± If Primroses had thorns ± [p]

[Myling]

〚~Willow'Paw~〛
| 9 Moons | ShadowClan Apprentice | Female, She/Her | Purrks:
Kitty Soft Paws, Heightened Perception [smell]
[a small, fluffy tortoiseshell she-cat with pale green eyes and an atrociously fluffy tail]
tags: @lys.luvbot

Hmm. She narrowed her eyes challengingly at the small round ball of moss in front of her. She'd somehow managed to trip on one of these. It seemed awfully smug about it. She prodded it, somewhat expecting it too go vrrrrmmmm and start rolling away from her. Wasn't that like, super smug? That it didn't even look at her? Well, it didn't have eyes, but- but- her case still stood! She thought she was hidden well enough so nobody would see her, behind the Elders Den where she'd been trying to clean out the bedding until this smug as heck mossball (that some kit had probably lost in a corner and then it was never to be found again) tripped her! The audacity! She would be much more forgiving if a living thing had made her trip, whether on purpose or not. But when it came to inanimate objects, she couldn't stand smugness. They shouldn't even be smug in the first place. That really made her want to tip her snout upwards and give the object a pitying look of disgust. She lunged at the mossball that had too much of an ego build-up, slashing sheathed paws so it'd feel scared. Who wouldn't feel scared if someone attacked them? Mossballs at the very least maybe were used to being ambushed by cats, but those were just kits. And SHE was a very unexperienced apprentice. TERRIFYING; SHIVER ME TIMBERS. The mossball fought valiantly back, or, was it just her being bad at... fighting... a mossball.... ok this was embarrassing. But now it was real. Her claws were unsheathed; this was a mossball that would become less of a mossball. She of course didn't plan on killing it, because that would count as murder, and she for one wasn't fond of getting kicked out of the clan because she killed a ball of moss. She slashed, hopefully to rake her claws down the mossballs thought-up-face. She got a good hit, but the mossball wasn't playing around either. She tried another round of attacks, but it kept slipping out of her grasp. She tried over and over again, but she couldn't hold the moss in place. She hissed quietly with frustration by the seventh time it slid out from her claws. Her moss-brawling continued, and she felt surprisingly annoyed at this small, oddly spherical pawful of moss.