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Description
~we can wipe you out anytime, we can wipe you out, anytime, anytime.~

Tattered being perturbed by his vision.

WORD COUNT:
560 words.

Awoken with a start and heaving for breath, Tattered had not slept well, rather, a dream came to him, a dream in which its formation resembled that of a vision.
There came rending of sinew and flesh, rivulets of blood and the eyes of the black rabbit boring into his wide-eyed gaze of dismay with a focalized stare glinting with acute damnation and dooming that rattled his core. However, that was the least of it, for, he saw Campion, tortured at the claws of other rabbits, warranting of pity, almost, observing as Rory-
Where was Rory? The thought jostled Tattered. No, Rory certainly was amongst the others, he needed to be, Tattered swore for his sanity's sake that Rory's fate did follow what his dream unraveled.

What had befallen Rory within the confines of his dream seemed so utterly peculiar in its specifics, that he could recall the rabbit that maimed the poor, miserly muddypaw.
Or, it seemed as such, for Tattered knew if ever he would recognize a rabbit from afar, this rabbit, in particular, would be among those ranks.
A buck, large, with ruffled fur and ears with nicks in them- a formidable buck, one whose very form unfurled unspoken terror.
Chief rabbit, an utterance resounded in his head, one who ruled without the trickling of mercy.

Words within his nightmare distorted, so much that he could not take grasp of them, regardless of how he tried in desperation.
Could it be the reality of their dire ordeal he foresaw or was it merely the lack of eve's silflay? One going hungry at night could succumb to strange dreams, all in all, even a nightmare as potent in despair and absolute suffering as his.

Trembling dissipating in his body, Tattered remembered the message he spread amongst the warren and had heaved himself up until his paws brought him to the serenity of the fields, where he stood now.
When ambling through the fields, Tattered had shouldered grave ruminations within his mind and a tension tightening like a knot in his belly.
Moreover, despite holding expectations of being alone so early in the morn, he had run into Wooly, whom, he carried a conversation with, a private exchange, before taking notice of how time flew with such ease.

Of course, rabbits would begin to gather soon, and thus, Tattered clambered atop a rock, lifting himself with his back legs as he did so he stood tall, frayed ears flicking in anticipation of the approach of his warren-mates. Any large gathering of rabbits could entice elil, yet, the fields had made themselves out to be a haven of sorts. Fear not any elil here, the fields seemed to beckon.
With his hind feet, he thumped in signal for any rabbit that might be having silflay or loitering in the field to come forth.

Whether or not the other rabbits would heed his words, Tattered knew not, only that he deemed it necessary to share what he saw, and furthermore, spill out an idea that bloomed and nagged like a badgering nat.
Regardless of the outcome with his warren-mates, today, Tattered determined he would find out if his vision's sung sickening truth, and if they did, gravity was sure to hold him down for the implications of having visions meant one thing; the becoming of being a seer.

Description
~we can wipe you out anytime, we can wipe you out, anytime, anytime.~

Tattered being perturbed by his vision.

WORD COUNT:
560 words.

Awoken with a start and heaving for breath, Tattered had not slept well, rather, a dream came to him, a dream in which its formation resembled that of a vision.
There came rending of sinew and flesh, rivulets of blood and the eyes of the black rabbit boring into his wide-eyed gaze of dismay with a focalized stare glinting with acute damnation and dooming that rattled his core. However, that was the least of it, for, he saw Campion, tortured at the claws of other rabbits, warranting of pity, almost, observing as Rory-
Where was Rory? The thought jostled Tattered. No, Rory certainly was amongst the others, he needed to be, Tattered swore for his sanity's sake that Rory's fate did follow what his dream unraveled.

What had befallen Rory within the confines of his dream seemed so utterly peculiar in its specifics, that he could recall the rabbit that maimed the poor, miserly muddypaw.
Or, it seemed as such, for Tattered knew if ever he would recognize a rabbit from afar, this rabbit, in particular, would be among those ranks.
A buck, large, with ruffled fur and ears with nicks in them- a formidable buck, one whose very form unfurled unspoken terror.
Chief rabbit, an utterance resounded in his head, one who ruled without the trickling of mercy.

Words within his nightmare distorted, so much that he could not take grasp of them, regardless of how he tried in desperation.
Could it be the reality of their dire ordeal he foresaw or was it merely the lack of eve's silflay? One going hungry at night could succumb to strange dreams, all in all, even a nightmare as potent in despair and absolute suffering as his.

Trembling dissipating in his body, Tattered remembered the message he spread amongst the warren and had heaved himself up until his paws brought him to the serenity of the fields, where he stood now.
When ambling through the fields, Tattered had shouldered grave ruminations within his mind and a tension tightening like a knot in his belly.
Moreover, despite holding expectations of being alone so early in the morn, he had run into Wooly, whom, he carried a conversation with, a private exchange, before taking notice of how time flew with such ease.

Of course, rabbits would begin to gather soon, and thus, Tattered clambered atop a rock, lifting himself with his back legs as he did so he stood tall, frayed ears flicking in anticipation of the approach of his warren-mates. Any large gathering of rabbits could entice elil, yet, the fields had made themselves out to be a haven of sorts. Fear not any elil here, the fields seemed to beckon.
With his hind feet, he thumped in signal for any rabbit that might be having silflay or loitering in the field to come forth.

Whether or not the other rabbits would heed his words, Tattered knew not, only that he deemed it necessary to share what he saw, and furthermore, spill out an idea that bloomed and nagged like a badgering nat.
Regardless of the outcome with his warren-mates, today, Tattered determined he would find out if his vision's sung sickening truth, and if they did, gravity was sure to hold him down for the implications of having visions meant one thing; the becoming of being a seer.