like an ashen winter wonderland -- open
Nov 22, 2013 15:50:28 GMT -8
Nov 22, 2013 15:50:28 GMT -8
but i can take it from here
the ash still fell.
even after many a moon of relief, the slightest breeze still picked up hidden soot from perches atop branches or in crevices. raining down on those below and dancing between the flakes of snow. a smog seemed to hang above his head, billowing in the wind and blotting out the bilious gray sky above. white clouds dangled right above his ears, strung out and thin like the pelt atop his skin. the trees rose to either side of him, charred and blackened, trunks with gnarled hands protruding, like from shadowclan's very own hell. the sickly foliage only reminded them of the pine forest they once had, this new diseased and ailing landscape foreign. like waking up and seeing a different reflection.
and yet here he was, walking amongst the burnt plants at his feet, and kicking up ebony dust that had settled.
honeymask was ashamed of his clan. so ashamed. his beloved clan had fallen victim to the stereotypes thunderclan, windclan, and even riverclan had set up for them. his ambitious and proud clan had resorted to stealing from borders, desperate to tame the aching of their stomachs. and even after all of the thievery, a chorus of deep rumblings could be heard, wailing kits and moaning elders. down-spirited apprentices and disheveled warriors. but honeymask wasn't much better than the rest of his clan. here he was, meandering towards thunderclan's border to snag a couple of herbs.
even after all of this guiltiness, he ate riverclan's fish, windclan's hare, and thunderclan's squirrel without a second thought of the other clans' apprentices and kits he was taking away from. maybe he was too turning into the overused image of a shadowclan cat.
even after many a moon of relief, the slightest breeze still picked up hidden soot from perches atop branches or in crevices. raining down on those below and dancing between the flakes of snow. a smog seemed to hang above his head, billowing in the wind and blotting out the bilious gray sky above. white clouds dangled right above his ears, strung out and thin like the pelt atop his skin. the trees rose to either side of him, charred and blackened, trunks with gnarled hands protruding, like from shadowclan's very own hell. the sickly foliage only reminded them of the pine forest they once had, this new diseased and ailing landscape foreign. like waking up and seeing a different reflection.
and yet here he was, walking amongst the burnt plants at his feet, and kicking up ebony dust that had settled.
honeymask was ashamed of his clan. so ashamed. his beloved clan had fallen victim to the stereotypes thunderclan, windclan, and even riverclan had set up for them. his ambitious and proud clan had resorted to stealing from borders, desperate to tame the aching of their stomachs. and even after all of the thievery, a chorus of deep rumblings could be heard, wailing kits and moaning elders. down-spirited apprentices and disheveled warriors. but honeymask wasn't much better than the rest of his clan. here he was, meandering towards thunderclan's border to snag a couple of herbs.
even after all of this guiltiness, he ate riverclan's fish, windclan's hare, and thunderclan's squirrel without a second thought of the other clans' apprentices and kits he was taking away from. maybe he was too turning into the overused image of a shadowclan cat.
i can find my own bravado