lingering out of line [open]
Nov 30, 2013 20:53:12 GMT -8
Nov 30, 2013 20:53:12 GMT -8
The leaves were soft under his paws. They crunched lightly as he walked, surging up between his toes. A chill went through his spine at each step. But in a way it was refreshing. It was like continuous jolts of reality, waking him up from his ever-present exhaustion. He had needed a respite, an escape. In short moments, in seconds, minutes, hours, the camp had been plunged into chaos – a new kind of chaos unknown to Lynxstar. And in his long moons, he had known many kinds of chaos. He had seen kittens pass, mothers fall, warriors sacrifice. He had seen apprentices go to Starclan without a name to be chanted. He had seen deputies crumble. Perhaps he had been too entangled in his own thoughts, the way he had been for many long moons. He shook his head to himself, pushing these thoughts away. He had come to the moors to escape the chaotic fear, the suspicion, the hidden glances he had little patience for anymore.
He sought some form of comfort, someone to pretend that all he had finally adjusted to would not change. But who would do such a thing? Who would dare approach him? The number was few, if existent at all. A different Lynxstar may have sought comfort, but this one steeled himself in solitude. So for now, Lynxstar was alone. He settled himself in the long waving grass of the moors. Its gentle caress on his skin was calming. For all that the plains had taken from him, they gave so much. He curled, his eyes fluttering closed. There was a quiet that had descended, interrupted only by the whistle of wind through the tall reeds. Occasionally his ears perked as a mouse scuttled nearby, though he made no move to hunt. Eventually his breathing evened. His chest rose and fell in time with the swaying of the grasses. The massive ginger and cream tom’s face relaxed into the peace of oblivion. Yet he twitched slightly, shifted, restless in his sleep. Because something was missing, well, many somethings were missing.
They were little things, thoughts and sounds. They were names and relationships and those little moments one held dear. But if he were to wallow in these, to let them consumed him, he would die out there. He rose to his paws, feeling suddenly fidgety. He couldn’t stay still, the silence of it all seemed to suffocate. He shook out his pelt, his shoulders hunching slightly. His eyes were slightly narrowed, deep in thought. His characteristic bitterness sank deep in the set of his lips. Without thinking consciously of where he was going, he began to wander along the borders, one paw after another, letting the mingling scents of Wind and River wash over him. He moved, towards the River, the great blackness rising before him.