Steadily dissipating tendrils of translucent white murk lay suspended between the chilly early afternoon sky and the dreary outline of the unusually solemn camp, greedy fingers of gossamer like webbing steadily wreathing their way across the grey afternoon landscape. The previously thick foliage that crept outwards from the carefully woven gorse barrier was left thin and barren in the dismal aftermath of the early cold nights- a pitiful reminder of the dire circumstances weighing unseen, made all the more lackluster by the endless grey sky and moors unfolding around them. Familiar and unfamiliar faces alike were left resembling watery shapes against the smoky backdrop of the early afternoon mist, tongues and teeth reedy and reluctant under the pressure of unwarranted supervisors.
Shaky fog of his breathing eagerly melting away into the grander current of the softly whirling mists, Yarrowpaw remained idly perched against the pale shadows blossoming heavily against the gorse barrier, pale gaze fixed upon the countless strangers waltzing about in their homes. Sleep evaded him in the days following Asylum's arrival- the frightening taste of blood and suffering webbed upon their words sinking somewhere deep below his skin. His mothers and mentor were busy - because they always were, and to assume that they would offer more than the occasional wayward conversation would be hoping for a bit too much - and the remainder of the Clan was struggling greatly with balancing their newfound restrictions. Unkempt pale coat growing sodden under the continual beading of vapor from the pestering presence of the lingering fog, a dreadfully slow-drying crown of frost and droplets hung heavily against his sharp bones, a watery flash of light shimmering weakly in the poor light of the day.
Narrow features overcome with an expression of morbid curiosity, Yarrowpaw could do little more than stare at the strange Asylum cats going about their respective business, sharp stare taking particular interest in the terrifying pelts casually strewn atop their shoulders.
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"born of ichor & nectar; excellence already found at fingertips."
resident chewer of bones & mad woman enthusiast | former administrator