09-20-2020, 03:14 AM
THE MAELSTROM
Here you are and you’re all you wished to be
[size=9px]( silver tabby ; two months ; palmclan kitten )
You’re alive and you're not alone[/SIZE]
[size=9px]( silver tabby ; two months ; palmclan kitten )
You’re alive and you're not alone[/SIZE]
Change was a factor of life, shifting the scape around, minute some yet grand the scale others uphold permanence largely impossible. In this the child was lost, felt in a manner fleeting and yet overly strong, understood in miniscule, broken fashion, jagged the pieces he cut away at until they settled into place as he thought they should. Among their tally was Lovekit now counted, even as still his tongue where it came to voicing such, no fleeting stranger given temporary shelter upon their shores.
He could not understand, may well refused to do so.
Confusion awaited as forth did child step, distance closed even as steps slowed, grew shorter. Realisation was a cruel thing no matter the frame about harsh contours, regarded each in turn. Known all but one, stranger not foe though something coiled in his chest, dark and sticky where it pressed to muscle and sinew. Reception was wrong, recognition of two, embrace of one. Want cast a tingling itch within paws that quickened, skidded upon sand even as he halted once more, framed between legs of a rusty hue.
Words crawled up his throat, settled on his tongue, but he was robbed of a voice. Anger. Burning and all consuming, heat searing all it touched. Sorrow. The wash of uncomfortable prickles, as though alight his skin with insistent pins and needles, closed throat about weight. So much confusion.
"Lo…?" Shakey the name, a strangled whimper harsh against mouth, scraping delicate muscle and flesh. Never closed proximity, rather it grew wider, further beneath leader did Foam draw himself, unsure and at war, battling with everything that crept along his ribs and clung to a quickening heart. He was not one of them, a boat adrift that had sought harbour for a time and now afixed in the light of home simply awaiting gentle guidance.
He could not understand, may well refused to do so.
Confusion awaited as forth did child step, distance closed even as steps slowed, grew shorter. Realisation was a cruel thing no matter the frame about harsh contours, regarded each in turn. Known all but one, stranger not foe though something coiled in his chest, dark and sticky where it pressed to muscle and sinew. Reception was wrong, recognition of two, embrace of one. Want cast a tingling itch within paws that quickened, skidded upon sand even as he halted once more, framed between legs of a rusty hue.
Words crawled up his throat, settled on his tongue, but he was robbed of a voice. Anger. Burning and all consuming, heat searing all it touched. Sorrow. The wash of uncomfortable prickles, as though alight his skin with insistent pins and needles, closed throat about weight. So much confusion.
"Lo…?" Shakey the name, a strangled whimper harsh against mouth, scraping delicate muscle and flesh. Never closed proximity, rather it grew wider, further beneath leader did Foam draw himself, unsure and at war, battling with everything that crept along his ribs and clung to a quickening heart. He was not one of them, a boat adrift that had sought harbour for a time and now afixed in the light of home simply awaiting gentle guidance.
code by Reggan