was nothing more than a quiet, observant apprentice that seemed to have static for brain cells. Nobody wanted to give him a chance. Nobody wanted to risk finding out that maybe, just maybe, he was far more intelligent than he seemed.
Because if he was intelligent, then he was all the more dangerous.
However, even lethal as his thoughts often were - death always on his mind in some way, shape, or form since his mother and sister died - he didn't have the guts to act upon them. He was a serial killer that was influenced by a quivering lip. He was a monster that didn't have the black heart to back it up. This was when, perhaps, any ordinary StoneClan warrior would make some reference to StarClan. He looked into the sky then, curious, unsure, taking a moment of his time to ponder whether or not he thought them real, wondering how, if they were real, would they be just like everybody else? Seeing him as a twisted little criminal trying to figure out how to get away with his crimes?
- - - - - - Tags: N/A.
Word Count: 422. |
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Post by Deleted on Dec 22, 2014 14:32:47 GMT -5
The grass whispered around her, lapping at her long legs like water. She much preferred the whispers of the wind to the whispers of her clanmates. The warrioress flicked her ears back, her yellow-green eyes narrowing, discomfort tightening her belly. She, of all cats, was not oblivious to the venomous attitudes of the warriors of StoneClan towards her own Silentpaw. It perturbed her greatly. The camp was like a pit of hissing adders, climbing all over each other to prey on one young apprentice. Never had she imagined her own clan could be so snakelike.
The blue-gray feline had searched for Silentpaw, but to no avail. Realizing he must of left the camp alone, the she-cat had found his scent and followed it. She didn't blame him for seeking refuge outside of the camp, though it worried her that such a young cat would go out alone. Out here on the plain, there was little coverage. She feared that a bird of prey could swoop down and take the little one away.
Though she had been his caretaker, she had continued with her warrior duties, as Hawkstar had requested. She regretted the time he'd had to spend in the nursery without her, often alone in a nest beside the other preoccupied queens. She did her best to make him comfortable, lining then nest with feathers and moss she'd gathered from the little woods. The silvery she-cat had brought him little toys, though he took little interest in them, even going so far as to obtain a small pinecone from NightClan's forest after asking a favor of one of their more mild warriors, Nettlefur. Despite her efforts, Silentkit had remained detached and she feared that he felt alone.
The warrior opened her maw, scenting the air. Adjusting her course slightly, she scanned the expanse for her wayward kit. She spotted him sitting stone-still among the grass. Lifting one dainty paw after the other, she approached quietly, coming to sit beside the young tom. She said nothing for a moment, following his gaze, then wrapped her elegant tail around him, drawing him closer. She was accustomed to his silence, having mothered him all those moons, and knew that he wasn't one for pointless conversation. It was a stark contrast to the other noisy, playful kits that had inhabited the nursery, but she felt it was a strength. Less speaking made for better listening.
"Hey, dear," she mewed gently craning her neck down to lick between his ears affectionately. "Are you alright?" Sympathy welled in her chest. Such an observant cat would not miss the hostility of his clan. But it is his clan, she forced herself to keep her claws sheathed. And I will shred any cat who challenges that.
Character; Riversong
Word count; 458
Notes; ~ |
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Post by Insidious on Dec 22, 2014 18:52:56 GMT -5
S I L E N T P A W
- - - - - - It was common for a feline of silence, of adequate observational ability, to have otherwise sharpened senses to make up for their lacking of words. Silentpaw, however, was no commonality. He often times lost himself in thought, focusing upon a single object with such intensity that it cancelled out the rest of the world. Riversong was correct in thinking that he could, in a sense, care for himself. Although he wasn’t oblivious to the mistrustful words of his Clanmates, said words didn’t crawl under his skin like they did with others. He didn’t mind being feared; being looked at like something was wrong with him. It provided him with a twisted kind of power, a kind of power that, otherwise, he was incapable of getting his paws on. It wasn’t easy, nor was it simple, being a weakling. He could only wish about being able to face the world bravely, giving everyone an actual reason to talk about him when he wasn’t present. With a sigh, he accepted the inevitability of his situation, content with, at least, the power that he had inside of his own head - a place that nobody was allowed to get inside of except for him.
Even though she had been at his side for a while, he didn’t genuinely notice her until he felt the pressure of her long, silky tail around his side, protecting him like his own personal shield. With a start, pale blue eyes round, momentarily fearful and bewildered, he sharply turned his neck towards the sky to look into his parental figure’s eyes. His worries quelled within seconds, relieved that it was only her. He knew that Riversong cared for him deeply, though nevertheless he often times wondered to himself whether or not her affection was true. She had taken him under her wing, yes, but because his father had asked as much of her. She had never asked for another kit to take care of. He was a responsibility of hers that he believed nothing other than a burden.
Despite whatever feelings she had in regards to her wordless, adopted son, she knew him well enough to expect his silence. No matter what she asked, no matter how she asked, she had never been able to drag so much as a syllable from his tongue. It wasn’t anything to feel sorry about though, for not even his father had ever heard him speak. He was mute, after all; at least, that’s what he was okay with everyone thinking. They didn’t need to know that he could talk. He had no purpose for his voice.
With the subconscious flattening of his ears, he answered her question with a sincere flutter of his eyes, turning away from her the moment afterward. By all appearances, he was alright - in fact, he was absolutely fine. He had nothing to be sad about. Try as the other cats might, their words didn’t affect him - they couldn’t when words held so little meaning in his heart. He was fine with being an outcast; that was, after all, what his whole life had been, even before StoneClan took him in. He didn’t need to rely on others, patient for their sympathy, even though, at times, it was nice to know that someone was genuinely concerned for his wellbeing. Riversong was a good mother, for all intents and purposes, but he wasn’t the type to express his gratitude. He would never desire to thank her for everything that she did. He never asked for her help in the first place.
Wolf did.
She would run away from him, scared, just like everybody else if she was a mind reader. He expected it after all of this time, left alone with nothing but his thoughts for company. His thoughts were creepy, unusual, and sometimes downright cruel. He would tear things apart at every available opportunity, though admittedly with a bit of reluctance. It sounded a lot like he was capable of being saved from the horrid path that he was upon, but it was difficult to be helped when nobody truly understood him. There was just no fixing somebody like him. Somebody that couldn’t - rather, wouldn’t - talk. Try as Riversong might to be the one that stood out from the rest, understanding him, helping him, protecting him, it would never work. He sunk into her shadow, into the comfort of her being, because he rather liked the way it felt to have somebody pitying him. He would blink his eyes, filled to the brim with upsettedness, for all of eternity if it meant that there would be somebody else’s life to exist in, absorbing every ounce of sympathy that he could possibly get, and he would do it because he was a weasel. A frightened, yet frightful little weasel that slithered in and out of trouble and never learned his lesson.
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Word Count: 812. |
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