Board Thread:Fun and Games/@comment-27669385-20161110202856/@comment-33008190-20161115043812

Robinfeather walks quietly, alone in tall trees. His mate miss back at home and he is on a "walk," a time of thinking and inescapable possibilities.

A possibilities arises soon, and ends with a bang.

Or rather, it falls, soon.

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Robinfeather sees trees. They mean more than leafy necks, with rooted bosies that keep them entranced with the ground.

They mean freedom, happiness, a joy that isn't set in rules and codes.

Robinfeather does not know his personality, or how he acts. He does not describe the way he does his life, he allows it for others.

But he enjoys the sound of suspenseful silence, a break from life, a replenishing.

A loud crack reports. Robinfeather thinks of wind in swindling branches, or rocks in clashing commotion.

He does not think of his friendly, liberating pines on a crash course.

Robinfeather flails wildly, trying to make sense of a senseless situation. He tries to fight back against the inevitable,Mahican maybe describes his personality: a tom with confidence and drive.

But that does not matter, nothing does besides the slowly toppling wings of the trees.

It falls with the gust of lonely wind, and Robinfeather dances across rocks to avoid the spfirst shaggy branch.

Needles separated from their rightful home come spiralling into his pelt, and Robinfeather lets them as he wanders farther back towards camp, saving himself.

The top of the rebelling tree hits another, and a rogue war begins. It falls with a creaking impact to the ground, blocking Rovinfeather from the rules and joys of his life, and mate.

More needles stab into him; he feels lukewarm liquid running down, crimson artwork dabbing his fur in pain.

Robinfeather watches as trees topple around him, the domino effect if that was a thing in a cats world.

He is trapped, and waiting for the dust and falling branches to choke him into the ground, smothered into soil to feed his hungry friends.