they emerge from the fog in the glen like a ghost.
you can hear the faint grinding noise of the bones in their tail as they move
and the sharp noise that the spines on their back make when they step
there's something surreal about them
something that doesn't feel as if it exists entirely
here.
now.
each step they take closer to you seems to drag up pieces of the past around them
you can see the plants in the past withering and growing and withering and growing again
hear the birds singing in the trees, and hear the dead silence of winter
its almost as if their entire presence is bringing the past to the present
"hello." they state simply with a bow of their head.
"I'm Circinus."
------
you can hear the faint grinding noise of the bones in their tail as they move
and the sharp noise that the spines on their back make when they step
there's something surreal about them
something that doesn't feel as if it exists entirely
here.
now.
each step they take closer to you seems to drag up pieces of the past around them
you can see the plants in the past withering and growing and withering and growing again
hear the birds singing in the trees, and hear the dead silence of winter
its almost as if their entire presence is bringing the past to the present
"hello." they state simply with a bow of their head.
"I'm Circinus."
trait list wrote:greyed dilute calico tabby with unnatural markings + color
nr: expression edits, claw, eye shape, expressive ear edit, whiskers, weight edits, unnatural coat color, unnatural markings, one eye blindness
lim: longer fur (in areas), dark sclera, fangs, kinked tail
legend: height edits, ear type edits, shorter fur, horns, halos, genesplice (scales), biolum, body length edit, wings
god/magic?; bone tailmouth
------
"h-how did I get here? W-well... that's a bit of story..."
You see, there isn't really a strong, good starting point for this story. I came from a group of loner cats - not quite a clan, a tribe, or anything besides just... existing - and I stumbled along with them for a long while, city to meadow to wherever. We didn't have a settled structure of power or training or anything like some of the more permanent groups of cats I've come across had, but more or less just... went. It was anarchy. It was unsteady.
But I never felt unsteady. I always felt as if the stability of the world around me was right under my paws. I could feel the moments past, faintly, with each paw step. While those around me may have constantly changed, the feeling just beneath my paw pads never did.
It wasn't until I was well past the usual age for someone entering training that I picked up some discarded bones from a rubble pile we were passing. The moon was low in the sky over the meadow as I started to carve away with sharp claws, following some invisible lines that the bone itself had placed. Slowly, the shape came clear. I felt that same pulse that I'd always felt from the ground in that bone. I didn't quite know it at the time exactly what that was - not even when I caught the faintest glimpse of a pinprick of a memory - but I started picking up bones and rocks and bits of wood whenever I could. I'd carve during the nights where we rested. I'd search for more to carve in the day times. And between? I'd work on fashioning a simple over the shoulder bag to hold all my in progress art pieces. Sometimes I'd catch more of those memories flashing as I'd work. At least, that's what they had to be, right? There was no other good word that I could think of at the time.
They weren't entirely ... there. And yet I could see the finest details. The blades of grass waving in the wind. Or the shriek of a hawk above.
There was one night where I was working, listening to some new loner's story about their travels, where that pulse became a tug. I felt the smallest spark of energy leap from my claws to the wood I was working on, and that moment around the campfire had been buried into the material I was carving. I could only blink at this revelation.
This odd magic worked both ways.
No one in my traveling group had any answers. My parents had long since moved on to other groups - I even think one of my siblings joined a clan along the way - so there was no one to provide any insight into what I could do.
So I left. Just like everyone eventually did in that little traveling band of cats.
And I followed my own paws for once. Over mountain tops, through river filled valleys, and skittering around the edges of clans and bands I went. More carvings joined me on the way, and I even picked up a few oddly colored rock embedded bones in one large valley. There was still that constant, steady pulse beneath my paws as I went.
But I didn't go alone for long, thankfully.
You see, the more I practiced this magic, the more oddly fragile bone growths grew down my back. It wasn't long before I'd completely regrown my tail from the injured stump it had been, although this time it came back the same as the bone growths I had along my spine. Part of me thought I should have been growing more fragile, like the very bones that were calling me home, but I only felt stronger, more secure in myself.
It was in this odd state that I wandered into a hollow with a rather old elder settled in its cradle. I had noticed in the windows of his shelter that there were similar carvings to the ones I'd made, with added ornaments and more complex designs. That moment of pause from the moon drenched forestline betrayed me.
He'd emerged from his shelter, eyes sharp and knowing, calling me out directly. His front limb caught in a moonbeam, the stark white of the bone there almost glowing, and I knew I'd found someone who might hold some answers and direction for me for the first time in my life.
There, I stayed for some time. I learned more about the magic at my paws, and how to use it best.
Eventually, I left. It was in my nature to move on.
