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Description

i apologise in advance for description literature submission

not counting acorns for the kit in the photo as it is not only a 'flashback' depiction, but a design that was never truly official in the first place (pre-dreamsurge sparrow); true otter palette prompt

1391 words

Kestrel idly wanders the attic, taking care not to disturb the thick layer of dust that coats everything without reason. His mothers don’t tend to come up here all that often, so he effectively gets free reign to explore the otherwise largely untouched room. Granted, the feathered kit hasn’t exactly told them he’s been doing this… but why would he have to? Kestrel lives here too, after all. Why shouldn’t he be able to explore the house’s nooks and crannies? If his mothers didn’t want him poking through weird corners of the house, they’d surely have told him not to do that by now. Of course, it does benefit the small kit to assume his parents would be fine with his exploring… This house definitely has secrets, and he wants nothing more than to uncover them.

He’s pretty sure they’re not big secrets, if he’s honest with himself. But Kestrel’s convinced another kit lived here before him. He’s found height markers carved into the back door, hastily done away with by his lune. He’s found old toys, half buried in the garden. But most notably, he’s found a small, cinnamon coloured feather hidden away deep beneath his bed. Probably just a family before his, but he’d still like to know about that family! He’s considered asking his mothers about it… but it feels so much more exciting to have a mystery to solve by himself! Besides, they don’t seem to know anything about whoever it might’ve been. Wouldn’t they have said something by now if they did? With a small grunt, he hops on top of and over a dusty trunk, trying to see if he can find the latch. His efforts are rewarded, as there is in fact a latch on the other side; wishing he had thumbs like his mothers do, he scrabbles at it for a few seconds, before it pops open with a satisfying click.

He rears up as he pushes the lid open, before keenly sitting back on his haunches to see what’s inside. And what a treasure trove he’s found! It’s mostly books, with a couple of kit’s toys he’s never seen before thrown in. Kestrel frowns as he gently picks one up, a small carved and painted wooden dynabyx. That… doesn’t add up for a different family having lived here before his own. Would they really have forgotten a whole trunk of their stuff? Could it be one of his mothers’ collections…? Neither of them really strikes him as being into collecting toys, though. Maybe his sol, if either of them at all. Carefully, he sets the dynabyx aside, and reaches instead for a thick-paged book; his feathered ears wiggle with newfound excitement when he reads the words ‘photo album’ on its front cover. Photos will be amazing evidence! Excited, Kestrel sets the photo album down on the ground, and opens it to the first page.

But he can only tilt his head with confusion when he sees what’s inside. It’s… pictures of his mothers, although they seem much younger in these photos than he can remember them being. They must be from quite a while before he hatched. Slightly disappointed, he starts flipping through the pages. Guess this trunk’s not from the last family after all. Still, it’s interesting to see what life was like for his parents before he turned up, if nothing else. Although, something about one of the pictures grabs his attention… It's his lune holding an egg. The usually stoic grey folk looks so happy in this picture… but Kestrel has seen pictures of his egg before. This isn’t it. This egg is mostly solid in colour, dark brown with the occasional lighter brown or near black blotch. His egg had featured a lot more light brown. Suddenly filled with unease, Kestrel begins flicking faster through the pages; he doesn’t know exactly what he’s looking for, but he knows there’s something to be found here. Seeing a flash of a pelt colour similar to his own, he quickly stops on that page, only to let out a squeak of shock.
On this page is a photo of a kit he’s never seen before, one that looks exactly like they could have come from the egg his lune had held in the photo before.

They’re playing in the same garden Kestrel has spent so many days playing in himself, but perhaps an older version of it. Something in his gut twists as he counts the similarities between himself and this kit. Same phylakardia. Their pelt is almost completely coloured the same dark brown that trails down his back and arms. Their dark grey toes are just like his, too… Slowly, he reads the caption, written in his sol’s large and looped handwriting, as he tries his best to ignore his now spinning head.

'Our darling Sparrow, playing in the garden! She’s gotten so good at tending the plants; I wouldn’t be shocked if she’d make a fine chloromancer when her phylakardia sinks in!’

Their darling. Why hasn’t Kestrel met their so-called darling? Wouldn’t this be… his sister? Alarm bells begin to go off in his head. He was told he was an only child! Who in Azalhai’s name is Sparrow?! And… What had happened to her? He looks back on how quick his lune had been to get rid of all traces of the height markers he’d found. Remnants of a family who’d lived here before his own? Or remnants of a sibling his parents are determined to hide? But why would they do that? He remembers the tiny feather he’d found in his room. He doesn’t think that it belonged to this Sparrow… She had no feathers at all in that picture. But he knows how fast a folk can change, and at the Den he’s heard countless rumours of kits who’d just… entirely changed overnight. That could explain the small feather-

“Kestrel! Dinner’s ready!”

