SHIT!
From a stand of pines on the mountainside, there exploded both a youthful voice and a pair of startled winter birds. They winged into the midafternoon sun with indignant chirps, leaving the owner of the voice standing in the snow with limbs splayed. Heaving an irritated huff, Cairos craned his neck and scraped his tongue roughly over the thick fur of his shoulder, willing his ruffled hackles to lie flat.
No stupid bird was enough to scare him. No way. He just... Had a bad shiver. Yeah, that's all that was.
The six-month-old flopped his dark hindquarters to the ground, wincing as cold seeped up into his haunches. He squinted around at the trees and rocks, scanning his surroundings as though he would discover the name of it all if only he walked to the correct spot. But life was not a game and Cairos did not have a convenient world map tucked into his back pocket to reference, so all he could do was slump his shoulders in defeat.
He had followed his sister's scent toward the mountains but lost it when the snow began to swirl and scattered it all around, and now he had no idea where he was or which way she had gone or which way was home.
What now?he asked no one in particular.
January 05, 2026, 05:35 AM
A loud and unexpected "SHIT!" burns in Bassetki's ears. The force of it travels through the fine muscles of her jaw and wrinkles her muzzle into a wolfish grimace.
Language! she admonishes the speaker with a shake of her head, and fully intends to put distance between herself and the foul-mouthed creature when the same voice speaks again - light, younger than his colorful vocabularly had led her to believe. Defeated.
The golden priestess breathes a single sharp sigh through her nose and turns, moving with long strides toward the voice.
He is just a boy. Gangly and dark, wearing a sinister mask over glaring yellow eyes that are already staring into hers when Bassetki breaks through the brush, having made no effort to hide her approach. "You have a foul mouth for one so young," she says, flicking a sharp ear back. Her voice is low and vaguely accented, wrapping tight around each syllable. "Where are your keepers?"
Language! she admonishes the speaker with a shake of her head, and fully intends to put distance between herself and the foul-mouthed creature when the same voice speaks again - light, younger than his colorful vocabularly had led her to believe. Defeated.
The golden priestess breathes a single sharp sigh through her nose and turns, moving with long strides toward the voice.
He is just a boy. Gangly and dark, wearing a sinister mask over glaring yellow eyes that are already staring into hers when Bassetki breaks through the brush, having made no effort to hide her approach. "You have a foul mouth for one so young," she says, flicking a sharp ear back. Her voice is low and vaguely accented, wrapping tight around each syllable. "Where are your keepers?"
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