.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
like breaking diamonds with your hands
“Edge, gather!”
No, no, no, no no nononono—
Just, how about no? No? No no? Fuck double negation, couldn't "no no" just mean ALL OF MY NO? Or, how about, waiting to call a meeting .. until tonight? When it was less cripplingly hot? Fleetingly, his ears pressed against his neck, and he made at least five different colorful insults aimed at Temobvu's intelligence (or lack thereof, really). What was the reason of dragging them out in the harsh sunlight, through the dense, damp heat of the Edge—when he probably could perfectly well have waited until the day's heat had been bled into the darkness?
The Edge was quite the calm place even on summer nights—beautiful, too, when the stars and the moon glittered upon the banks of fog, and the fireflies came out to play. Now.. now, it was just a weird, ugly mixture of absolutely dry and kind of moist at the same time. Mauja sighed, long tail slapping against his sweat-gray flanks. It was almost bearable where he was right now. Almost. He was near the dead-drop into the sea, standing in the shadows of a small cluster of trees, and had been quite busy trying to forget he existed when Tembovu cried out to remind him of not only that, but of his duty as well.
He closed his eyes. The last meeting—had it only been a season ago?—had been a disaster on his part. And since then...
The healing scar at the point of his chest tingled. Black skin had knit over the hole Tembovu had left there, but the fur had yet to regrow. He hoped its location, and the fact that he was covered in other black, albeit hairy, spots, would mask the truth of what it was.
Harsh sunlight greeted him as he stepped out of the shade. Mercilessly it beat down upon his topline, and caused his blue eyes to narrow into slits. He hated these hot, southern summers. They didn't even have the decency to be short! They dragged on, and on, and on, just like his dramatically agonized jog through the warm mist hanging like sheets between the trees. Even though he cheated, and loaded his veins up with tiny crystals of ice, it barely helped, and it was with quite an unimpressed expression that he found the location Tembovu had chosen instead of the breezy cliffs. It was—uhm, it was—well, he didn't know what it was. A lavender fabric, much like the one the Weavers of the Basin made, draped between pine poles set deep in the ground, casting shade upon an area next to the freshwater lake.
Mauja fought down the urge to kick a pine pole over. He wasn't even sure why it was tempting, but it was.
Warily he crept to the edge of the shadow the thing cast, and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim light beneath it. Alysanne was there, along with Ghoulface in the back. Some yearling mare he didn't know. And, of course, Tembovu and Elsa, fire and ice, pride and .. chill? His eyes narrowed again, mind trying to sum up the dregs of a conversation held between a Queen and a General, but the words in the gentle snowfall eluded him; had something happened, though, or did she just have a bad day? It just felt, different, like a slow, insidious shift, a shadow subtly cast.
He exhaled thoughtfully, tail slapping wetly against his flanks again, and remained where he was—mostly outside of the cover, because he was a dumb ass like that.
No, no, no, no no nononono—
Just, how about no? No? No no? Fuck double negation, couldn't "no no" just mean ALL OF MY NO? Or, how about, waiting to call a meeting .. until tonight? When it was less cripplingly hot? Fleetingly, his ears pressed against his neck, and he made at least five different colorful insults aimed at Temobvu's intelligence (or lack thereof, really). What was the reason of dragging them out in the harsh sunlight, through the dense, damp heat of the Edge—when he probably could perfectly well have waited until the day's heat had been bled into the darkness?
The Edge was quite the calm place even on summer nights—beautiful, too, when the stars and the moon glittered upon the banks of fog, and the fireflies came out to play. Now.. now, it was just a weird, ugly mixture of absolutely dry and kind of moist at the same time. Mauja sighed, long tail slapping against his sweat-gray flanks. It was almost bearable where he was right now. Almost. He was near the dead-drop into the sea, standing in the shadows of a small cluster of trees, and had been quite busy trying to forget he existed when Tembovu cried out to remind him of not only that, but of his duty as well.
He closed his eyes. The last meeting—had it only been a season ago?—had been a disaster on his part. And since then...
The healing scar at the point of his chest tingled. Black skin had knit over the hole Tembovu had left there, but the fur had yet to regrow. He hoped its location, and the fact that he was covered in other black, albeit hairy, spots, would mask the truth of what it was.
Harsh sunlight greeted him as he stepped out of the shade. Mercilessly it beat down upon his topline, and caused his blue eyes to narrow into slits. He hated these hot, southern summers. They didn't even have the decency to be short! They dragged on, and on, and on, just like his dramatically agonized jog through the warm mist hanging like sheets between the trees. Even though he cheated, and loaded his veins up with tiny crystals of ice, it barely helped, and it was with quite an unimpressed expression that he found the location Tembovu had chosen instead of the breezy cliffs. It was—uhm, it was—well, he didn't know what it was. A lavender fabric, much like the one the Weavers of the Basin made, draped between pine poles set deep in the ground, casting shade upon an area next to the freshwater lake.
Mauja fought down the urge to kick a pine pole over. He wasn't even sure why it was tempting, but it was.
Warily he crept to the edge of the shadow the thing cast, and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim light beneath it. Alysanne was there, along with Ghoulface in the back. Some yearling mare he didn't know. And, of course, Tembovu and Elsa, fire and ice, pride and .. chill? His eyes narrowed again, mind trying to sum up the dregs of a conversation held between a Queen and a General, but the words in the gentle snowfall eluded him; had something happened, though, or did she just have a bad day? It just felt, different, like a slow, insidious shift, a shadow subtly cast.
He exhaled thoughtfully, tail slapping wetly against his flanks again, and remained where he was—mostly outside of the cover, because he was a dumb ass like that.
