Ebony forepaws scored the sand, pale moonlight trickled through the dark clouds that hung so low over the junkyard. The heat was suffocating, the air was still, yet a sprinkle had begun. Droplets staining the ground he walked. ‘sheogorath versus caledon’ a fight everyone longed for it seemed. As it had been announced, and met with an uproar. Sheogorath had been his idol, he had since become his rival yet now he stood as his healer. Funny little game time was, but now was the time of the Bloodbath. A time for buisness, and caledon was practically bred for it. Since his days in the shelter, he had worked up to perhaps this very moment.
Limber stocky pillars swiveled beneath the alabaster form of the Bloodclan leader. Carrying him in a steady circle until he approached the middle of the pit and raised his head to meet his oceanic hues with the yellow-tinted moon. Gentle droplets colliding with his muzzle, leaking into his exposed jaws until he lowered it to meet his match. Sheogorath. A name feared by many, stuck up against a cat who feared none. Both a curse and a virtue, was his serenity within this moment.
The maimed-face tom pulled his spine upward between his scapula, his tail vibrating as he stretched. Today, he would have to give it his all. A lifetime of brutal training leading up to now, perhaps Sheogorath be his match. Who’s to say? Time was to. He didn’t speak a word, which wasn’t hard with the heavy heart beating in his chest. Canary’s death was still a fresh wound that hardly allowed him to show emotion. Leaving him placid in this very moment, though his sanity was beginning to stagger.
Caledon [kal-i-duh n] aka. "Smiley"
"stay evil, dollface".
♕ retired Bloodclan Leader | deep heavy late 50s' English accent
⌲ 38 moons | dating; Waspwing
⌲ Turkish van missing half his upper lip. deep blue eyes.
⌲ very difficult | weakness - blows to the face or exposed gum.
⌲ posh , ambitious. smarmy, sinful.