05-14-2018, 10:14 PM
★ WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD
Hazel had never been presented with the opportunity to face a trespasser before. They'd had plenty in her old clan, sure, but she had always been shoved aside or batted away, ears ringing with the words "This is no place for a nuisance like you." She'd tried, though; she wanted to know how to handle the situation, if the need to deal with it ever arose.
From what she could gather, there were two types of trespassers: the types that were lost and tired and turned into new clan mates, and the types that were enemies and came looking for blood. All one had to do was identify the motive of the stranger.
In this case, Hazel found the fur along her spine ripple with apprehension and impending violence as she tugged Arion to a stop next to Suite. The air was already uncomfortably hot and tense with Suite's threat and the immense amount of her poor mood mingling with the electricity tingling underneath the storm clouds. Part of Hazel wanted to think that Bastille was behind the storm, and so far, she had little proof that he wasn't. And even from the short time she had known the boy, she had picked up that it was a sign of his foul mood or upset. Either way, the atmosphere was uncomfortable and suffocating and Hazel really hoped that this didn't escalate any further, or she wouldn't be much use. She wanted to help, wanted to be of use, but knew that the second a violent move was made she wouldn't be able to see anything but Mother's claws.
She'd be useless.
So she stayed silent between Arion's ears as the colt nervously shifted in place, having picked up on the mood shift as well. There was a quiet air of determination about her, but it was thin; she just hoped that this wouldn't go any further than where it already stood. The she cat looked like she intended harm, but Hazel refused to leave until she had an absolute conclusion on what was going on.
From what she could gather, there were two types of trespassers: the types that were lost and tired and turned into new clan mates, and the types that were enemies and came looking for blood. All one had to do was identify the motive of the stranger.
In this case, Hazel found the fur along her spine ripple with apprehension and impending violence as she tugged Arion to a stop next to Suite. The air was already uncomfortably hot and tense with Suite's threat and the immense amount of her poor mood mingling with the electricity tingling underneath the storm clouds. Part of Hazel wanted to think that Bastille was behind the storm, and so far, she had little proof that he wasn't. And even from the short time she had known the boy, she had picked up that it was a sign of his foul mood or upset. Either way, the atmosphere was uncomfortable and suffocating and Hazel really hoped that this didn't escalate any further, or she wouldn't be much use. She wanted to help, wanted to be of use, but knew that the second a violent move was made she wouldn't be able to see anything but Mother's claws.
She'd be useless.
So she stayed silent between Arion's ears as the colt nervously shifted in place, having picked up on the mood shift as well. There was a quiet air of determination about her, but it was thin; she just hoped that this wouldn't go any further than where it already stood. The she cat looked like she intended harm, but Hazel refused to leave until she had an absolute conclusion on what was going on.
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WITH EVERY HEARTBEAT I HAVE LEFT
i will defend your every breath; i'll do better