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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    [open]  i'll make a beast out of myself
    #1
    Caught here in a fiery blaze, won't lose my will to stay
    No oasis here to see, the sand is singing deathless words to me
    The crisp morning breeze is accompanied by the sounds of bird song and the rushing waters of the river nearby. There’s a light drizzle that continues to coat his fur and his ears flicker irritably whenever a particularly large droplet lands on one of them. He treks doggedly alongside the river banks with a single intention – to find shelter amongst the branches of the gigantic oak that dwarfed the nearby smaller copses of trees.

    There he could find a dry and secure spot to wile away his morning.

    Munroe found he spent most of his time as a cat nowadays. He doesn’t remember much of his youth – only vague faces and voices occasionally swim through his memories. But he does remember that powerful feeling of fear and helplessness he had experienced as a newborn. Taking the form of a predator seemed to give him some feeling of security and some peace of mind.

    Most importantly, this form allowed him to stealthily avoid others for the most part. He’s never yearned for companionship - the thought of strangers coming into his personal space instantly raised his hackles. Trust was hard-earned and if one wanted to survive then it could never be freely given.

    There was a time he had trusted. A land that was full of stinging sands and golden as far as the eye could see. Big golden wings that enveloped him with a motherly embrace and sweet lullabies that soothed him to sleep – Ima.

    The rain begins to pick up and he quickens his pace towards the large oak he can see within a short distance. Once his paws hit relatively dry dirt, he heaves his body into a quick shake and flings droplets of water onto the ground. Munroe raises hazel eyes to pinpoint a branch that would feasibly support his weight. Pausing to judge the distance correctly, he swiftly scales the large tree trunk before settling comfortably onto his haunches.

    He watches the downpour and ignores the disgruntled songbirds that were forced to perch higher up amongst the crown of the oak. Softly, he hums a lullaby under his breath – one he couldn’t seem to remember the words to.
    MUNROE
    the lost wild child of nowhere
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    #2
    Mafdet yawns nervously as she eyes the large cat that’s just settled on a branch of the oak under which she shelters. The yawn reveals a mouthful of her own feline teeth, many times smaller than his own. The cat licks her lips and orange whiskers anxiously, and glances up to remind herself there’s no immediate danger. Time passes, and he is so quiet that she assumes he must have fallen asleep. She’s certain she can reach branches too high and small for the leopard quickly, and yet…

    There’s a chance she might get wet that high up, and she’s just finished a lengthy effort to get herself so clean she actually glistens. She’s also still a bit uncomfortably full of the grouse from earlier, the same one whose feathers and grime she’d just so fastidiously rid herself of.

    She should have left some of the bird, she thinks, then he might have eaten some and been in a better mood. That a good meal for her is a bite for him is a thought too rational for her usually quick mind, as flustered as she is. She’d meant to curl up behind the tall grass that grows at the mouth of a hollow log and sleep off her large meal with a wonderful nap, and now there’s a huge leopard hardly a jump away.

    After a long moment of indecision - during which she looks between what she believes is a dozing leopard, her cozy napping spot, and the first sapling she might use to flee - Mafdet finally strolls forward as if she’d never hesitated at all. Her orange tail is held high, and if it’s perhaps fluffed out a bit with nerves, she is sure that she manages to otherwise look unconcerned. She keeps one colorpoint ear pointed at him so that he might know that she knows he is there, and is entirely unimpressed by the whole thing.

    About halfway to the hollow log, and a few steps ahead of needing a secondary escape plan, Mafdet risks a quick glance up at him to assure herself he is still asleep.

    @munroe
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