The small kit is abruptly brought out of his train of thought by his sol calling him from downstairs. He slams the book shut, and scrambles to shove it and the tiny dynabyx beneath a few nearby rolls of fabric; the dust kicked up by the sudden motion makes him cough. He’ll come back for them later, that’s for certain. As he splutters, Kestrel quickly rears up to close the trunk back up, fumbling with the metal latch in an attempt to leave things mostly as he found them. Once he’s pretty sure that at a glance, you wouldn’t guess he’s been snooping, he races back downstairs. Pattering down the attic stairs, he now chooses to call back to his mother.

“Coming- oh!”

He comes to an abrupt halt as he nearly runs right into his lune’s long legs, the lanky folk letting out a little ‘brrpt’ of surprise.
“Sorry, mum!” Kestrel says, putting on an energetic facade, even though all he can think of is that picture of her holding that egg- Sparrow’s egg. His lune looks over him with her scarlet eyes, and then at the attic steps.
“Dear, were you playing in the attic? You’re all covered in dust.” she states quite plainly.
Kestrel shuffles his feathered feet. “Uh… yeah, I guess I was.”
His lune clicks her tongue, before kneeling down to dust him off with one of her vast, feathered wings. “You guess? You either were or you weren’t, Kestrel.”

An indignant look on his face, Kestrel finds a space in between his mother’s feathery attack and his own coughing in reaction to the brand new dust clouds to answer her. “I was…”
Seemingly satisfied with her son’s new dustless state, his lune finally relents. “Well… I think it’d be best if we cleaned up there before you go playing there again. Can’t have you getting all dusty all the time, hm?”
She ruffles his head fur lightly, before getting back to her feet. “Come on, time for dinner.”
The grey folk beckons him to follow with a small wave of her clawed hand… but Kestrel notices her feathers are standing on end. If his parents get to cleaning out the attic before he can thoroughly search it, all traces of Sparrow will be gone before he can dream of getting his answers, he can just tell.

If he wants to find her, Kestrel will have to act fast.

9/503 acorns
Tracker: docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d…

Description

i apologise in advance for description literature submission

not counting acorns for the kit in the photo as it is not only a 'flashback' depiction, but a design that was never truly official in the first place (pre-dreamsurge sparrow); true otter palette prompt

1391 words

Kestrel idly wanders the attic, taking care not to disturb the thick layer of dust that coats everything without reason. His mothers don’t tend to come up here all that often, so he effectively gets free reign to explore the otherwise largely untouched room. Granted, the feathered kit hasn’t exactly told them he’s been doing this… but why would he have to? Kestrel lives here too, after all. Why shouldn’t he be able to explore the house’s nooks and crannies? If his mothers didn’t want him poking through weird corners of the house, they’d surely have told him not to do that by now. Of course, it does benefit the small kit to assume his parents would be fine with his exploring… This house definitely has secrets, and he wants nothing more than to uncover them.

He’s pretty sure they’re not big secrets, if he’s honest with himself. But Kestrel’s convinced another kit lived here before him. He’s found height markers carved into the back door, hastily done away with by his lune. He’s found old toys, half buried in the garden. But most notably, he’s found a small, cinnamon coloured feather hidden away deep beneath his bed. Probably just a family before his, but he’d still like to know about that family! He’s considered asking his mothers about it… but it feels so much more exciting to have a mystery to solve by himself! Besides, they don’t seem to know anything about whoever it might’ve been. Wouldn’t they have said something by now if they did? With a small grunt, he hops on top of and over a dusty trunk, trying to see if he can find the latch. His efforts are rewarded, as there is in fact a latch on the other side; wishing he had thumbs like his mothers do, he scrabbles at it for a few seconds, before it pops open with a satisfying click.

He rears up as he pushes the lid open, before keenly sitting back on his haunches to see what’s inside. And what a treasure trove he’s found! It’s mostly books, with a couple of kit’s toys he’s never seen before thrown in. Kestrel frowns as he gently picks one up, a small carved and painted wooden dynabyx. That… doesn’t add up for a different family having lived here before his own. Would they really have forgotten a whole trunk of their stuff? Could it be one of his mothers’ collections…? Neither of them really strikes him as being into collecting toys, though. Maybe his sol, if either of them at all. Carefully, he sets the dynabyx aside, and reaches instead for a thick-paged book; his feathered ears wiggle with newfound excitement when he reads the words ‘photo album’ on its front cover. Photos will be amazing evidence! Excited, Kestrel sets the photo album down on the ground, and opens it to the first page.

