🌌Psychic type: What is your muses most cherished memory? How often do they think about it?
If only they didn't kick him out when he was so young. With barely anything to his name other than a make shift fishing pole. The things he wore and the hopes and dreams that he will live a peaceful life.
Big wanted this with his family, his clan. But it seemed as if they didn't think the same way as he did.
It was a few days, after he was pushed out. The ever growing feline was shivering slightly under the make shift shelter that he made. Put together in haste, before attempts were made to fortify it, with skills that were being taught and gained through learning. A croak seemed to sound out near the almost finished wall in the back of the three sided little tent he had.
As if to call out and ask if he was alright. Directed to a better place to stay, more dry. So he could at least hone his skills before staying out in the wild, near the river like this.
The light was almost killed in those pale yellow little eyes of his. But when they landed on the young frog that was croaking at him. Yet somehow, he was able to understand what he was saying. They seemed to take back some sort of happiness. Some sort of light sparking back into his big heart.
"T-thank you, please. I don't know how I'll ever repay you friend." Voice finally croaking out a reply. Features showing signs of slight worry that the little frog would demand a payment that the feline couldn't pay back. Only to be put at east by a simple:
"Just survive with me, my friend. And that is the only repayment I need."











