Post by Gemini on Nov 3, 2020 9:59:19 GMT -5
●●●
when you have
a dream
you must grab it
and never let go
Almond hues peered open, blinking slowly upon the world amongst himself. His cocoa-malachite orbs scintillated with a mischievous glint that could be noticed next to the umber that rimmed his iris. They glowed with humor and playfulness that never seem to escape his visage. Nevertheless, his eyes possess sorrow that placed a melancholic veil, which cloaked his eyes; it seemed as if it made the happiness in his eyes matte.
Thistlewhisper's iris was a large stain of wood and ebony pigments flecked with green; its size gave it a sense of innocence and purity. This is the part where you can see all the buried kindness eclipsed behind the saturated color of fine, exquisite oud. There was some sort of goodness in his eyes, which tells one that no matter what he did, their intention will never carry any hint of malevolence or malignity whatsoever. The kindness may not be necessarily be shown or exposed. But if one looked closely, it can reveal all the mysteries that are hidden in the deep beds of those big, brown eyes. From the surface of the stolen specks in sunlight, to the abyss in the abysmal depths of dusky, auburn.
Thistlwhisper trekked along, beyond the camp, he found himself absentmindedly wandering through the territory. The relatively diminutive tomcat glimpsed around, a sigh escaping his mandibles as he slunk along the terra firma. The forest is the orchestra of his mind, playing an enchanting symphony after another. The leaves danced to an unheard beat, whispering their songs to the wind. In here, sheltered by the mighty trees, is every kind of life, from the humble beetle to enchanting birds of every color. He held his head up to feel the cascading light atop his crown, a brilliant white shaft illuminating the path that takes him onward. The Little Woods was ancient. The trees thick and old, roots that were twisted. It might once have been filled with bird-song and animals that roamed. But now it was ages past its former glory. It's canopy was so dense that you could only see the occasional streak of sunlight that rarely touched the forest floor.
The black, beige, white, and grey feline shifted his direction, glimpsing toward the trees. He shook his crania, reluctant to continue forward. Timidness clung to the troposphere, forcing the tomcat to halt abruptly in his tracks. Today's a strange day. It feels off. Thistlewhisper dubiously ascended forward, noticing a thrush diving down to snatch an earthworm. His pupils constricting as he laid his vision upon the small creature. A hunt will do. The tom pondered, a small simper crossing his countenance as he observed the bird in action. The tomcat put on his midnight paws and prowled slowly toward the thrush. In the stillness his ears could tell him things that were drown out in the daytime. Thistlewhisper raised his nares to the sky, a kiss of dampness hung ready to meet the tender earth. He oscillated his tassel left to right as if to rid himself of the gathering tension that came with a hunt. Moving down the paths with the slink all true felines possess, claws still sheathed, his mind surged sending tingles right to his toes.
The achromatic feline's minuscule muscles rippled beneath his wildly pelage, unsheathing his claws as he eased in on the thrush. And there in the light of the new day are the small bird who sought its nourishment among the wands of grass. It hopped amid the dew that sparkles with scattered rays, upon feet that are the strong browns of the forests. He paused momentarily, watching as the thrush stopped its movement. He swallowed thickly, determined to make the hunt a successful one without any mistakes. Thistlewhisper was quite confident in his hunting skills, but clearly didn't give himself enough credit. He lunged forward, claws unsheathed as he pounced amongst the feathered creature. The thrush attempted to escape, unfortunately snagged by Thistlewhisper's left paw and talons.
The thrush was flapping his free wing vigerously intending on escaping. Thistlewhisper brought the thrush close to his countenance, grappling the chest of the bird as he pushed it down into the terrain. A genuine smile occurred, relieved that he wouldn't have to go on a chase after the thrush or wait for another creature to show. Thistlwhisper peered down, maxilla departing from his mandible as he clamped his maw around the bird's throat, tasting the sanguine fluid that seeped through the feathery animal. He felt the thrush go limp, meaning it was dead and he had made the hunt a successful one.
The limp embodiment hit the terrain with a soft thud, this shall go to the freshkill pile. He would never dare take a fresh kill for himself, making sure to place all his hunts in the freshkill pile. He was hungry, but he would wait till he returned to camp to feast on anything. He had to admit, a warm kill was better than a cold one. Thistlewhisper's gaze trailed away from the bird, wondering if he could find a place to hide it until he returned to go back to camp. He wasn't sure how long he'd be out, but if it was for hours, he figured he'd need a spot for the thrush to remain while he was away.
