[Brooklyn Trees]

Originally Posted by Slash-GNR

@Brooklyn Trees

A large emerald green eye could been seen popping out of the nursery. Then another large eye came with the other one to make a pair. It was Onyxkit. She was a small and slender she-cat with a strange personality. She twitched her tail tip as she pawed the ground a bit. The she-cat looked around, "Hmm, it looks like a grim day to me," she muttered in her young cat voice. She usually saw things as something bad. In other words, she was pessimistic. However, on rare occasions, she would say something that would lift the spirits of another feline.

Onyxkit blinked as she began to slink her way out of the nursery. She was old enough to go out in the clearing by herself. In fact, she was four moons old! She was almost an apprentice! The female felt her body tingle at the thought in excitement. She wanted to be an apprentice badly. Onyxkit liked the idea of rising in power, but it didn't drive her mad.

The poor she-kit would try to act normal and make friends with the other kits, but they seemed to understand her humor or her actions. She would laugh at morbid things, then she would play a bit to rough. She needed a feline, who could match her weird ways and understand her, but it was a hard task. She tried everyday. She went to almost every cat to speak to them, but to no avail. She had not found a friend. Onyxkit frowned at the thought as she padded into the clearing and sat down a few feet from the nursery.

Bugpaw sat calmly off to the side of the clearing, black tail wrapped tightly around one of his dark paws as he watched the other felines of this clan with narrowed yellow eyes, mistrust of those around him evident in the glare that had become the default expression of his snub-nosed face.
His other paw, the one not covered by the fluff of his tail, was being drawn along his muzzle, claws sheathed within his paws as he watched the other residents of his clan.

The tom appeared rather calm in position and movement, if not a little tense, in all aspects of those but his face, and especially in the aspect of his eyes. Tense out of nothing more than the fact that he did not want to relax fully, to appear at all weaker than what he himself deemed alright. Being weak could make him a target, and even if it didn't, it would make him lesser in his own eyes. He didn't want to feel, and so his anger and pride were what kept him feeling like more than an empty vessel when unwanted emotions penetrated his down-turned, solemnly hating face.

He carefully scrutinized those around him, finding something to dislike about them. He was disliked, and therefor he disliked others. Finding why he hated a particular cat, for anything but to be on level ground, helped to make him hate them more. But one cat, a small kit with large green eyes, he had not seen before. He narrowed his eyes further, as he did when he mistrusted more than he generally did, taking his gaze across her as he studied her pelt, her eyes, her movements.