Every warriors universe has their own beliefs and ways. And yet Hemlockshade is forced to live in one where he isn't accepted.
The young feline has been running from his problems since he was a kit. Escaping the ones who had tried to kill him, he...
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prologue . ༉‧₊˚✧ . ˚.
The sun was beginning to set behind the tree tops that towered over the large forests, expanding out until the single eye could not see no more lush, green lands. Clouds were beginning to cover the vast amount of the sky, graying the skies and promising rainfall later that night. The wind was beginning to pick up slightly, carrying fallen leaves from their stems and direction-ing them to where they would plant themselves to start anew.
And throughout this vast land, a single black feline moved their way through the underbrush. The feline was recognized as a he, and he was a small, oriental black-pelted bred feline with exhausted, pale-green oculars. As he tread along the forest floor, his tail was beginning to drag along in the dirt and leaves, a sign the young feline needed to rest. It might be safe to rest now, though he wanted to wonder a little further and to get somewhere safer. Where? The oriental had not a clue.
His wounds and scratches had been open for a few days now, and he was beginning to feel ill. His wounds were untreated by both human and feline assistance, but who could help him when he was all alone? There was nothing but the trees and birds that fluttered about, mocking him in their sing-songy voices in a way. Speaking of, he hadn't realized his hunger until then.
The oriental let out a small groan and plopped down on his haunches, slumping his shoulders and bowing his head down slightly, staring off deeper into the forest with his dull, green orbs. His ears were flattened to his skull as he let out a small breath. Gnats were buzzing around his un-groomed pelt, especially around the parts where his flesh wounds were not treated. The feline let out another annoyed breath and shook out his thin pelt, but they came right back. If this was the only thing that was following me that'd be great, the tomcat thought, squinting his eyes.
A sudden wave of sadness washed over his figure like an ocean wave, crashing and burying him in his sorrow. He slowly blinked and looked to the ground. What if they would catch him? He would be crow meat. He would be slaughtered without hesitance. The tomcat flicked an ear and pouted, a knot forming in his throat as salty tears formed in his eyes. He blinked and they slowly rolled down his face, soaking into his thin fur. He couldn't return, and maybe not ever. The city was a dangerous place for any other feline, especially a young kit. He should have stayed home. None of this would have happened.
As he was drowning in his thoughts, a pair of wings fluttered down to the forest floor, snapping him from his wondering thinking. The feline's pupils dilated and he slowly shifted his figure to where he was very low to the ground. He had watched his father demonstrate how to properly catch a piece of prey, but never had he watch him catch a bird. It would only be rats or mice. The oriental slowly inched his way closer to the bird. He noticed that it was all black — like him — but the feathered creature had bright-red shoulders. He had never seen a bird like that, only ones with a gray-blue figure, but with a reddish-orange breast. He thinks they were called a raben? No, robin. Robins, they were.
