[c] We can dance if we want to

[thorfriend]

[.between thor && slate.]
.we can dance if we want to,

we can leave these friends behind.

Trotting on through the woods, Thor was on a mission. Well, she wasn't. She never is, but she never took another path. It was a waste of time to chase around butterflies, to meander aimlessly like a little puppy widdling in the woods.

Somehow, though the cat hated to admit it, she felt she missed out on being a kitten. On being playful and not having the conscience to think about what time she was wasting, precious energy that lived off of hunting for and around for the next meal.

I suppose sunning myself counts. Maybe. The cat pondered, and ran down a ravine. She wanted to leave her insecurities in those paw prints she left in the mud, and climb up the hill and onlto flat, dry land without a worry, being free to be the thunderous Thor she knew she appeared as, but the feeling that she missed something was definately a ratty hole somewhere in her.

But no one will ever see that. It's none of their business, she thought bitterly, and kept on her trotting, quick pace. Lightning waits for no cat.

Climbing a nearby apple tree, she enjoyed the pleasure in digging her claws into the gnarled, textured bark and scaling her way up to the disfigured, painful-looking twists and turns of the top branches. She saw a little door open at the top of the barn, and took a well-judged leap into the cavity in the wall, and found herself in a cloud of dust and bits of hay. The smells of cats, both stale and recent, filled the air, as well as the musty smells of different hooved animals, and then-- aah, the smell she'd been looking for-- the underlying scent of mouse.

.because if they don't dance

.and if they don't dance.

then they're no friends of mine.

Thor walked down a weathered-looking ladder carefully, as awkward as it was for a being of her structure to manage the downwards climb. Hunting between hay stacks, she picked the softest one, and it was considerabley softer but still a bit prickly. Just like h-- well, that home, I suppose. she caught herself, and faced an open window, the breeze caressing her marked face and the setting sun's golden rays lighting up her coat, pupils being shrunk into little slits, and she eventually had to close her eyes to the sun, to the peace of jsut being in here, with the smell of hay and mouse.

It smells almost like.. that place. They had these big hoofed animals too. she admitted silently, calming down considerably.