11-07-2018, 09:16 AM
[align=center][div style="width: 51%; text-align: justify; font-size: 10pt; letter-spacing: -1px; font-family: verdana;"]If his clanmates had a policy of attacking on sight that he'd yet to hear of, then Pandora could count herself lucky. Bruce was developing a bad habit of avoiding the jungle like the plague, if only to steer clear from the cruel populace within - associating with them in the first place wrought guilt in his chest, but voluntarily socializing with them arguably felt worse. Occasionally he could swear there was a glint of good among them, if only in a kind word or act of mercy, but these moments were few and far between. There were good people here, he knew it, but oppression kept them silent, scared. A creature of isolation, Bruce was intent on proving that the good didn't have to conform - they, he, would stand up for what was just. If that meant wandering the desert borders just to make a point of excluding a tyrannical leader and his heartless slave-driver followers, so be it.
The real villains among them would one day see their lesson learnt. Plans were starting to take form, alliances were being built, and Bruce had a feeling that something much greater than his current expectations was rapidly cresting over the horizon. His patience and his commitment would serve him well. But, for now, this.
The cheetah is built for the weather here - his narrow frame and long, skinny limbs carry him easily across the sands just as they were made to carry his kind through the dusty savanna. Still, he prepares for the weather, a thin muslin cloth gathered around his head and neck shielding him from the sun. He wipes dust from his face, grains of sand gathering in the creases of his muzzle. Pandora likely did not expect a member of the Pitt to approach from the sands behind - then again, she probably wasn't aware that he'd been following her across the dunes to begin with.
"...Do you have business here?" Bruce would make his presence known with a quiet raise of his paw, giving her something of a half-wave as he posed his question. "You're technically trespassing, unless you're waiting for somebody."
The real villains among them would one day see their lesson learnt. Plans were starting to take form, alliances were being built, and Bruce had a feeling that something much greater than his current expectations was rapidly cresting over the horizon. His patience and his commitment would serve him well. But, for now, this.
The cheetah is built for the weather here - his narrow frame and long, skinny limbs carry him easily across the sands just as they were made to carry his kind through the dusty savanna. Still, he prepares for the weather, a thin muslin cloth gathered around his head and neck shielding him from the sun. He wipes dust from his face, grains of sand gathering in the creases of his muzzle. Pandora likely did not expect a member of the Pitt to approach from the sands behind - then again, she probably wasn't aware that he'd been following her across the dunes to begin with.
"...Do you have business here?" Bruce would make his presence known with a quiet raise of his paw, giving her something of a half-wave as he posed his question. "You're technically trespassing, unless you're waiting for somebody."
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[b]THOUGH WE REPENT AND DON SACKCLOTH AND TRY TO
MAKE NICE — YOU CAN'T CROSS THE SAME RIVER TWICE
MAKE NICE — YOU CAN'T CROSS THE SAME RIVER TWICE