Post by ♛ 𝔽𝕒𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 on Aug 30, 2020 11:21:16 GMT -5
At least with smoking, you can quit.
T.w for cannibalism, animal death, somewhat detailed gore, etc.
T.w for cannibalism, animal death, somewhat detailed gore, etc.
when the fox hears the rabbit scream
he comes a-runnin'
[smear:455450]The forest was cast in a dazzling array of colour, sunlight oozing down through green leaves and pouring into the undergrowth. It was quiet, like the birds themselves were holding their breath. The truth was that they had fled the scene the moment they had witnessed what was happening below, their wings beating desperately and an alarm call blooming up from their little chests.
A tortoiseshell form was crouched in a small ditch in the earth, his ears twitching as though he were frustrated. His newfound friendship with Finch had driven him further and further away to hunt, for fear of being stumbled upon by the other tom. Here he had found himself, the scent of terror filling his nose. In his mouth, he grasped the pure white throat of a rapidly weakening she-cat. He could feel her pulse against his lips, frantic. Her claws dug into his side, trying to dislodge him, but she was far too weak now. Her eyes were glazed, she was losing focus. Her tongue poked out from between her fangs, her jaws parted in a soundless scream. It wouldn't be long now. He just had to have patience. His mouth grasped harder, jaws aching with the effort. Her paws barely grazed his sides now, useless in warding him off.
Even after she had finally gone still, he kept his weight on her, just to be sure. He wouldn't let himself be fooled by the same trickery twice. Finally, with a parody of gentleness, he let her head drop back to the earth. She was a brown tabby, stripes like shadows slicing through her pelt. He reached out a weary, tired white paw to lift her chin, those staring eyes blank and soulless. Such a shame that a beautiful cat like this had so vulgar a tongue. He grasped her scruff in his teeth and dragged her a short distance into a more concealed dip in the ground. Demon roamed these mountains, and he enjoyed the occasional feline meal. Oleander did not intend to attract such a beast towards him. He lay down next to the body for a moment to regain his breath, chest expanding and retracting in rapid gasps of air. It was a while before he felt refreshed enough to rise once more to his feet and bend his head to tear at that beautiful pelt. The clean, bloodless kill was quickly ruined by the silvery aroma of still-warm blood. He was hungry, but even he would not be able to finish this himself. He paused, his bloody muzzle quirking into a smile. Perhaps a gift for a friend?
He tore into his meal, a salacious purr rumbling in his throat as he worked. It was several minutes before his ears perked up, catching the sound of an intruder. His head shot up from his meal, bloodied teeth bared, a single paw resting protectively on the body with claws unsheathed. His copper eyes were so dilated they seemed mostly to be an inky black. Was it Demon? No. He could not smell the acrid tang of lynx in the air. It was another cat. His fur bristled, recalling the pack of loners that had attempted to end him in the river. The blood scent overlaid everything, meaning he had no idea what watched him from beyond his field of view. He did not call out, but a low growl resounded deep in his chest as he prepared himself to face whatever it was that spied on him, be it coyote, fox, cat or otherwise.[/smear:5c0000]
A tortoiseshell form was crouched in a small ditch in the earth, his ears twitching as though he were frustrated. His newfound friendship with Finch had driven him further and further away to hunt, for fear of being stumbled upon by the other tom. Here he had found himself, the scent of terror filling his nose. In his mouth, he grasped the pure white throat of a rapidly weakening she-cat. He could feel her pulse against his lips, frantic. Her claws dug into his side, trying to dislodge him, but she was far too weak now. Her eyes were glazed, she was losing focus. Her tongue poked out from between her fangs, her jaws parted in a soundless scream. It wouldn't be long now. He just had to have patience. His mouth grasped harder, jaws aching with the effort. Her paws barely grazed his sides now, useless in warding him off.
Even after she had finally gone still, he kept his weight on her, just to be sure. He wouldn't let himself be fooled by the same trickery twice. Finally, with a parody of gentleness, he let her head drop back to the earth. She was a brown tabby, stripes like shadows slicing through her pelt. He reached out a weary, tired white paw to lift her chin, those staring eyes blank and soulless. Such a shame that a beautiful cat like this had so vulgar a tongue. He grasped her scruff in his teeth and dragged her a short distance into a more concealed dip in the ground. Demon roamed these mountains, and he enjoyed the occasional feline meal. Oleander did not intend to attract such a beast towards him. He lay down next to the body for a moment to regain his breath, chest expanding and retracting in rapid gasps of air. It was a while before he felt refreshed enough to rise once more to his feet and bend his head to tear at that beautiful pelt. The clean, bloodless kill was quickly ruined by the silvery aroma of still-warm blood. He was hungry, but even he would not be able to finish this himself. He paused, his bloody muzzle quirking into a smile. Perhaps a gift for a friend?
He tore into his meal, a salacious purr rumbling in his throat as he worked. It was several minutes before his ears perked up, catching the sound of an intruder. His head shot up from his meal, bloodied teeth bared, a single paw resting protectively on the body with claws unsheathed. His copper eyes were so dilated they seemed mostly to be an inky black. Was it Demon? No. He could not smell the acrid tang of lynx in the air. It was another cat. His fur bristled, recalling the pack of loners that had attempted to end him in the river. The blood scent overlaid everything, meaning he had no idea what watched him from beyond his field of view. He did not call out, but a low growl resounded deep in his chest as he prepared himself to face whatever it was that spied on him, be it coyote, fox, cat or otherwise.[/smear:5c0000]
but not to help
Oleander
592 words | Phoenix