Patricia! Daddy want the Big Breakfast™

@Riannon

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for all his muddled-headedness, he was agile and athletic. most of this was pure genetics (not just being a cat alone, mind you), rather than him maintaining some kind of regime for his health. the mountains didn't phase him much as he hopped from rock to rock. only the slickness of the rocks, which his claws took swift care of.

he itched at his collar. it was becoming more of a nuisance, more of something that he couldn't ignore in the vast sea of his mind. it put him on edge, making his teeth grind together and his tail twitch more than usual. he wanted it off. he knew it was supposed to fall off eventually. why hadn't it fallen off yet?

he kept moving, distracting himself with the task of leaping from rock to rock, fallen tree to stump.
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lame reply im sry

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even with the scents of her frore-children threaded through her snowhite hide, ever-soothing, ever-present, still there were many reasons as to why the nightingale was discontent; for all of her harvesting, her misty mountains remained unlined with taut nothron bodies and even hardier souls. for all that she has let step over her threshold, what the spellsinger had brought to her had been ... less than ideal. nevermind the boy that she was glad to have; she watches his leonine companion from beneath dead birch boughs, eyes narrow, indescribable.

watching for some mistep;
waiting for some misbreath.

not unlike that tale as old as time, she despises him.

but she tells herself it is for her cubs that she approaches her antagonist of an age; that what dignity remains would be found in knowing the what of him, despite it all. and yet ...she goes to him with a feathertail wavering over thin hips, seeing how he sticks his landing but for the life of her cannot muster speech-things from her own stubborn, damned lips — so she settles for a low, huffy boof by way of relucant greeting.

gods.

give me a burial anew.

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he stumbled somewhat at the call, expecting olive but instead getting the leader. not a mob-boss as meissa and flynn were, but...an abbot? lady abbot? mother great, something. he didn't know what her name was either, which wasn't helping anything. he settled himself on a boulder, using most of his core to keep himself balanced. “oh. heyyy?” he cocked his head, before lifting his body up somewhat to scratch at the collar on his neck.
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