Thistlewhisper raised the thrush with his maw, advancing forward, tassel swaying. Now what to do and where to hide this kill. He wasn't sure where to go with this, considering it was something he never really did before. Normally, after a hunt, Thistlewhisper would just return to camp, but today, it was one of those days where he wanted to get some fresh air. It was that he despised socializing, occasionally it was just too much for him and it could become overwhelming.
Thistlewhisper's iris was a large stain of wood and ebony pigments flecked with green; its size gave it a sense of innocence and purity. This is the part where you can see all the buried kindness eclipsed behind the saturated color of fine, exquisite oud. There was some sort of goodness in his eyes, which tells one that no matter what he did, their intention will never carry any hint of malevolence or malignity whatsoever. The kindness may not be necessarily be shown or exposed. But if one looked closely, it can reveal all the mysteries that are hidden in the deep beds of those big, brown eyes. From the surface of the stolen specks in sunlight, to the abyss in the abysmal depths of dusky, auburn.
Thistlwhisper trekked along, beyond the camp, he found himself absentmindedly wandering through the territory. The relatively diminutive tomcat glimpsed around, a sigh escaping his mandibles as he slunk along the terra firma. The forest is the orchestra of his mind, playing an enchanting symphony after another. The leaves danced to an unheard beat, whispering their songs to the wind. In here, sheltered by the mighty trees, is every kind of life, from the humble beetle to enchanting birds of every color. He held his head up to feel the cascading light atop his crown, a brilliant white shaft illuminating the path that takes him onward. The Little Woods was ancient. The trees thick and old, roots that were twisted. It might once have been filled with bird-song and animals that roamed. But now it was ages past its former glory. It's canopy was so dense that you could only see the occasional streak of sunlight that rarely touched the forest floor.
The black, beige, white, and grey feline shifted his direction, glimpsing toward the trees. He shook his crania, reluctant to continue forward. Timidness clung to the troposphere, forcing the tomcat to halt abruptly in his tracks. Today's a strange day. It feels off. Thistlewhisper dubiously ascended forward, noticing a thrush diving down to snatch an earthworm. His pupils constricting as he laid his vision upon the small creature. A hunt will do. The tom pondered, a small simper crossing his countenance as he observed the bird in action. The tomcat put on his midnight paws and prowled slowly toward the thrush. In the stillness his ears could tell him things that were drown out in the daytime. Thistlewhisper raised his nares to the sky, a kiss of dampness hung ready to meet the tender earth. He oscillated his tassel left to right as if to rid himself of the gathering tension that came with a hunt. Moving down the paths with the slink all true felines possess, claws still sheathed, his mind surged sending tingles right to his toes.
The achromatic feline's minuscule muscles rippled beneath his wildly pelage, unsheathing his claws as he eased in on the thrush. And there in the light of the new day are the small bird who sought its nourishment among the wands of grass. It hopped amid the dew that sparkles with scattered rays, upon feet that are the strong browns of the forests. He paused momentarily, watching as the thrush stopped its movement. He swallowed thickly, determined to make the hunt a successful one without any mistakes. Thistlewhisper was quite confident in his hunting skills, but clearly didn't give himself enough credit. He lunged forward, claws unsheathed as he pounced amongst the feathered creature. The thrush attempted to escape, unfortunately snagged by Thistlewhisper's left paw and talons.
The thrush was flapping his free wing vigerously intending on escaping. Thistlewhisper brought the thrush close to his countenance, grappling the chest of the bird as he pushed it down into the terrain. A genuine smile occurred, relieved that he wouldn't have to go on a chase after the thrush or wait for another creature to show. Thistlwhisper peered down, maxilla departing from his mandible as he clamped his maw around the bird's throat, tasting the sanguine fluid that seeped through the feathery animal. He felt the thrush go limp, meaning it was dead and he had made the hunt a successful one.
The limp embodiment hit the terrain with a soft thud, this shall go to the freshkill pile. He would never dare take a fresh kill for himself, making sure to place all his hunts in the freshkill pile. He was hungry, but he would wait till he returned to camp to feast on anything. He had to admit, a warm kill was better than a cold one. Thistlewhisper's gaze trailed away from the bird, wondering if he could find a place to hide it until he returned to go back to camp. He wasn't sure how long he'd be out, but if it was for hours, he figured he'd need a spot for the thrush to remain while he was away.
Thistlewhisper raised the thrush with his maw, advancing forward, tassel swaying. Now what to do and where to hide this kill. He wasn't sure where to go with this, considering it was something he never really did before. Normally, after a hunt, Thistlewhisper would just return to camp, but today, it was one of those days where he wanted to get some fresh air. It was that he despised socializing, occasionally it was just too much for him and it could become overwhelming.
MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0
