{$title} ***CONTENT WARNING*** FOR nastyyyy... he is eating a quite decayed squirrel near the skyclan border. the mention begins at the star idk i wanted to #playitsafe
Night may have been terrifying for some. For him, he enjoyed it. It was to him as water is to a fish — easiest to move in, to breathe. If everyone before was right, then it cloaked his hideous form. He never had come across another cat moving in the dark world.
He wasn't sure why his breath hitched harder at the idea of stumbling across another feline. Would they recognize him as the same, or would he appear as a different animal to them? The dusty, classic scent of a cat had long been masked by layers of sweat and infection. Even the long ruff of fur around his neck hung like rags, draping mostly over his faded collar. It had been stretched and loosened by distant teeth and branch snags and weather, the color indistinguishable from the grime coating him.
Maudire did not recognize the mark of the border, but for once in his unlucky life, he remained behind it unconsciously. His dirty pink nose had been long used to his own filth. The hint of ammonia and concentrated pine needles that cut through did nothing to his fuzzy mind. Wet leaves fell under his muzzle as he roved, a promise of leaffall. If it wasn't for his wounds and his hunger, he might have found the collecting dew soothing.
⋆ Flies hummed in his ear as he moved forwards, jotting stiff with growing mats. A twitch batted them away, but the buzz grew more intense. Suddenly, his nose could no longer be blind, and a rot sweeter than his metallic weeping wounds stunned him. Maudire's stomach turned, a barrel roll he had befriended moons ago, yet disgust was distant.
The squirrel had died long enough ago that the carrion feasters had arrived to relish. Yet it had been untouched by the sun's heat, only lightly bloated. He hunched over it, watching beetles and flies sing in luxury. His vibrant yellow eyes devoured his pupils as they turned to slits.
"No…" he murmured, the sound warbled and feral. Maudire never needed to speak, because he never saw anyone. This, however, required voice. His willpower had fallen off its bones, off him, a hulking skeleton with shaggy fur.
He needed it. Maudire closed his eyes, reminiscing on his latest meals. Scraps and mostly-empty metal cans, having come to wilderness too exhausted and already starving to give chase to a mouse or bird. He had never eaten wild meat. He had never stooped so low for this…
The tom shot a paranoid glance to the gloom surrounding him, as if something lurked there, watching curiously. He swallowed thickly, even his fear and nausea blurred under the temptation. With a swipe of his paw, he scattered the other scavengers away. Easy competition, he thought with a wobbly smile.
He wasn't sure why his breath hitched harder at the idea of stumbling across another feline. Would they recognize him as the same, or would he appear as a different animal to them? The dusty, classic scent of a cat had long been masked by layers of sweat and infection. Even the long ruff of fur around his neck hung like rags, draping mostly over his faded collar. It had been stretched and loosened by distant teeth and branch snags and weather, the color indistinguishable from the grime coating him.
Maudire did not recognize the mark of the border, but for once in his unlucky life, he remained behind it unconsciously. His dirty pink nose had been long used to his own filth. The hint of ammonia and concentrated pine needles that cut through did nothing to his fuzzy mind. Wet leaves fell under his muzzle as he roved, a promise of leaffall. If it wasn't for his wounds and his hunger, he might have found the collecting dew soothing.
⋆ Flies hummed in his ear as he moved forwards, jotting stiff with growing mats. A twitch batted them away, but the buzz grew more intense. Suddenly, his nose could no longer be blind, and a rot sweeter than his metallic weeping wounds stunned him. Maudire's stomach turned, a barrel roll he had befriended moons ago, yet disgust was distant.
The squirrel had died long enough ago that the carrion feasters had arrived to relish. Yet it had been untouched by the sun's heat, only lightly bloated. He hunched over it, watching beetles and flies sing in luxury. His vibrant yellow eyes devoured his pupils as they turned to slits.
"No…" he murmured, the sound warbled and feral. Maudire never needed to speak, because he never saw anyone. This, however, required voice. His willpower had fallen off its bones, off him, a hulking skeleton with shaggy fur.
He needed it. Maudire closed his eyes, reminiscing on his latest meals. Scraps and mostly-empty metal cans, having come to wilderness too exhausted and already starving to give chase to a mouse or bird. He had never eaten wild meat. He had never stooped so low for this…
The tom shot a paranoid glance to the gloom surrounding him, as if something lurked there, watching curiously. He swallowed thickly, even his fear and nausea blurred under the temptation. With a swipe of his paw, he scattered the other scavengers away. Easy competition, he thought with a wobbly smile.