(i'm only making two placeholder pages today bc i feel guilty doing any more but i want to get the formatting done ;-; please dont kill me aaaah) Tag: sourceedit |
(short prologue is short) Tag: sourceedit |
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| + | The moon is high, a waxing crescent that barely illuminates the ground in front of the three cats who sit in front of the camp as guards for their vigil. |
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| − | (for now, this is just a placeholder bc i want the coding done please dont kill meee) |
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| + | Duskgaze, Cherrywing, and Mottlepelt, the Clan’s newest warriors, were siblings. The three were not close on any terms, and quite different. Duskgaze was quiet and observant, something you could see now from the way his head was scanning back and forth through the brambles, quickly switching from the thorn tunnel where cats entered, to the tightly woven thickets where the cats slept, and the large hazel branch that obscures part of the sky. Cherrywing was cheerful, talkative, and fast. She was well known in ShadowClan as someone you could always count on for a kind word. It’s easy to see the silence is hard on her. She paces in circles, struggles to ignore the hunting patrol that comes in from the tunnel, and turns away from her siblings, whereas Mottlepelt, the last of the three, sits silently, eyes facing the ground, in the middle of a self-loathing session. Mottlepelt never quite stood out in anything. Not too many friends, not too little. Not terrible, but not outstanding, either. |
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| + | It had reached a critical point for her at her warrior ceremony, in which Sedgestar had declared her ‘average at everything’. That was how Mottlepelt determinedly decided to find a mate and become more than ‘average at everything’. |
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| + | As the night wears on, the three cats obviously struggle. Mottlepelt has taken up pacing in circles, thinking about how she wishes she had never grown up. She’s sad and just wants to sit in her nest (she doesn’t particularly care for making a new one at the moment) and cry. Because it’s ''not fair'' that she has to grow up and do things and be social. |
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| + | Because honestly, it would be better if everyone talked to us and we didn’t have to introduce ourselves (making friends is terrible, even though she wants them). That’s one of her fatal flaws, Mottlepelt decides. Being anti-social. Sure, friends are nice. But moving from acquaintances to friends is terrible. She’ll have to work on that if she intends on getting a mate. |
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| + | ''I’m making progress,'' Mottlepelt thinks, ''Soon I might not be terrible. I’d be cool with that.'' |
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| + | The night wears on. |
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Latest revision as of 13:55, 5 September 2016
- "What goes on behind the words? Is there pity for the plain girl?"
- ―6/10 by Dodie Clark
The moon is high, a waxing crescent that barely illuminates the ground in front of the three cats who sit in front of the camp as guards for their vigil.
Duskgaze, Cherrywing, and Mottlepelt, the Clan’s newest warriors, were siblings. The three were not close on any terms, and quite different. Duskgaze was quiet and observant, something you could see now from the way his head was scanning back and forth through the brambles, quickly switching from the thorn tunnel where cats entered, to the tightly woven thickets where the cats slept, and the large hazel branch that obscures part of the sky. Cherrywing was cheerful, talkative, and fast. She was well known in ShadowClan as someone you could always count on for a kind word. It’s easy to see the silence is hard on her. She paces in circles, struggles to ignore the hunting patrol that comes in from the tunnel, and turns away from her siblings, whereas Mottlepelt, the last of the three, sits silently, eyes facing the ground, in the middle of a self-loathing session. Mottlepelt never quite stood out in anything. Not too many friends, not too little. Not terrible, but not outstanding, either.
It had reached a critical point for her at her warrior ceremony, in which Sedgestar had declared her ‘average at everything’. That was how Mottlepelt determinedly decided to find a mate and become more than ‘average at everything’.
As the night wears on, the three cats obviously struggle. Mottlepelt has taken up pacing in circles, thinking about how she wishes she had never grown up. She’s sad and just wants to sit in her nest (she doesn’t particularly care for making a new one at the moment) and cry. Because it’s not fair that she has to grow up and do things and be social.
Because honestly, it would be better if everyone talked to us and we didn’t have to introduce ourselves (making friends is terrible, even though she wants them). That’s one of her fatal flaws, Mottlepelt decides. Being anti-social. Sure, friends are nice. But moving from acquaintances to friends is terrible. She’ll have to work on that if she intends on getting a mate.
I’m making progress, Mottlepelt thinks, Soon I might not be terrible. I’d be cool with that.
The night wears on.