Post by ♛ 𝔽𝕒𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 on Apr 12, 2020 12:26:36 GMT -5
Leaf-bare 16 Temperatures drop dangerously low. Short-coated cats are at serious risk for illness. The snow is hard underpaw and so cold it stings to the touch.
when the fox hears the rabbit scream
he comes a-runnin'
The snow was like hard, icy rock under-paw as he winced at the harsh, biting cold. Pain crawled up his legs, and he knew he would have to take shelter as quickly as he could. The sky, a frigid blue, loomed over him, like it was a gigantic wave that could crash down at any moment. The clouds of his breath dissipated into the air with each huffing sigh.
A soft hooting twitter made his ears flick. His eyes focused on a beautiful bluebird, hopping among the snow as though looking for something to eat. I suppose you're as hungry as I am, little bird. Oleander thought, dropping down into a crouch. The little blue bird was completely unaware of the presence of the cat, preening its feathers meticulously. The tortoiseshell tom stalked forward, paw pads numb from the freezing snow. His pelt was not the best camouflaged, which made hunting in this climate quite tricky. A pink tongue drew over his lips. This bird could keep him going for a day before he felt hungry again. Several days before starvation tightened its claws on him and he was forced to find more meat. The bluebird turned its beady eyes behind it, then gave a shriek of alarm and unfolded its wings. Oleander fell upon it and dug his teeth into its fragile little throat, cutting off the cry. Holding the bundle of feathers and flesh in his jaws, he glanced warily around him before setting off once again in search of shelter. Several droplets of blood dripped down from his catch, leaving little scatterings of red across the snow.
His nose twitched. A scent trail, clearly feline, paved through the snow. He lowered his nose to it, noticing that whoever it was frequented this path. His ear twitched. A lone cat. It wasn't so peculiar to come across other cats in these mountains. They were far more common than the foxes and the wolves, and could be a threat or an asset depending on the individual. He continued on his way, gripping the dead bird in his mouth. He knew many would be willing to fight him for his prize, especially in this season. Suddenly, that aroma he caught a few tree-lengths back grew stronger, and he realised that a heavy layer of scent led to his left. Curious, he paused. Veering off his original course, Oleander followed the thick layer of scent until he came to a little dip that led to what appeared to be a small cave laden with feline scent. A den. He realised. Creeping cautiously towards the entrance, he glanced around him, yellow eyes keen for any sign of movement. Perhaps it could offer him some warmth and shelter while he ate his bluebird. And perhaps the occupant will return and claw your eyes out. He thought, sensibly. But sensible thoughts and sensible actions were two entirely distinct things. If they do, then at least I might not starve.
Those thoughts slid away the moment he stepped inside the meagre little shelter, for inside was something entirely unexpected. The bluebird dropped from his mouth as he stared up at the ceiling of the den, at the walls and along the margins of this little scoop in the earth. For attached to almost every surface were the feathers of various birds. He recognised a few as he drew his eyes along the spectacular collection, the white down of a swan, the more common feathers that made up the plumage of magpies and crows. He reached out and drew his paw down the feathered wall, his toes gently brushing the small blue feather of a jay. He found himself drawn to the unusual like a magnet, intrigued by oddities. But this wasn't just an oddity. It was... beautiful. It almost made him wish he had a collection of his own. Perhaps not just feathers, but... Breathing in the scent of the den, of a feline mixed with distinct avian tinges... he hadn't come across anything quite like this before. Perhaps this was a mind like his own, one that looked beyond the simple veil of wildcat society and appreciated the beauty in everything, even the vulgar. Even something as underappreciated as the numerous birds they killed to survive.
A realisation dawned on him, and he found himself appalled at his own mistake. He had invaded this space unbidden, without permission. How rude of me. He thought soberly, and bent to pick up his bird. To leave. He would find shelter elsewhere, one that was not already occupied. Or at least, unoccupied by a cat that deserved his respect. His mouth hovered over the little feathered corpse, and he found himself hesitating. He glanced back at the shadowed den, a small slant of light seeping into the darkness and illuminating the iridescent feathers. He smiled softly to himself, and plucked the longest feather from one wing of his catch. Laying it gently in the centre of the den, he watched it catch the light and glow as blue as a summer sky. A gift. An apology. Picking up his bird, he scrambled up out of the den and disappeared into the forest, his crunching footsteps fading to silence.
