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Post by pythontail on Dec 9, 2018 13:05:16 GMT -5
The dark, oily water rippled lazily as something unseen passed beneath, barely disturbing the thick, duckweed-choked surface. Pythontail's keen emerald eyes fixed on the spot where she was sure she had spotted movement, her vivid imagination and dark thoughts morbidly fascinated by the draw of the unknown. Was it one of those venomous water moccasins Radio had mentioned, hunting in the shallow reed beds, fangs dripping with toxin? Or perhaps it had been a bubble of noxious, flammable marsh gas released by the workings of unseen bacteria in the hungry mud below? Or, even better, maybe it had been one last alligator which had not yet given up the freedom of the wilds, while every one of its fellows had fled to take advantage of the distant city's sewers and their inexhaustible resources? Her mind eagerly ate up that final suggestion, vividly painting an image of that elongated maw, decorated by a sibylline smile and full of sharpened teeth, meeting her throat. Overcome by warring instincts, Pythontail stood motionless, like a discarded idol carved from onyx left on the bank of the marsh by unfaithful worshipers. However, her mysterious companion did not tip his hand again, and eventually her tight, burning lungs forced a held breath out through her delicate, quivering nostrils. The necessity of breathing brought her back to herself, and, ashamed, she glanced around, her eyes sharp, challenging the very reeds to call out her cowardice. Since when have I become so neurotic? Her more depreciating clanmates would have snickered to see the queen of the marsh jumping at shadows like some green kit. Finding no one, Pythontail continued on her hunt.
Everything about this new land Radio had generously granted them felt wrong somehow. Even the scents of the marsh which should have reminded Pythontail of home--damp mud, sulfur, plant-rot, and humidity--seemed exotic, leaving her with an unsettling sense of monachopsis. Up ahead, she spotted the distinct shape of fresh pawprints in the mud. Her ears immediately laid back flat on her skull, and her leather lips drew up to reveal a snarl. The fur along her shoulders began to rise, and she padded forward, claws unsheathed, spoiling for a fight. Anything to break her out of this funk. She bent down and opened her maw, taking in a deep breath. Oh. They were her pawsteps. She must have completely circled the marsh without realizing it. Pythontail let out a sigh and allowed her hackles to fall flat, feeling a strange mixture of relief and disappointment.
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Post by Deleted on Dec 9, 2018 13:40:43 GMT -5
Birdcall weaved to and fro between the reeds, burly figure brushing past the overgrown thickets, his fur occasionally being snagged by a particularly outstretched thorn or branch...he didn't mind of this territory much, it was a place to live, and it was fresh. It gave him a breath of refreshing air to once again be in a new place, even if the same clan mates had also participated in the journey...it just felt like old times, travelling to places in search of a new era, a new rise.
Naturally, his hunched posture straightened as he heard a rustle that was not brought on by himself, crooked tail twitching ever so slightly as he concentrated on the distant sound, his paws finally raising in heed of bringing his darkened silhouette towards what he assumed to be an intruder, his steps slow and dragged out, his head lowering to settle beneath his hooked shoulders once again, mingling within the shadows like a cat's true home, his fur perfectly mixing with the dark paint cast over the territory as the moon lay high in the sky, the soft shimmer it cast upon the lands barricaded by the trees that covered their heads.
Soon enough, he had reached his destination, causing him to draw to a complete halt within the shrubs that lined the erratically placed marsh, the darkened leaves forced aside by his figure, and olive green eyes glaring from his cover, searching the shaded area with bristled fur, and even when he spotted the feline in the short distance, he didn't reveal himself, it wasn't that he didn't dare to, no, he just didn't care to. He just preferred to watch, to observe from a distance. |
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Post by pythontail on Dec 12, 2018 10:17:10 GMT -5
Pythontail was stolidly relieved that no one had been around to witness this ignominious misstep. Imagine observing the sly snake of ShadowClan, the shade-witch of the pines herself, practically chasing her own tail? The damage done to her carefully curried, fearsome reputation would have been immutable. The black molly felt a frustrated growl building in her throat, clawing its way toward her lips, but when it emerged it breathed out as a soft wheeze, all ferocity drained from it by the strange oppressiveness of this place. She snorted and turned away, continuing her walk. Probably for the better, anyway. After all, what good would did it serve to snarl at shadows?
