08-08-2018, 12:23 PM
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Chip knew little about the town that sat mere pawsteps away. It sat floating upon the sea, its own planet of color that brightened even the grey expanse of water below. And Chip sat just outside the border. Frozen. Her shoulders slumped with an exhaustion that defied her instinct to to appear polite in the wake of a first meeting, though she at least covered her tattered paws with a curl of her tail. The gesture felt oddly feline for the binturong.
With a shiver against the slight ocean breeze, Chip fluffed her blue grey fur to soak up a bit more of the sun's warmth. It sunk into her bones and soother the weariness that had built up in her core. She hated the experience that it implied. This little bay town would hopefully provide rest and chip away (ha) at the remains of what sapped her strength, but already she could tell the canyon-patterned scars along her pelt would be lifelong reminders of war even after recovery.
At the very least, Chip's knowledge of battle may allow her entrance to the Crayola village before her. And perhaps, with time, she could relax back into the old herbal studies that laced her only memories of peace within her previous home. The thought of such a simple hobby was dreamlike. But then again, so was the seaside village she wished to enter. In the moment the border felt a mile wide, impenetrable to anyone tainted by the world as she was, as if it existed in a painted artwork. Those in reality could only gaze at the swirled oils of the town's color and wish for such a soft landscape. in their own world. It made Chip feel like she lived in concrete.
The binturong remained silent in her thoughts. She would wait, passive, until someone either pulled her into their painting or forced her to look again to the stone world that greeted her back.
Chip knew little about the town that sat mere pawsteps away. It sat floating upon the sea, its own planet of color that brightened even the grey expanse of water below. And Chip sat just outside the border. Frozen. Her shoulders slumped with an exhaustion that defied her instinct to to appear polite in the wake of a first meeting, though she at least covered her tattered paws with a curl of her tail. The gesture felt oddly feline for the binturong.
With a shiver against the slight ocean breeze, Chip fluffed her blue grey fur to soak up a bit more of the sun's warmth. It sunk into her bones and soother the weariness that had built up in her core. She hated the experience that it implied. This little bay town would hopefully provide rest and chip away (ha) at the remains of what sapped her strength, but already she could tell the canyon-patterned scars along her pelt would be lifelong reminders of war even after recovery.
At the very least, Chip's knowledge of battle may allow her entrance to the Crayola village before her. And perhaps, with time, she could relax back into the old herbal studies that laced her only memories of peace within her previous home. The thought of such a simple hobby was dreamlike. But then again, so was the seaside village she wished to enter. In the moment the border felt a mile wide, impenetrable to anyone tainted by the world as she was, as if it existed in a painted artwork. Those in reality could only gaze at the swirled oils of the town's color and wish for such a soft landscape. in their own world. It made Chip feel like she lived in concrete.
The binturong remained silent in her thoughts. She would wait, passive, until someone either pulled her into their painting or forced her to look again to the stone world that greeted her back.
BULLETPROOF
binturong - 22 moons - sunhaven