A soft hooting twitter made his ears flick. His eyes focused on a beautiful bluebird, hopping among the snow as though looking for something to eat. I suppose you're as hungry as I am, little bird. Oleander thought, dropping down into a crouch. The little blue bird was completely unaware of the presence of the cat, preening its feathers meticulously. The tortoiseshell tom stalked forward, paw pads numb from the freezing snow. His pelt was not the best camouflaged, which made hunting in this climate quite tricky. A pink tongue drew over his lips. This bird could keep him going for a day before he felt hungry again. Several days before starvation tightened its claws on him and he was forced to find more meat. The bluebird turned its beady eyes behind it, then gave a shriek of alarm and unfolded its wings. Oleander fell upon it and dug his teeth into its fragile little throat, cutting off the cry. Holding the bundle of feathers and flesh in his jaws, he glanced warily around him before setting off once again in search of shelter. Several droplets of blood dripped down from his catch, leaving little scatterings of red across the snow.
His nose twitched. A scent trail, clearly feline, paved through the snow. He lowered his nose to it, noticing that whoever it was frequented this path. His ear twitched. A lone cat. It wasn't so peculiar to come across other cats in these mountains. They were far more common than the foxes and the wolves, and could be a threat or an asset depending on the individual. He continued on his way, gripping the dead bird in his mouth. He knew many would be willing to fight him for his prize, especially in this season. Suddenly, that aroma he caught a few tree-lengths back grew stronger, and he realised that a heavy layer of scent led to his left. Curious, he paused. Veering off his original course, Oleander followed the thick layer of scent until he came to a little dip that led to what appeared to be a small cave laden with feline scent. A den. He realised. Creeping cautiously towards the entrance, he glanced around him, yellow eyes keen for any sign of movement. Perhaps it could offer him some warmth and shelter while he ate his bluebird. And perhaps the occupant will return and claw your eyes out. He thought, sensibly. But sensible thoughts and sensible actions were two entirely distinct things. If they do, then at least I might not starve.
Those thoughts slid away the moment he stepped inside the meagre little shelter, for inside was something entirely unexpected. The bluebird dropped from his mouth as he stared up at the ceiling of the den, at the walls and along the margins of this little scoop in the earth. For attached to almost every surface were the feathers of various birds. He recognised a few as he drew his eyes along the spectacular collection, the white down of a swan, the more common feathers that made up the plumage of magpies and crows. He reached out and drew his paw down the feathered wall, his toes gently brushing the small blue feather of a jay. He found himself drawn to the unusual like a magnet, intrigued by oddities. But this wasn't just an oddity. It was... beautiful. It almost made him wish he had a collection of his own. Perhaps not just feathers, but... Breathing in the scent of the den, of a feline mixed with distinct avian tinges... he hadn't come across anything quite like this before. Perhaps this was a mind like his own, one that looked beyond the simple veil of wildcat society and appreciated the beauty in everything, even the vulgar. Even something as underappreciated as the numerous birds they killed to survive.
A realisation dawned on him, and he found himself appalled at his own mistake. He had invaded this space unbidden, without permission. How rude of me. He thought soberly, and bent to pick up his bird. To leave. He would find shelter elsewhere, one that was not already occupied. Or at least, unoccupied by a cat that deserved his respect. His mouth hovered over the little feathered corpse, and he found himself hesitating. He glanced back at the shadowed den, a small slant of light seeping into the darkness and illuminating the iridescent feathers. He smiled softly to himself, and plucked the longest feather from one wing of his catch. Laying it gently in the centre of the den, he watched it catch the light and glow as blue as a summer sky. A gift. An apology. Picking up his bird, he scrambled up out of the den and disappeared into the forest, his crunching footsteps fading to silence.
but not to help
Oleander
859 | Phoenix