Post by Alastair on Feb 15, 2010 23:46:09 GMT
.Alastair.
The smell of woodshavings that ever so slightly tinted the chill breeze told him the man was engaged in some sort carpentry about the other side of the wagon. His paws kneaded the fabric of her skirts, though he did not extend his claws. He knew from experience that humans did not like it when feline claws caught in their clothing and prickled skin. Why this was so was beyond him but he didn't question it. Human logic had never entirely made sense to him.
She placed her slender white hand upon his back, which he had not expected, and the muscles beneath his thick winter coat twitched instinctively. Just as quickly, she took it away and he suddenly and inexplicably felt apologetic in regards to the state of his pelt. There was really only so much a cat could do to stay clean in winter and while some of the Guardians lived very much like housecats, he certainly did not. And Elencastel couldn't really be considered a 'house'. Still, he was a fighter, not a lap-animal and he wasn't going to be embarrassed about his looks when they were one of the most unimportant things about him. He pushed it under the rug as he seemed to have been doing with a multitude of little emotional twinges lately and almost hackled irritably at himself for being such a soft man in his middle age. There was no reason he should care what this girl thought, sweet thing that she was, but he did. It was puzzling and frustrating enough without trying to figure it out so he left it be. She couldn't mind it too much: he was, as far as she knew, a feral cat and couldn't be expected to be silky coated. Not in the dead of winter with the matted and shaggy fur of the season. No, she didn't mind, not if she was asking him to visit. He gave a gruff but sweet toned +mraow!+ of affirmation and bumped her wrist with his head before padding off into the underbrush in the direction that young Finley had gone.
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