06-15-2017, 11:21 AM
He has been a hermit. Quietly living an existence that does not affect the outside world. Likewise, he has not been affected by them. He has pushed against the constraints of society, and lived life quietly.
Peacefully.
And he can tell that it is coming to an end.
Fuck, he mutters to himself, rolling his eyes as he stretches out his black body. Long and lean, he has subsisted his diet on roots and treebark. Skin stays stretched tightly across his body, and his muscles are well defined—but he is lithe and fluid. But his pelt… his skin is unkempt and his pelt is messy from lack of care. Seed pods, tangles, and patches of mud and other stuff collects there, and his hair is tangled, laying in thick strings of yarn across his neck and down his back.
He stretches again, his neck cracking in several places as he contorts his body unnaturally. Cautiously, he leaves the safety of his lean-to… and enters the meadow with wary eyes. Hopeing to avoid any social entaglements, he flicks his tail, wincing as it slaps his side. Maybe a bath was in order…
Maybe not.
He lowers his head, sampling the clover blossoms that were so plentiful during high summer.
Something other than fucking tree bark.
THIAGO
here comes peter cotton tail, hoppin down the bunny trail
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