'til the flower roots tickle your nose - tallsie
Nov 27, 2013 17:59:09 GMT -8
Nov 27, 2013 17:59:09 GMT -8
but i can take it from here
all of honeymask's problems can be summed up with one word. leaf-bare. he hated a lot of things, but his hatred for leaf-bare had no comparison. it was always cold, so cold it practically chilled his bones, along with the prey. all of the mice and squirrels and frogs had burrowed under mud or ground to wait out the cold within the warm depths of their natural cage. something honeymask wished he could do. scrabble the frozen dirt away and create a hollow to sleep until flower roots tickled his nose.
but alas, he had to tough it out with the rest of the clans.
his herb stock was depleting more each day, with sicknesses running rampant from the lack of health in shadowclan, the plants were needed, but not enough was coming into his den. it seemed it was carved with deep furrows in his brain to constantly glance at the place he stuffed his remaining flora, almost as if his gaze would make more greenery appear.
scuffling his paws on the dirt, honeymask wet the fur of his foot with a dusty pink tongue, slipping the bumpy surface over his cracked pads. the tips of his paw fur was tinted the lightest of greens from sorting through various herbs, and the herb-y smell always seemed to be present, dancing through the follicles of his fur. truth was, he found himself in solitude within the confinements in his den more than, say, chatting with the rest of his clan, so it wouldn't be a surprise that he would eventually adapt a... unique smell.
notes: sorry talls, hope you can scrounge something up from that terrible post.
but alas, he had to tough it out with the rest of the clans.
his herb stock was depleting more each day, with sicknesses running rampant from the lack of health in shadowclan, the plants were needed, but not enough was coming into his den. it seemed it was carved with deep furrows in his brain to constantly glance at the place he stuffed his remaining flora, almost as if his gaze would make more greenery appear.
scuffling his paws on the dirt, honeymask wet the fur of his foot with a dusty pink tongue, slipping the bumpy surface over his cracked pads. the tips of his paw fur was tinted the lightest of greens from sorting through various herbs, and the herb-y smell always seemed to be present, dancing through the follicles of his fur. truth was, he found himself in solitude within the confinements in his den more than, say, chatting with the rest of his clan, so it wouldn't be a surprise that he would eventually adapt a... unique smell.
notes: sorry talls, hope you can scrounge something up from that terrible post.
i can find my own bravado