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This chronicle took place seasons ago, under the black canopy of spruce known as Shadowclan territory. |
This chronicle took place seasons ago, under the black canopy of spruce known as Shadowclan territory. |
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| − | a finely-built tom with oak fur with a marvellous glossy sheen, a cute white tuft on his chest like duckling fluff. His golden eyes, marvellous suns brimming with all the light of Silverpelt. Small yet with a mighty air of grace, he moved elegantly, as if floating on stars like a spirit of out ancestors. His voice was mellow but his tone firm and righteous. He is the hero of this story, and his name was Milktuft. |
+ | a finely-built tom with oak fur with a marvellous glossy sheen, a cute white tuft on his chest like duckling fluff. His golden eyes, marvellous suns brimming with all the light of Silverpelt. Small yet with a mighty air of grace, he moved elegantly, as if floating on stars like a spirit of out ancestors. His voice was mellow but his tone firm and righteous. He is the hero of this story, and his name was Milktuft. Why is he the hereof this story? Well, reader, perhaps you will find out during the course of the story. |
| − | Milktuft had a brother, as the title suggests. I could only describe him as dung-coloured. A bulky runt, with shifty bisque eyes that were too wide for any compliments. A blemish permanently stained his chest. Runtish as he was, he strutted |
+ | Milktuft had a brother, as the title suggests. I could only describe him as dung-coloured. A bulky runt, with shifty bisque eyes that were too wide for any compliments. A blemish permanently stained his chest. Runtish as he was, he strutted with pride and smugness. He spat bitterness as he spoke, spited others. Yet, his tender affection for his brother, and his brother's care and concern and divine devotion to him was something remarked as never seen before in the Clans. This brother was Shadefrost, and I completely believe that no other combination of words can describe his shady, frosty character better. |
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| + | TBC |
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Revision as of 19:30, 26 November 2017
Synopsis
Two Shadowclan cats, brothers, investigate their father's death while questioning religion and the Warrior Code.
I
This chronicle took place seasons ago, under the black canopy of spruce known as Shadowclan territory.
a finely-built tom with oak fur with a marvellous glossy sheen, a cute white tuft on his chest like duckling fluff. His golden eyes, marvellous suns brimming with all the light of Silverpelt. Small yet with a mighty air of grace, he moved elegantly, as if floating on stars like a spirit of out ancestors. His voice was mellow but his tone firm and righteous. He is the hero of this story, and his name was Milktuft. Why is he the hereof this story? Well, reader, perhaps you will find out during the course of the story.
Milktuft had a brother, as the title suggests. I could only describe him as dung-coloured. A bulky runt, with shifty bisque eyes that were too wide for any compliments. A blemish permanently stained his chest. Runtish as he was, he strutted with pride and smugness. He spat bitterness as he spoke, spited others. Yet, his tender affection for his brother, and his brother's care and concern and divine devotion to him was something remarked as never seen before in the Clans. This brother was Shadefrost, and I completely believe that no other combination of words can describe his shady, frosty character better.
TBC