A Random Event Has Occurred!
The birds of the island are far from its most perilous inhabitants, no matter how many (or how sharp) their teeth. They are also not the only creatures to watch the horses with curiosity - and perhaps something else.
It is a little like a jaguar, the cat that lounges hidden in the underbrush, not far away from the pair of them, pink tongue lolling between bright teeth. It is a little, too, like an ocelot, in its size and the oblong, strange shape of its spots. But though its pelt is black as pitch the makings on it shine blue and gold as the last rays of sunlight splintering into a pool; they gleam just like labradorite in rows along its sides.
As they speak of the statue it stands, and stretches long and languid, and the sound in its throat is something between purr and growl, low as the heartbeat of the island. The two birds, hearing it, take off with ringing cries from their perch in the trees, and as the cat moves like mercury down the line between jungle and shoreline its tail twists snakelike patterns in the humid air.
And then it is there, yards away from the horses, the last of the sunlight glimmering on its spots, the rest of it dark as shadow. For a moment it only regards them, something fierce and cold in its blue cut-stone eyes, and the curl of its tail becomes a question: do you really think it’s safe at all?
It is not their island.
Wider and wider the cat’s mouth opens then, black whiskers arcing back, its mouth a vital well lined with teeth. Perhaps it will speak, or maybe loose one of the screams that seem to hang like phantoms in the trees after dark - but it only yawns, and passes back into the shadow of the trees. It leaves only silence, and no grasses sway to mark its passing.
It is a little like a jaguar, the cat that lounges hidden in the underbrush, not far away from the pair of them, pink tongue lolling between bright teeth. It is a little, too, like an ocelot, in its size and the oblong, strange shape of its spots. But though its pelt is black as pitch the makings on it shine blue and gold as the last rays of sunlight splintering into a pool; they gleam just like labradorite in rows along its sides.
As they speak of the statue it stands, and stretches long and languid, and the sound in its throat is something between purr and growl, low as the heartbeat of the island. The two birds, hearing it, take off with ringing cries from their perch in the trees, and as the cat moves like mercury down the line between jungle and shoreline its tail twists snakelike patterns in the humid air.
And then it is there, yards away from the horses, the last of the sunlight glimmering on its spots, the rest of it dark as shadow. For a moment it only regards them, something fierce and cold in its blue cut-stone eyes, and the curl of its tail becomes a question: do you really think it’s safe at all?
It is not their island.
Wider and wider the cat’s mouth opens then, black whiskers arcing back, its mouth a vital well lined with teeth. Perhaps it will speak, or maybe loose one of the screams that seem to hang like phantoms in the trees after dark - but it only yawns, and passes back into the shadow of the trees. It leaves only silence, and no grasses sway to mark its passing.
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Enjoy!
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