A breeze rattled the pine needles against each other in a foreign whisper above, accompanied by the creaks of ancient bones. Pythontail had never been the sort to believe in spirits or poltergeists--anything which could not be observed readily with one of the five senses was nothing more than a hoax to her mind--but she could not shake off the sense of watchfulness that haunted her moonlit steps, almost as if the trees had eyes. Instead of fading, like some transient fancy, it grew stronger the further she walked until she was sure of it. She was being observed--and not by a ghost either. Unwilling to alert her mysterious stalker that she was aware of their presence, desiring to convince him that she was still blissfully unaware until she had a better handle on the situation, Pythontail didn't allow her pawsteps to change cadence, or her breath to change rhythm, even as the disturbing realization dawned on her. She knew that her watcher was a cat; she felt that instinctively. A mindless predator like a dog or a fox would not be so patient. She paused suddenly, bending down to sniff delicately at the reeds, as though scenting for prey. In reality, her ears were straining for following pawsteps. Her jaw dropped slightly and she took in a breath, running it over her sensitive scent glands. However, she was still unfamiliar with the unique musks of the new territory, and could not discern which scents were normal and which detonated a particular threat. The only relief was that she could not smell lavender. She had begun to dread the unique scent of The Tower cats, that sickly sweet, cloying perfume which followed them around. It was the sort of scent one would use to hide the stench of a dead body.
But no, no lavender on the air. Stretching her spine innocently upward, Pythontail took the opportunity to glance back. Ah, its him. Birdcall had hidden himself well. She did not spot his coat, light colored though it was, and she had not been able to discern his scent, but she immediately recognized those lime green eyes, gleaming at her through the undergrowth, and she knew who had been following her. "You can come out now." she mewed, imperiously. Her voice had always had a commanding lilt to it, akin to the tone of a queen accustomed to being obeyed. "I think we are both a little old to be playing hide and go seek."
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Post by Deleted on Dec 16, 2018 13:12:29 GMT -5
If Birdcall had been the type to chortle or even scoff at others, this would've been the perfect opportunity to do so as his presence was finally acknowledged, pointed out by the commanding ebony she before him, instead a small, unintelligible sound rang through his cords, rumbling against his throat, closely resembling a growl made by a ferocious tiger, but it wasn't a growl, simply a noise he often made to acknowledge someone or something...words weren't his forte, after all, he didn't believe one needed to speak in order to communicate...sometimes it was just unnecessary.
He pushed through the undergrowth that'd concealed him only moments prior, the white glint of the moon against his eyes and the blue sheen running through his fur, casting an ominous shadow beside him, connected from the paws and stretching outwards, his tongue briefly swiping across his maw to set the fur back in place, resting in a first nature silence for a few moments before he glanced down at Pythontail, "exploring?" he inquired simply, having assumed that was what the obsidian fae was doing before she'd been interrupted by both her own paranoia and him.
Of course he only used a one worded sentence, of course he wouldn't first greet her...what was the need? As far as the eye could see back, he hadn't formally greeted anyone in a long time, simply intruded with a question or the like.
Though, he had almost been amused by her tone, one thing that never changed despite her situation, her voice always bringing her up to authority, like a general commanding their army to go forth.
Normally, Birdcall would go out of his way to put those kinds of cats down, especially if they were not on the throne of authority...but Pythontail had proven herself to be a cat fitting for the way she carried herself, so he had no quarrels - on the other hand, if she herself didn't live up to the way she broadcasted herself, all of their encounters would likely have taken different paths.
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Post by pythontail on Dec 31, 2018 9:00:53 GMT -5
Had any doubt been left in Pythontail's mind as to the identity of her shadow, it would have been swept away by the familiar, growling huff which reached her delicate ears through the quiet of the night. The dead reeds and ferns rattled against one another like bones as they were forcibly shifted to make space for a large tomcat. First emerged his skull, speckled with black and divided down the very center by a white blaze. Next, the thick neck, emphasized with muscle and tendon and crowned by a significant mane of charcoal that always refused to lie flat. large paws, hunched shoulders, slumped hips, and crooked tail all followed in their turn, revealing one of the few cats Pythontail trusted, despite the fact that he had never really given her any reason.
"Familiarizing." she corrected him simply. They certainly shared an opinion on the uselessness of small talk. "Exploring is what a kit does when its eyes open and it steps out of the nursery for the first time. I have no time for playful galivanting driven purely by curiosity."
"Might I enquire as to the purpose of your stalking?" she finally asked. She couldn't decide why he would do so. Perhaps tracking prey had become too mild a sport for the strange, violent tomcat. Perhaps he desired the excitement of hunting a more intelligent quarry. He seemed the sort to seek out a challenge.
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