Terrace
Kitten
Posts: 3
Last Online: Oct 13, 2013 19:01:58 GMT -5
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Post by Terrace on Oct 10, 2013 21:10:21 GMT -5
What shall I do, what shall I do? I see my face in the white clouds I pay my dues, I pay my dues I want the sky to be a shroud
What kind of mud does this forest have I don't know, I don't know Howling at this sun, isn't it supposed to be a moon? Why can't I ever say no?
Whistlingwind often rhymed and made poetry; it was his hobby, he loved it. He lay in the camp, in the shade of some trees, just whistling away to his crazy tunes. He actually hoped he'd be put into a hunting patrol, or something of the sort, soon. The camp was rather quiet and there were no cats walking about. "It must be too early for them," Whistlingwind said to himself. He had wandered out of the warriors den before dawn, and the sun had just risen enough for it to grow hot out. He was hungry, but there was nothing on the freshkill pile.
Standing up, growing impatient with the sleep clan, he went up to the water around the camp and hunted skillfully for a fish. He made sure that his shadow did not fall upon the water, as to not scare away the fish.
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splashy.
Administrator
the site's official gas mask.
it's going down, i'm yelling timber
Posts: 41
Last Online: Jan 25, 2014 21:06:29 GMT -5
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Post by splashy. on Oct 13, 2013 8:58:16 GMT -5
Often times, Sleepypaw didn't exactly know what the hell he was doing in RiverClan. After all, he hated water, and preferred open skies and flat spaces to the rush of water and the endless stretches of reeds that made up the territory of his birth clan. Though, there were some aspects he'd miss if he just up and left the clan. Whistlingwind's rhyming and poetry, for example. The sound of it made him smile, yes, and it kissed his ear drums and made him smile. Sure, now he sounded weird, but to be honest he wasn't going out of his way to be a freak. Yet, most of his clanmates did think he was a freak based on his appearance, and his odd German sounding accent. Not really his fault, though. Sleepypaw was a pure white tom cat, yes, and he had dark grey eyes, the color of lead or graphite. Sure, it was odd. But he didn't think his appearance was any less than the appearance of say a brown tabby. Trotting up to Whistlingwind with a flick of his tail, the apprentice softly dipped his head to the warrior in respect, then gave his clanmate a soft smile. "Hello."
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fawn
Administrator
up with your turret
Posts: 19
Last Online: Sept 6, 2014 14:38:11 GMT -5
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Post by fawn on Oct 13, 2013 12:10:11 GMT -5
Sycamore was not a usual cat. This is how you often start posts, describing how they are totally unlike and totally different, with different perks and flaws. However I am not trying to 'often start posts' but instead simply state that Mr. Sycamore Finch, a Riverclanner with a twist, was unusual in every possible way. Surging through his blood was the dominant iron, crimson and glowing with bloodlust. The primordial beast that raged within him was hushed and shut out to all supplements, closing out the ecstasy to poison. Usually he was lethargic of this, preferring to pretend that though he was afraid of the outside world, it was simply due to reticence and nothing more. So Sycamore always remained this way, never changed and never changing for no one, and without the primordial beast that longed for supremacy or anything of that sort, the introversion seeped through his veins and filled him from the inside and out. As the mutual tom padded alongside the edges of the camp, as to avoid anyone coming close to him. Why did he fear cats? Who will ever know, but it was simply his way of life. As the brown furred feline slunk through the shadows, olive green eyes intent on spotting out any cats, Sycamore Finch made sure his footing was secure. But just when he thought he made it out of the ring, a slippery patch of water sent him skidding down to the river by the camp. "Oh shit." he mewed with a moan, quickly scampering up. As he tilted his frail head forth, he noticed that instead of just a slough-like river full of food, he was face to face with two cats; perfect nightmare.
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