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| Subject: .spreading.like.wildfire. (again) | |
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Author: Brand |
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Date Posted: 21:20:26 01/30/05 Sun (The return of the golden tabby tiger to the Arena, for his last adventure proved shortlived.) Angry feline eyes stared through the bar of a sturdy metal cage, their emerald centers flaring with malice, heating into yellow, then cooling into brown toward the edges. For a moment, he had thought he'd never return to the cursed Arena, where currency exchanged hands and new "masters" attempted to rule him. But fate had proven fickle once again, and his former "owner" had returned him to the auction block. Things had not gone well between the pair, for though the wounds from his previous "owner" had begun to heal under her ministrations, she had resorted to drugging him to accomplish it, and his trust in her was less than nonexistent. Pain, he knew. He understood it, and therefore he did not fear it. But he hated to lose control of his senses in any way, including being forced out of consciousness by the drugs she had used to make him manageable. His golden tail twitched irritably, the only outward sign of the tumultuous emotions roiling within him. The humans responsible for transporting him were cowering out of reach of the metal bars that restrained him, for though he had yet to attack them, his appearance was enough to ward off most who would attempt to rule him. Though thin and undernourished, his pelt dull from lack of nutrients and his skin scabbed in many places from the sharp claws of the whip his former "owner" was fond of, he exuded feline arrogance, and when he walked, his pace was all grace, silently stalking his prey, slinking through the shadows as only a feline can, forcing the unwilling shadows to cling to his golden body, hiding him as effectively as they would were his coloring that of a normal tiger. Even the white was masked if he so desired, for he had learned to be a master of the art of camouflage. But now there was nowhere he could hide. The sun burst through the spaces between the bars of his cage, patterning his already striped hide further. This time, at least, he had decent accomodations; food, water, bedding, all had been provided, though he would have greatly preferred to touch his feet upon the ground, rather than the hay provided for him to rest upon. Ah, but he was accustomed to worse, and so he refused to complain, even in his head. He just watched, scanning the crowd idly in search of the next one who would be foolhardy enough to attempt to rule him. [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ] |
| Subject | Author | Date |
| Ranking | The Sundancer | 16:54:56 01/31/05 Mon |
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