you have been deceived [private-emberwing]

Doing.
"Talking."
Thinking.
"Others talking."

Dusk had begun.

The sun was slowly sinking into the horizon, and was already halfway there. The dying rays of the bright orb seemed to claw at the sky, leaving reddish scars that dotted the sky, up until the bright blueness on the opposite horizon that still somehow clung to visibility. But, sooner or later, it would all darken and meld into a dusky blue, and soon, the stars would arise, twinkling like crystals. But, for now, the sun gave its true beauty, and the black cat who seemed to be a simple silhouette in front of all this bright, intricate perfection was enjoying it.

Not because of the variety of colors she knew couldn't be seen by any eye, cat or otherwise. Not because of the brightness that seemed to be empowering her. No. She was enjoying it because she knew that her favorite time of the day was coming, and that this priceless wonder was proving it. Twilight. When the dark blue of the night turned to a shade that could only be described as deep black, and the moon was the only light source, turning everything grey. Oh, how she loved the night. And before it, she got a nice light show. Two for the price of one, as the Twolegs would say.

But, with the glorious monochrome allure of twilight, there also came the risks. Nocturnal predators (not unlike the black cat). Natural accidents caused by limited sight. And, perhaps the worst, or the most annoying, were the night patrols. Cats who reeked of mingled scents. Cats who were brute, moronic, and hungry for a fight. Cats who would be willing to keep a secret, if that secret hid their inner bloodlust. For, the moon seemed to have that effect on most, or at least, the black she-cat.

She felt as if the darkness itself was causing her to act this way. Did she care? Not really, but it still caused her to ponder the inevitable question; why? What was it about the silver setting that caused her tongue to hunger for the strange taste of blood? And what was it about the black cat that held it back?

But, the night was not twilit quite yet. The wheat that surrounded her still retained its golden hue. The sky still shone bright red, and the black cat realized that there was nothing to see anymore. No more thoughts ran rampant through her mind, no more questions nagged it. She was done here. She turned on her paws, and her piercing green eyes opened again, having closed at her thought pondering. She was not going home, however. Home was a place of safety, and what being can escape the urge to disown all prospects of safety when the urge presents itself? If there was a being who could, the black cat didn't want to meet it.

Her pitch black paws kept going forward in a rhythmic fashion. The gentle rustle of the wheat against her fur. The faraway caw of a crow. It was all like a song that you could only hear from one perspective. The black cat smiled, pleased at the song she knew only she could hear. If she knew a real song, one with words and everything, she'd sing it. Sure, it wouldn't sound that great; after all, she had had no practice whatsoever; but it was still an interesting prospect. A cat, singing. Not yowling, not screeching. Singing. The black cat snickered as a funny image of a cat tweeting like a bird popped into her head. She almost laughed in her full voice, forgetting where she was, just for a moment.

She was deep in enemy territory now, and one false sound could be her last. And yet, black paws still rhythmically hit the earth, wheat still quietly swished by her fur, and the crow, who was becoming slightly annoying, cawed again. Danger was everywhere, and even that didn't stop her. Her smile, which had dropped after her snicker, appeared again as a smaller version of itself. Danger, associated with fear, associated with energy, associated with adrenaline. She listed off mentally, adding up her jumbled thoughts into an understandable sentence. Adrenaline, associated with thrill, associated with...danger again.

A tiny sigh escaped her maw, turning into a thin, almost invisible puff in the cooling air. Another infinite loop. Her thoughts seemed to be turning into these quite a lot lately. She was about to let out another sigh when suddenly, she found the rhythm of her paws and the wheat cease. She had paused, but where? Her head tilted upwards, her green eyes narrowed.

A tree. Specifically, a sycamore. Dappled by shadows and light together, it looked like a masterpiece. But there was something else strange about it, too. Her eyes flitted around the area, scanning. Nope. She mentally confirmed. No other trees here. So what caused this one to grow here? And so tall, too...it must be healthy. She stared up at it in half amusement, half wonder. The bark looked strange, as all sycamore bark did. Mottled, broken off in large, irregular chunks. And the color; with all the shadows, it looked to be a dusky green.

She put a black paw on it, and unsheathed her claws, sinking them into the rough bark. It wasn't smooth, what with all the odd breakage, and as she removed her claws, it tore off a small section, which she shook off. But there was something else about it. It felt...spiritual. Not in any specific way, but she didn't want to touch it; it felt sacred. Of course, as this thought popped up in her head, a thousand more appeared in defiance. She was a rogue, after all. No 'Clan' to bind her, and no ghost stories that she'd be forced to believe in. She was free from all that, thanks to her deadbeat father and her crazy mother. She sighed again, but bigger this time. Strange thoughts of danger and fright...

Oh, how I truly love the night.

notes;; this came out better than I thought it would!
tags;; grimm/emberwing
word count;; 1009
muse;; 10/10