But he can only tilt his head with confusion when he sees what’s inside. It’s… pictures of his mothers, although they seem much younger in these photos than he can remember them being. They must be from quite a while before he hatched. Slightly disappointed, he starts flipping through the pages. Guess this trunk’s not from the last family after all. Still, it’s interesting to see what life was like for his parents before he turned up, if nothing else. Although, something about one of the pictures grabs his attention… It's his lune holding an egg. The usually stoic grey folk looks so happy in this picture… but Kestrel has seen pictures of his egg before. This isn’t it. This egg is mostly solid in colour, dark brown with the occasional lighter brown or near black blotch. His egg had featured a lot more light brown. Suddenly filled with unease, Kestrel begins flicking faster through the pages; he doesn’t know exactly what he’s looking for, but he knows there’s something to be found here. Seeing a flash of a pelt colour similar to his own, he quickly stops on that page, only to let out a squeak of shock.
On this page is a photo of a kit he’s never seen before, one that looks exactly like they could have come from the egg his lune had held in the photo before.

They’re playing in the same garden Kestrel has spent so many days playing in himself, but perhaps an older version of it. Something in his gut twists as he counts the similarities between himself and this kit. Same phylakardia. Their pelt is almost completely coloured the same dark brown that trails down his back and arms. Their dark grey toes are just like his, too… Slowly, he reads the caption, written in his sol’s large and looped handwriting, as he tries his best to ignore his now spinning head.

'Our darling Sparrow, playing in the garden! She’s gotten so good at tending the plants; I wouldn’t be shocked if she’d make a fine chloromancer when her phylakardia sinks in!’

Their darling. Why hasn’t Kestrel met their so-called darling? Wouldn’t this be… his sister? Alarm bells begin to go off in his head. He was told he was an only child! Who in Azalhai’s name is Sparrow?! And… What had happened to her? He looks back on how quick his lune had been to get rid of all traces of the height markers he’d found. Remnants of a family who’d lived here before his own? Or remnants of a sibling his parents are determined to hide? But why would they do that? He remembers the tiny feather he’d found in his room. He doesn’t think that it belonged to this Sparrow… She had no feathers at all in that picture. But he knows how fast a folk can change, and at the Den he’s heard countless rumours of kits who’d just… entirely changed overnight. That could explain the small feather-

“Kestrel! Dinner’s ready!”

The small kit is abruptly brought out of his train of thought by his sol calling him from downstairs. He slams the book shut, and scrambles to shove it and the tiny dynabyx beneath a few nearby rolls of fabric; the dust kicked up by the sudden motion makes him cough. He’ll come back for them later, that’s for certain. As he splutters, Kestrel quickly rears up to close the trunk back up, fumbling with the metal latch in an attempt to leave things mostly as he found them. Once he’s pretty sure that at a glance, you wouldn’t guess he’s been snooping, he races back downstairs. Pattering down the attic stairs, he now chooses to call back to his mother.

“Coming- oh!”

He comes to an abrupt halt as he nearly runs right into his lune’s long legs, the lanky folk letting out a little ‘brrpt’ of surprise.
“Sorry, mum!” Kestrel says, putting on an energetic facade, even though all he can think of is that picture of her holding that egg- Sparrow’s egg. His lune looks over him with her scarlet eyes, and then at the attic steps.
“Dear, were you playing in the attic? You’re all covered in dust.” she states quite plainly.
Kestrel shuffles his feathered feet. “Uh… yeah, I guess I was.”
His lune clicks her tongue, before kneeling down to dust him off with one of her vast, feathered wings. “You guess? You either were or you weren’t, Kestrel.”

An indignant look on his face, Kestrel finds a space in between his mother’s feathery attack and his own coughing in reaction to the brand new dust clouds to answer her. “I was…”
Seemingly satisfied with her son’s new dustless state, his lune finally relents. “Well… I think it’d be best if we cleaned up there before you go playing there again. Can’t have you getting all dusty all the time, hm?”
She ruffles his head fur lightly, before getting back to her feet. “Come on, time for dinner.”
The grey folk beckons him to follow with a small wave of her clawed hand… but Kestrel notices her feathers are standing on end. If his parents get to cleaning out the attic before he can thoroughly search it, all traces of Sparrow will be gone before he can dream of getting his answers, he can just tell.

If he wants to find her, Kestrel will have to act fast.

9/503 acorns
Tracker: docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d…