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Post by Solo on Jul 5, 2010 18:37:17 GMT -5
PATCHWORK
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The gorge.
Water thundered underneath as the calico she-cat loomed as far as she dared over the edge, her claws gripping the stone. It was as if the river below ran with memories as she thought back to the drought seasons ago. It had been worse for the marsh cats than anyone else, but the river had ran low as well. Patchwork, who liked to think herself well-traveled, was able to find prey elsewhere, but that didn’t change the threat of the river cats as they fought over the last deep parts of the river.
The old queen was calm as she sat at the edge of the falls, her ears pricked and eyes nostalgic. Young cats these days dreamed of leaping the gorge, and even she couldn’t resist thinking about it. Jenna, you’d probably be able to, she thought, warmly remembering her fierce sister. If it weren’t for her, she would have crawled back into a Twoleg nest. Her sibling had inspired adventure in her, and the longing for excitement still pounded through her old veins.
Patchwork considered the gorge.
What adventure could she make out of her life now? Other than spitting at rude toms for fun and challenging other predators for something as small as a mouse, she had little to do. She supposed she could leave the forest entirely and venture beyond, but that would take her away from her birthplace. There was familiarity here, and it comforted her.
Suddenly restless, the bobtail cat turned and watched the gorse beyond cautiously. She prayed for some cat to walk through. She needed someone to talk to—and if they were hostile, then a scrap by the edge of death would be quite welcome. She hadn’t fought in some time, and the itch to shred some fur made her claws almost ache. She backed away from the cliffs and uttered a yowl, not caring who heard.
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Willow
Administrator
[M:-180]
Posts: 70
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Post by Willow on Jul 6, 2010 15:28:16 GMT -5
Bezel needed food. She was out on the hunt while Rage scouted out the area. She was glad to get away. The thrill of the hunt always helped lift the fox’s spirits. And life had not been great for the small grey fox recently. It was always the same monotony. Always the same arguments with Rage. The same food. The same duties.
She needed a little excitement in her life. Thus, Bezel headed towards the most interesting place she knew: The gorge. Who knew what food lurked around there, but that was of little consequence. She mainly wanted an adventure of sorts. Her grey and red body streaked through the forest and across the moorland until she reached the gaping chasm in the earth. Water rushed beneath and sprayed the fox with a light mist. She shook out her fur and reveled in the cool water.
But soon, Bezel learned she was not alone in her enjoyment of the dangerous place. A loud yowl echoed from further north and a scowl appeared on Bezel’s face. A cat. And an arrogant one at that. She had no hatred of cats but no love either. With ears flattened to her head, the grey fox stalked towards the noise to behold an elderly calico cat. She nearly laughed. What was such an old creature thinking? She didn’t even look like much of a match for other cats, much less a fox.
“Cat,” Bezel said one of the few words she knew in the feline tongue. “Fool.” That was a word she had learned from Rage. It seemed quite appropriate to describe this creature. In her mind, Bezel fought with herself, wondering if this cat was worth fighting or if she should just leave it be and find some easier, smaller prey. Prey that didn't have as much of a life as a cat. Unlike other foxes, Bezel had a conscious that wouldn't allow her to kill other intelligent beings without much thought.
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Post by Solo on Jul 6, 2010 16:11:15 GMT -5
PATCHWORK
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A scent blew across the earth to the old queen, a stench that made her fur stand on end and her eyes widen with terror and excitement.
Fox!
Patchwork whirled around, prepared to bolt and give the russet creature a chase. What met her eyes, however, wasn’t the traditional fox. It was a vixen, small and oddly built, mostly grey. And she didn’t rush the she-cat immediately, either, instead watching her as if in disbelief. The fur began to flatten on the old calico’s body as she regarded the other predator.
“Cat. Fool.”
She smirked slightly and lifted her head, twitching her ears. What a strange fox! Well, any fox that could speak was intelligent and out of the ordinary in her book, and she was eager to investigate this grey creature. If things went badly, well, she had claws for that. She took a couple of strides toward the vixen, leaving quite a bit of distance between them still, and mewed her own challenge.
“Fox. Small.”
Because Patchwork wasn’t the runtiest cat alive…
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Willow
Administrator
[M:-180]
Posts: 70
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Post by Willow on Jul 9, 2010 0:17:21 GMT -5
Bezel glared at the patched she-cat, brown eyes narrowing dangerously. Her conscious was beginning to fade with anger. Who was this cat to call her small? She towered over the damn thing. And it was old, she was young. And... she was a fox. That meant her claws were bigger and her teeth sharped.
"Cat smaller," she growled before adding in a slightly strained voice, "And insult Bezel." Moons of spying on cats as a kit had given her a much better grasp of cat language than any other fox she knew. Of course, her grammar was horrible but at least she knew the vocab.
She crouched slightly and moved away from the gorge. If there was anywhere Bezel didn't want to be near while fighting, it was the deep, treacherous gorge. She feared deep water and the prospect of drowning more than anything in life. Falling in would be the absolutely worst way to die.
And if this cat kept on pressing her luck, it might have to come to a fight.
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Post by Solo on Jul 13, 2010 11:01:01 GMT -5
PATCHWORK
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Sense was finally beginning to set into Patchwork, though she didn’t immediately run away or shrink back. She instead smiled and dipped her head apologetically when the vixen pointed out that she had both an advantage and an excuse to attack. What to do now? She knew that this situation that she’d walked into would only end badly if she continued to insult the fox—named Bezel, she realized. It was unusual to think of other predators having names, though she supposed it made sense.
“You’re the first fox I’ve ever talked to,” Patchwork meowed. She was up on her toes and ready to flee, though she made no move to do so yet. “I’m sorry for insulting you.” Her yellow eyes settled at her paws, and she wondered how else to defuse the situation or explain her juvenile behavior. “So, why are you not eating me? I’m sure it’s not because I’m tough and scary.”
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