( comfort zones l joiner )

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    cold, oh, so very cold.


    summertime sun beats down upon the land of jungle. chinese-esque palace of grandness, looms far higher than anyone can imagines, large staircases an endless steps to the doors. all masked by the bamboos, tall and proud. green and lush, the time of peace and serenity, prosperity and hope, guidance for the home of dark dynasty. a territory that seems almost out of a fairy tale book, a story of fantasy in the back of his mind. almost so unreal, but then, to question what is reality, is purely rhetorical. himself seen enough of fantasy far and in between, to learn that nothing is impossible and anything is possible.


    shaking, shivers through his sickly body, wrapped heavy in pastel cloths of red and greens. a mutated caracal is he, but difficult to tell by the layers of warmth that buries him in. sole pastel light blue eyes blink among the mix of tan, green, and red, surveying the unfamiliar land. once, he would had not imagine to leave the home of solaris kingdom, to leave the grand desert and the sparkling oasis. but things do not always go well, and all good must come to an end. and now, nearly seven moons later, he is here, right at the border of the dynasty, harboring the peace justice-seeking clan. is it right to come here? he could not know the answer, for there is none.


    a shaky breath is let out, a tug on the 'hat' of his lowered, almost covering his eyes and vision. cold it is always. "h-hello?" he manages in a squeaky voice, so barely audible. it almost makes no sound in the air, as if it is just a ghost talking. voice thin and dry, cracks. long time it has been, since he has spoken with voice. a somewhat now audible sigh makes it way out of throat, as to express disappointment at himself. no power of telepathy holds. if anything he thinks none of his magical powers would help be identified by a member of this clan. well, what nothing to do but wait?


    takes a seat at the border of the bamboo jungle, wincing as he feels every crack of bone in his body aches. wraps himself harder in the cloths, breathing heavily as he prays for someone to come soon. cold, oh, so very cold. summer may be here, but it is winter year-round for him.



    "他是一个梦想家."

    Softvelvet was nearby, of course, and the pale catsune knew that it was probably best for him to not be up and about whilst in the sickly condition that he was in. Still, the man is stubborn, and he pushes forward with his head held hide, wings remaining at his side as he comes forth. He hears a tentative voice, quivering as if cold but, ah, were it not in the middle of the summer? The humidity was wearing down on the male, finding his illness to take an turn for the worse when such stuffy weather was introduced, but to see someone in such heavy clothing, wrapping it tight about themselves as if they were in a blizzard was absolutely astonishing. "Excuse me?" The Patriarch's voice was warped with sick, weak and breathy, raspy and not at all recognizable to even the angel. "May I help you?" He asks, his tails wavering behind his thin form as he tilts his head towards Pistachio.