( racer only please. )

There are moments that act as a primal beat in one's life. Moments that can haze away to mere echos of their former existence, grind to dust and then erode to unidentifiable molecules, till a residue and nothing more. So little of a memory it is like a dream, so little of a dream it is figment beyond figment. And yet, like traumatic vibrations to a china vase, it cracks and scars the foundation in such small and minute ways that one would never had known the trauma was there to begin with. So, when the vase years later drops and breaks, splinters and splits on the very cracks on which it had gained all those years ago, no onlooker would have been any the wiser. So too do moments vibrate, piercing its cracks that scars instincts into the porcelain of the mind. And so too will people wonder and ask why when it breaks, when the answers had existed all along. 

Of course, sleeping coddled in moss, senses caressed with the sweet smell of milk and the familiar scents of his litter-mates, no thoughts could have been farther from Bronzekit's mind. As much as the feathers and nest protected the kit from the bite of cold, innocence and youth were the blankets that sheltered him from any realities more complex than childish wants and needs. And, as it were, it was one of those primal needs that the tom awoke to, the soft pangs of hunger shaking him from slumber, the sunshine glinting through the nursery den drawing away his drowsiness. Blinking open a pair of golden eyes, he scanned the world around him. Most were still asleep, but the fading of dawn meant that would change very soon. Still, he was careful to quietly and carefully pull himself away from the rest of his siblings that were still asleep, leaving their warmth and turning to the exit to see if he could bring something back to eat.