|
|
Post by }xx.£eaƒm∞n , , on Dec 14, 2010 22:22:16 GMT -5
OOC: Nyaaa, can you manage 140 words? Or did you lose your muse?
|
|
Tempestfury
paintbrush.
HEALER
of the cult[M0n:-3900]
Tempest's the name Role-playing's my game.
Posts: 296
|
Post by Tempestfury on Dec 15, 2010 10:46:25 GMT -5
(Edited, and I got 140 on the dot)
|
|
|
|
Post by }xx.£eaƒm∞n , , on Dec 15, 2010 19:43:04 GMT -5
I'm just a lone wolf
Howling at the wrong moon;
Singing out my soul when
No one's in the room OOC: YAY! 
Burnedthroat headed towards the middle of the camp, not seeing Casualty anywhere nearby. Must be off making his offerings for the day, the pale brown tom decided, turning to walk out into the cult lands. As he moved, he noticed out of the corner of an eye that Angelwing and Tempestfury were sharing tongues; his heart panged for a moment, his ears lowering a bit as he turned away from the sight. Whatever makes her happy, I suppose... ugh, why does it have to be him? The words that the healer had used to defend the young tom swam back through his mind, but he pushed them away. Somehow he still couldn't quite believe any of them, though he knew they were true.
His paws took him into the grassy valley near the lake, a light snow upon the rolls of the land. The cold of the white blanket tempted him to head back, but he persisted and soon grew numb to the damp cold, as he was slowly becoming numb to all other feelings. The chill wind was blowing winter in, sweeping off the body of water not far away, whispering hints of a night of lake-effect snow. The tabby-Siamese narrowed his eyes to the wind, searching for the tracks of prey leading to burrows. His thoughts slowly grew calm as he always made them do so, his senses instead searching for small animals to eat, instead of answers to rhetorical questions.
[/size] Lips drawn tight and
No more weeping;
Wishing on stars
When I should be sleeping. |
|
