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Description

alternative title: "another one bites the dust"

The sound of yowling voices, and the smell of the tom and she-cat drew Roedeer out of the forest, towards the edge of the territory. The closer he got, the more the ugly, metallic scent of blood filled the air.

Around him, above him, inside his head, the Dark Cloud shifted. His niece would be hurt--

Cats like Feverfew... they were dangerous. They were like the before. The beginning.

Bracing his legs, he pushed himself into a run, racing down the mountain path and following the the thumps and harsh breaths of what could only be a physical fight.

And then he rounded the corner, and there was Feverfew, back arched and claws extended to his daughter, blood on his forepaws and muzzle. Loose fur flew through the air. Milkthistle - tiny, helpless Milk - being cornered. Attacked. Attacked by her own, mortal blood.

Hackles rose. An ear flattened against his crown. His heartbeat pounded like a battledrum inside his skull, and the Dark Cloud descended, turning the warmth of the sunrise greys and browns and reds.

He attacked.

In the distance, the sun set.

roe, fee, milk, bad art & even worse writing (c) bridgenose

Description

alternative title: "another one bites the dust"

The sound of yowling voices, and the smell of the tom and she-cat drew Roedeer out of the forest, towards the edge of the territory. The closer he got, the more the ugly, metallic scent of blood filled the air.

Around him, above him, inside his head, the Dark Cloud shifted. His niece would be hurt--

Cats like Feverfew... they were dangerous. They were like the before. The beginning.

Bracing his legs, he pushed himself into a run, racing down the mountain path and following the the thumps and harsh breaths of what could only be a physical fight.

And then he rounded the corner, and there was Feverfew, back arched and claws extended to his daughter, blood on his forepaws and muzzle. Loose fur flew through the air. Milkthistle - tiny, helpless Milk - being cornered. Attacked. Attacked by her own, mortal blood.

Hackles rose. An ear flattened against his crown. His heartbeat pounded like a battledrum inside his skull, and the Dark Cloud descended, turning the warmth of the sunrise greys and browns and reds.

He attacked.

In the distance, the sun set.

roe, fee, milk, bad art & even worse writing (c) bridgenose