The chatter of voices, or rather, a single voice, precedes the pair long before she might see them. The rocks are like that – a sound tunnel of sorts, distorting voices and creating whispers where there aren’t any. It surely comes off as an odd, one-sided conversation to the casual eavesdropper – though to be fair, there are many who lead a solitary, wandering life. Perhaps the sun and sand and endless leagues of nothingness has affected the speaker. Or perhaps the speaker is a desert cat, and his silent friend is a Desert Prince – and they are almost normal, compared to what these age-old cliffs have seen.
The caracal (his long, tufted ears appear first, followed by a black marked face, and then a tawny body with a white underbelly) is mid argument when his words become clear, “I’m just saying, Q, keep eating like a fatty, and you won’t be able to climb up here anymore. One little slip and whoops! down you go.” He turns back to grin cheekily at the yearling colt that follow him, “And then I’ll be free of you.” The black boy (at an awkward size already, but the mismatch in his parents does him little justice) snorts indignantly and tosses his head, sending his silver mane all over the place.
The cat laughs, though it comes out as half a hiss, his incisors bared in a non-threatening manner. “You mean I’ll finally be able to sleep at night without all your goddamn snoring.” There is a moment of silence before he looks back with a dangerous twinkle in his eye. “That’s not what your mom told me last night!” And then he cackles, and hightails it away from the colt, who disregards the proximity of the edge with the fearlessness of a child and rears, moving to chase him. It is only after he starts that he notices the black mare who is almost at the top, and he pulls up suddenly.
Well. This is a surprise. They don’t get many visitors up here – for the better part of six months, it’s been their little secret. His nostrils flare, identifying her as a fellow Desert dweller, though he doesn’t know her name. Qatar takes a few steps forward, and bobs his head up and down, which is the closest he’ll get to a hello, aside from maybe a soft whicker. But his father is a man of few words, so perhaps it is appropriate. Alek pops back over, jumping to land upon his friend’s back. “Hi. I’m Alek. This big guy is Qatar. Quite the climb, huh?” He takes this opportunity to wash his face, licking a paw and then moving it over his whiskers while waiting for the mare's answer.
The caracal (his long, tufted ears appear first, followed by a black marked face, and then a tawny body with a white underbelly) is mid argument when his words become clear, “I’m just saying, Q, keep eating like a fatty, and you won’t be able to climb up here anymore. One little slip and whoops! down you go.” He turns back to grin cheekily at the yearling colt that follow him, “And then I’ll be free of you.” The black boy (at an awkward size already, but the mismatch in his parents does him little justice) snorts indignantly and tosses his head, sending his silver mane all over the place.
The cat laughs, though it comes out as half a hiss, his incisors bared in a non-threatening manner. “You mean I’ll finally be able to sleep at night without all your goddamn snoring.” There is a moment of silence before he looks back with a dangerous twinkle in his eye. “That’s not what your mom told me last night!” And then he cackles, and hightails it away from the colt, who disregards the proximity of the edge with the fearlessness of a child and rears, moving to chase him. It is only after he starts that he notices the black mare who is almost at the top, and he pulls up suddenly.
Well. This is a surprise. They don’t get many visitors up here – for the better part of six months, it’s been their little secret. His nostrils flare, identifying her as a fellow Desert dweller, though he doesn’t know her name. Qatar takes a few steps forward, and bobs his head up and down, which is the closest he’ll get to a hello, aside from maybe a soft whicker. But his father is a man of few words, so perhaps it is appropriate. Alek pops back over, jumping to land upon his friend’s back. “Hi. I’m Alek. This big guy is Qatar. Quite the climb, huh?” He takes this opportunity to wash his face, licking a paw and then moving it over his whiskers while waiting for the mare's answer.