King // piperkit srp/art

Instructions

wow mac you did this just for weekly quests? yes. *·✶·₊ The King ₊ ·✶·* Piperkit strolled under the willow tree, his head held high. He was a good cat. No, he was great. Piperkit the great. That sounded fancy to him. He grinned as he climbed up the tall trunk of the willow tree. Pip stared down from his high vantage point. He could see almost the entire cat. One day, he could rule over the territory. Just like his ma. Morningrise was the deputy. He was proud of that. No, something whispered in the back of his mind. Becoming the leader would mean becoming the deputy first. "Shut. Up." he mumbled to himself. Perched upon a branch, he swept his tail forward. Clovers were scattered throughout his tail. Pretty, but boring. He could do better. He was a prince after all. Prince, that sounded nice to him. That meant he'd be a king one day. A king. Someone who was respected. That would be him. He climbed carefully back down to the ground. Pip was disappointed he couldn't see as far from the ground, but knew he'd return. She'd have to d!e, you idiot, just like Nightingale, the voice said. "Stop it." he mumbled again. He picked yellow flowers, holding them delicately in his mouth. He picked about a dozen, all perfectly yellow. He set them down on a large rock. CRUSH. His claws ripped through the perfect flowers. The flowers could have been used as a perfectly good accessory. He didn't care. ... ... He did. .. . He continued crushing the flowers until it formed a bright yellow paste. He poured water from a leaf onto the paste, making it into a dye. Nightingale's d3ad, the voice screamed. "SHUT UP!!" he screamed back. ... ... ... He dipped the clovers into the dye, making sure they were fully saturated. The dyed clovers were just like the ones Reveriecrown had, except yellow instead of indigo. Much more his style. He took the dyed clovers and let them dry in the sun for a little bit. Silence. Waiting. He hated those two things. He checked the clovers to see if they had dried. Ever so slightly damp. Good enough. He wove the clovers together, creating a crown. He placed two small flowers at the top of the crown. An orange one and a cyan one. The color of his brothers eyes. Though he had cyan eyes as well. ... ... ... The voice that had yelled at him was his own, wasn't it? ... .. . He placed the crown atop his head, delicately positioning it. He looked into a puddle, making sure it looked perfect. A crown fit for a king. He climbed back up the willow tree, sitting on the highest branch this time. He was a king. He was a king, despite drowning in grief. A king. ₊ ·✶·* end! *·✶·₊