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Post by Brownie on Jun 3, 2019 23:27:14 GMT -5
Yellow
They felt in in their fur, pushing gently but endlessly towards the east. It was just a tickle of a breeze but as one they turned. It was a miracle, for the darkness wasn't so dark. Grey and yellow, the faintest of yellows, pushed upon the clouds. It was as if someone shone a candle through layers and layers of paper, a fire from a distant room or a distant past, a light of the kind no one alive had only heard in tales. "Sun," a voice whispered, sending echoes through the crowd. Some reached out as if to touch the light so distant a smudge over the hills. That pale yellow twisted in the grey clouds. Motionless they watched. Until it once again disappeared, only stories and the burning image of light to show of their precarious encounter with the divine.
Kin
Howl's legs ached. The jagged scar that wrapped around his shoulder and sundered his bright white pelt burned. The moor spread so far in each direction, the edges lost in the thick fog. Exhaustion had sunk deep into his soul, but still he carried the little she-kit in his jaws. Periodically he would scan the land around them but for most of the day he would lose himself in the mind-numbing counting of his pawsteps as he trekked ever forward. The time of fiery urgency in their escape had passed. All that remained to Howl was the cold, bone-deep determination to take the she-kit and never turn around. Not ever. For now he would carry her. Soon she would be large enough to walk on her own. He would teach her to hunt along their path. They would never stay in one place for more than a night. Maybe in a few seasons, they could slow their pace.
The kit whimpered. He tried to keep them both fed, if only to keep his own energy, but the she-kit had grown very weak. Too many times had he stopped for a break, practically collapsing where he stood, only to find the she-kit's breath was only a flutter and her eyes already closed. She had been torn from her mother's milk too soon. Howl set her down on the softest bit of moor he could find nearby: a hedge peeking out from a depression. A wonderful place to hide in the fog. He would find food, then they could finally rest.
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Post by Brownie on Jun 3, 2019 23:27:55 GMT -5
dunno more rambles based on word prompt. very passive cuz I'm out of practice and worldbuilding is easier than prose.
this place is really dead eh?
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Post by phantomstar57 on Jun 4, 2019 15:36:18 GMT -5
Seems so except for a few threads. I've been preoccupied caring for a sick cat that has passed away so hopefully I'll be more active soon.
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Post by vocebulery on Jun 13, 2019 12:26:33 GMT -5
Yes, this place is really dead. Don't be discouraged, though! Your writing is great!
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Post by ~Sapphire~ on Jun 15, 2019 14:38:46 GMT -5
Ahh these are beautiful! Your descriptions are breathtaking, and you show so much about the characters even in a few paragraphs. Yup, unfortunately. Hopefully people will be a bit more active over the summer...
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