Hand drawn maps of the stars are useless for guidance in the daytime. Florence knew this. He still obsessively held onto the crumpled, stained paper in his mouth, occasionally setting it down because if he tried hard enough- surely he could imagine the positions he had seen hours ago. The idea had been to travel at night for this very reason, but look who already knew they wouldn't stay put and sleep for the day. Florence wasn't sure when he had slept last. He couldn't bring himself to care. The ache in his limbs and his unfocused eyes were tinged with excitement and determination. The drunken energy of being too tired to stop moving.
Of course, the small leopard's paws would have thanked him to not have an oversized pack tied about his middle. He had spent hours choosing what he physically could and could not bring with him on this journey. Trinkets, crystals, paints, and useless knickknacks, but all apparently more necessary for his well being then any amount of food or fresh water. (He supposed he had some paints he could eat if, somehow, say, for reasons he couldn't really think of now, he was absolutely on the break of death through starvation, but that was a different train of thought entirely. He was more than fine.) It would also, of course, help if he hadn't found a piece of rose quarts on the way. Which had to have been added to his pack. Would have helped if he hadn't stopped to get distracted by flowers, picking them and forgetting which direction he was facing. --But these mistakes weren't all that harmful. Wasn't there something cheesy to say about the journey being more important than the destination?
...And maybe his growling stomach. Oh well. He'd live.
It was hard moving. Florence loved how vibrant the world around him was, but letting go of the vast majority of his belongings was more than difficult. He struggled. Quite a bit. There was healthy solace in the new things to distract himself with- all the new things to see, and down the road, all the new memories to make. It was better to look at this as new opportunities rather than old closed doors. Doors that led to people, things, and places he loved with all his heart, and could never be replaced. Doors that would have stayed open for him forever if they weren't forcibly shut. It hurt, but he needed to hold onto his excitement. It's what had gotten him this far, and it's what would carry him now.
But where was Blizzardclan at this point?
The leopard was a bit of a mess, but not in a way that he had tried to fix and failed. His fur was clean but strangely ruffled and fluffed where most of his species' would be sleek. Small, but numerable cuts and bruises lined around his paws and lower legs, and at the tips of his toes were char-colored ink stains, matted into the fur there. His eyes were tired, but wide, and showed a red tint through his exhaustion. By some conventional standards, he wasn't trying with his appearance. Walking with his head held as high as he could, however, eyes catching on every detail of the world as if they held equal importance, none of it looked unintentional. A bright red scarf was wrapped around his shoulders, not matching his fur or anything else on his body, but nonetheless, somehow fitting. He had fun being his own mess.
Finally, Florence's eyes caught on the color blue. Not the sky. Dark blue. Ocean blue- the way he knew it in pictures, and the faint taste of salt hiding in his childhood memories. Florence broke out into a shameless run, his pack slapping him hard as he jostled it. His paws skidded to a halt in the warm sand.
The leopard didn't know where to look first. He wanted to look everywhere at once, and his eyes darted about, walking a few steps in each direction like a happy, disoriented kit.
He wanted to paint it all. The sun lining the seafront into the distance, the foam the waves brought in, the pale sand, and the few rocks that scattered the edges. It was hard, of course, to not notice the floating islands out of all of it.
Well, that's where Blizzardclan was, at this point.
Even more enticing than the sand and waves were the sights above his head. His heart was racing too hard to think perfectly clear, but he knew he was supposed to be climbing into one of the boats. Did they fly? They must, to get to the top. The view from up there! How the view must be! Florence had to stop himself from grabbing one of the rocks as a souvenir. After all, hopefully this would be his home, and then, the stones would have very different meanings to him. The timing was important, and he forced himself to wait.
Almost cautiously, as if the boat would fly right out under his feet and leave him tumbling face first into the water, Florence stepped inside one of the boats. He was surprised when nothing happened. He jumped in the boat. He tried to shake it with his paws. "Fly now?" He half asked, half commanded. Still, nothing happened. He narrowed his eyes in thought, sitting himself down with his tail thunking against the stone. "Do I need a password here?" The boat wasn't going to answer him, let alone reveal this supposed 'password' but it came out his mouth anyhow. "Can I please go? Please? It's right there. It's really just right there. I walked all this time." He pressed his lips together in a face that was both amused and exasperated. Maybe he was remembering this wrong? Maybe these were just normal boats? But made out of stone? Decorative boats? Decorative boats with some sort of metaphorical significance?
...His head hurt just a little at his own running thoughts.
OOC// Hi! I used to play on this site years ago, but I'm back with a new character. The lore is still very new to me, so if I get anything wrong with the technology or items that Florence could have, then please let me know!
✧ \ MY DREAMS ARE BIGGER THAN MY STRIDE \ TAGS
