finding nemo | p

[sambam]

river in the road
kitty softpaws tier 2 | katty krueger | bilingual tier 1

It's some kind of cruel game that he's stuck playing. Wherever he goes, no matter who he meets, he won't stay grounded. He knows he's searching, that's all he ever does, and he can't stop. He doesn't know how. There's no moving on, really.

Have you seen my son? Do you know someone who's orange and white? Has someone like that passed through here? Do you recognize this scent that I can't remember? Have you seen him? Do you know him? I can't find him.

I can't find him.

Aspen groves, empty meadows, abandoned lots: they yield nothing. All over and over everywhere, like scattered ashes from the moor to the sea. Each time he tries to trap one underpaw, it slips and flutters away. It mocks the sore ache boring into his organs.

He pauses by his old namesake tree, atop a hill near a dirt monster path. Not many shining, oversized beetles crawl on it, so it's quiet. The tree has no leaves, only bare branches. The sun is coming down, and the evening star is giving him the cold stare. With a small sigh, he sits by the roots. A paw drags over his snout wearily. He'd really like to take a break. Settle down. Give up even, let himself live easy for the last moons he's alive. At some point you just have to let go.

But, God, it's so lonely.

@silver. ^-^
creds in headers album

[silver.]

TW: suicidal ideation

Lonely. It's so lonely.

Moons of loneliness burden him like a plague. Moons of silence strangle him like a persistent vine. In the end he never knew that it was going to be loneliness that would be the end of him. One by one they slipped through unsheathed claws desperate to hang on. Desperate to keep them close and safe and away from harm. But it was all for naught. Everything he's done was all for naught.

Treading tall grass he moves without much a care. Weaving through the blades with loud steps and tired eyes downcast to watch bugs scatter away from his moving paws. Even they didn't want to be anywhere near him. He can't blame them. The aura he carries on sagging shoulders was absolutely vile. He wouldn't go near someone like him either.

Coming across a thunderpath he watches as a monster speeds by. The wind it leaves in it's wake jostles his frame and chills him right down to the bone. Padding onto the asphalt, he pauses in the middle of the road. Takes a seat, even. If he stayed there then eventually another would race toward him and plow him over, right? Then it would be over. All at once he would be at peace. Something stops him. Maybe he's imagining things. A figment of his imagination-- it happened often, after all. Seeing things that weren't really there. Further off from this path, further away there was something there. He could see it. But was it real?

Part of him still believes. Believes that they're out there waiting to be found. Waiting for him. So he moves off the thunderpath for now and sits beside it instead to watch the shadow in the distance, trying to figure out if what he's seeing is really there or not. Nearby there is another path, one that winds in the dirt like a snake into the untamed foliage. Should he venture forth? Should he trust his eyes? No, no... No, not again.

@sambam

[sambam]

river in the road
kitty softpaws tier 2 | katty krueger | bilingual tier 1

Then again, he really did this to himself. He is the consequence of himself, using his arrogance to claim his responsibility. He can sit there, king of the hill, but for how long will he stand it? To observe all that's beneath him was never an escape, just a burden to stick his paw into snake holes and hope to pry the scales out rather than get bit.

Claws met bark when he turned toward the tree trunk. He stretched and stood, reaching higher than his spine could go. His teeth gritted as he scratched at the cold wood. They didn't let go, and soon he was clambering up the alder tree. Branch to branch, he leapt until he reached the overhanging branch that spanned the furthest over the incline. Careful paws ventured to the thin end, where he peered down, then out. In the distance was the Twolegplace. Behind him were the clans. To either side, the barren outskirts.

Little paths sliced up the territory, little raging rivers full of rumbling cars. Little creatures below, and little shrubs lining the rivers. Little fences, and little nests, and little stars, and little pebbles.

Little orange and white pelt.

And if I called out...?

He leaned forward, clinging onto balance. He hoped his green eyes burned, bore into that pelt like emerald stars. You know I'm always watching you. Unmoving, the lone figure remained.

A scoff rose out of his throat. "I'll have to drag you out," he muttered.

But that's fine, he can see the scales. He knows it's a garden snake lying in wait, so when fang meets flesh, his heart will stay beating. The branch swayed after he jumped to the ground. He landed with delicate grace, without a stall. Panther-like, he stalked through the wild grass toward that little creature. He wasn't on the prowl; with the sun warm on his back and his breath cold, he moved with leisure.

Every step of his paws felt right. There was no rushing. He was the watched, and the watcher - they must both know.

@silver.
creds in headers album