July 01, 2015, 06:56 AM
An unspecified distance from the den. All welcome. @FitzDutiful in case you want to track him down and fetch him home at any point
It felt like the sun was tickling the fur on his back, warm fingers spreading through the strands to caress the mottled brown and blacks that adorned the nape of his neck. Mason shuddered involuntarily, causing his especially wispy fur to flow left, then right, until it flattened silky smooth against his bones and skin once more. “Hey, that tickles,” he mumbled loudly to himself, accompanied by a boyish giggle. It was an automatic phrase that was often directed at his small family when their fur got underneath his nose at night.
But even his own voice couldn’t distract him from the task at hand. Mason was tracking. He was copying his father’s posture, slinking even lower to the ground than his short legs usually caused him to be. His soft turtledove belly fur drizzled against the dirty ground, which was thankfully dry and hard-packed, if a bit dusty. His nose hovered a bare half an inch above the earth as he padded along.
A multitude of smells filled his nostrils, but none appeared to be the one he was searching for. He had a feeling that the smell he needed would immediately register in his mind, and then he would know.
He had snuck out of the den in the early morning. He was sure his hunt would probably have gone better at twilight but that level of disobedience was beyond him, and he also thought it would have been too scary. His father hadn’t forbidden them going out this far on their own – Mason simply hadn’t asked him.
Intent as he was, the little lad with orange-blue eyes didn’t realise just how far he had strayed from his den.
“Come on” he snapped in sudden frustration, ears pressing back against his skull. “Where you, magic moo stony?” Mason shouted a little louder, hoping that it would speak up from its hiding place under a bush or rock..
It felt like the sun was tickling the fur on his back, warm fingers spreading through the strands to caress the mottled brown and blacks that adorned the nape of his neck. Mason shuddered involuntarily, causing his especially wispy fur to flow left, then right, until it flattened silky smooth against his bones and skin once more. “Hey, that tickles,” he mumbled loudly to himself, accompanied by a boyish giggle. It was an automatic phrase that was often directed at his small family when their fur got underneath his nose at night.
But even his own voice couldn’t distract him from the task at hand. Mason was tracking. He was copying his father’s posture, slinking even lower to the ground than his short legs usually caused him to be. His soft turtledove belly fur drizzled against the dirty ground, which was thankfully dry and hard-packed, if a bit dusty. His nose hovered a bare half an inch above the earth as he padded along.
A multitude of smells filled his nostrils, but none appeared to be the one he was searching for. He had a feeling that the smell he needed would immediately register in his mind, and then he would know.
He had snuck out of the den in the early morning. He was sure his hunt would probably have gone better at twilight but that level of disobedience was beyond him, and he also thought it would have been too scary. His father hadn’t forbidden them going out this far on their own – Mason simply hadn’t asked him.
Intent as he was, the little lad with orange-blue eyes didn’t realise just how far he had strayed from his den.
“Come on” he snapped in sudden frustration, ears pressing back against his skull. “Where you, magic moo stony?” Mason shouted a little louder, hoping that it would speak up from its hiding place under a bush or rock..