Post by ρυмρкιηqυєєη13 on May 24, 2017 16:58:42 GMT -5
(aaand here's my starters! i hope they're okay?)
The forest floor felt too rough and cold underneath Mikel's paws. Birdsong called all around him, but he couldn't care less. He couldn't eat, not now. A few droplets of red fell onto the path he was taking, right underneath him, and Mikel flinched. He raised the paw that had been injured, slashes caught deep into the wound, and tried to press on with his other three legs. It was hard, especially when blood was falling into one eye and you could hardly see in front of you. Thus, after a couple more steps, Mikel landed to the forest floor below him, panting heavily. He tried to lick the drying blood off of his paws, but it was no use. More would only take it's place.
Mikel let out a small whine in the back of his throat and lowered his muzzle, hiding his face in his other arm. They were dead. They were both dead. Donnie, bright and intellegent Donnie. Gone. And...and Sherlock. Sherlock, with the glowing green eyes and ashy pelt. With critical eyes but a wish for an adventure, to travel where no one else had gone before. The same Sherlock that Mikel had fallen for. But now he was dead. They were both dead.
"Those foxes..." Mikel whimpered, a pain coming from his back left paw, "They'll...they'll pay for what they done." He closed his eyes, exhaustion and pain finally weighing him down. The last image he saw was one of Sherlock, eyes bright and full of passion and interest for the forest around them.
Shortie was sat atop the fence at her twoleg's home, her tail lightly trailing the edge and falling beneath her, waving in the wind. She pricked her ears towards where she heard other twoleg's playing around, small ones with barely any fur on their heads, and she smiled. Her twolegs, her owners, had just recently brought home a small kit of theirs as well. She had sniffed it when they first brought it home, but they had just shooed her away and taken the kit to their den. Shortie then decided that it was fine and she went about her day. She had really wanted to see the new kit, though.
She was feeling a bit lonely, actually. It hadn't been long since her brother, Sherlock, and his friends had decided to go rogue and travel the forest, looking for something called a "clan" or something. She didn't want him to leave, but he had insisted that it was what he wanted, that he could no longer stay. Even when her heart warned her that it wasn't a good idea, she let him leave. It had been a moon already, and she was worried. Would he come back and greet her sometimes? She hoped so. She missed him. She was also friends with Donnie and Mikel, her brother's two companions. She'd grown up around Donnie, as they had been introduced together as kits, and she'd met Mikel from the neighbors many moons back. She remembered those times, closing her eyes and listening softly as the birdsong lulled her into a small nap.
The forest floor felt too rough and cold underneath Mikel's paws. Birdsong called all around him, but he couldn't care less. He couldn't eat, not now. A few droplets of red fell onto the path he was taking, right underneath him, and Mikel flinched. He raised the paw that had been injured, slashes caught deep into the wound, and tried to press on with his other three legs. It was hard, especially when blood was falling into one eye and you could hardly see in front of you. Thus, after a couple more steps, Mikel landed to the forest floor below him, panting heavily. He tried to lick the drying blood off of his paws, but it was no use. More would only take it's place.
Mikel let out a small whine in the back of his throat and lowered his muzzle, hiding his face in his other arm. They were dead. They were both dead. Donnie, bright and intellegent Donnie. Gone. And...and Sherlock. Sherlock, with the glowing green eyes and ashy pelt. With critical eyes but a wish for an adventure, to travel where no one else had gone before. The same Sherlock that Mikel had fallen for. But now he was dead. They were both dead.
"Those foxes..." Mikel whimpered, a pain coming from his back left paw, "They'll...they'll pay for what they done." He closed his eyes, exhaustion and pain finally weighing him down. The last image he saw was one of Sherlock, eyes bright and full of passion and interest for the forest around them.
Shortie was sat atop the fence at her twoleg's home, her tail lightly trailing the edge and falling beneath her, waving in the wind. She pricked her ears towards where she heard other twoleg's playing around, small ones with barely any fur on their heads, and she smiled. Her twolegs, her owners, had just recently brought home a small kit of theirs as well. She had sniffed it when they first brought it home, but they had just shooed her away and taken the kit to their den. Shortie then decided that it was fine and she went about her day. She had really wanted to see the new kit, though.
She was feeling a bit lonely, actually. It hadn't been long since her brother, Sherlock, and his friends had decided to go rogue and travel the forest, looking for something called a "clan" or something. She didn't want him to leave, but he had insisted that it was what he wanted, that he could no longer stay. Even when her heart warned her that it wasn't a good idea, she let him leave. It had been a moon already, and she was worried. Would he come back and greet her sometimes? She hoped so. She missed him. She was also friends with Donnie and Mikel, her brother's two companions. She'd grown up around Donnie, as they had been introduced together as kits, and she'd met Mikel from the neighbors many moons back. She remembered those times, closing her eyes and listening softly as the birdsong lulled her into a small nap.