Post by Fylinpaw on Jul 31, 2010 11:27:39 GMT -6
Fylinkit watched the other kits play contently, laying on his side as he soaked up the cold of the stone ground that had been here so long ago from his ancestors in TreeClan. He kneeded his small, delicate paws on the ground, unsheathing his tiny claws. He scraped them in the stone leaving little indents. He looked around and saw the claw marks of queens and kits where they kneeded their paws long ago.
Some old some new it didn't matter to him, this was history in the making. He rolled onto his back and pawed at the air, in feeble attempts to grasp something that wasn't there. Fylinkit had no mother currently, he wasn't a new-born he was just taken in by a thoughtfull warrior.
His past, unexplainable and boring. Nothing to dramatic like a mother getting mauled by badgers she just die while giving birth. His father, a rogue. It was as simple as that, he spotted a feather in one of the queens nests and waddled to it. Being a kit it was natural that his walking was more so a waddle.
He scented the air for one of the first times in his life, the scents of the three queens in the Clan and the rambunctious kits tickled his nose. Then he caught another scent, milk. He would go for the milk later or when a queen decided to adopt him. He made his way over to one of the queens nests and plucked the little white feathed out, it wasn't a feather it was sparrow down. Like for their babies.
When he pried the feather frim the nest it flew up with the greenleaf breeze. He leapt for it and help it down with a paw. Unsheathing his claws while it was on there as though he were pretending to make a kill.
Though soon, he lost interest with the feather and let it up so it could blow away. He watched it go and get stuck on a stick. Oh well. Then, the scent of milk tempted him again. He turned around and looked at the queens, licking his paw as he waited for one of them to adopt him.
Some old some new it didn't matter to him, this was history in the making. He rolled onto his back and pawed at the air, in feeble attempts to grasp something that wasn't there. Fylinkit had no mother currently, he wasn't a new-born he was just taken in by a thoughtfull warrior.
His past, unexplainable and boring. Nothing to dramatic like a mother getting mauled by badgers she just die while giving birth. His father, a rogue. It was as simple as that, he spotted a feather in one of the queens nests and waddled to it. Being a kit it was natural that his walking was more so a waddle.
He scented the air for one of the first times in his life, the scents of the three queens in the Clan and the rambunctious kits tickled his nose. Then he caught another scent, milk. He would go for the milk later or when a queen decided to adopt him. He made his way over to one of the queens nests and plucked the little white feathed out, it wasn't a feather it was sparrow down. Like for their babies.
When he pried the feather frim the nest it flew up with the greenleaf breeze. He leapt for it and help it down with a paw. Unsheathing his claws while it was on there as though he were pretending to make a kill.
Though soon, he lost interest with the feather and let it up so it could blow away. He watched it go and get stuck on a stick. Oh well. Then, the scent of milk tempted him again. He turned around and looked at the queens, licking his paw as he waited for one of them to adopt him.