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May I present you... the Bible! W.C.: nasty 1185!  Inside his mind, Attila was having a great fight, between his good side and his bad side. As he woke up in a very good mood, he was eager to do something different. The question was: What would he be doing of different? He didn't want something small. He wanted to do something big, something drastic, something... extreme. After lots of time thinking of what would it be, the little lamp lit up in his brain: Today, he would be... nice. Of course, the problem was to convince his bad side. That caused his mental fight. "That's it!!" he thought, sick of that silly fight. If he wanted, he'd get it! That was his lifestyle, and worked until now. No one would stop it now! His white long and strong legs stamped as he went out of the den. He looked around, looking for something that needed his... niceness. Nothing around, it seemed. Suddenly, he smelled a different aroma in the air. Something... "plant-ish"? That requested his attention. The pale boy forced a fast run to where the smell came. It didn't take long until he knew what it was. His nose took him to the planting fields. The corn, the potatoes, the tomatoes... they were -finally- sprouting. He tilted his head to that vision. Tiny colorful spots inked the green-and-brown striped background. It was a rather... beautiful scene. "Bah!", he thought, shaking that gooey-gooey thinkings. He'd rather leave those to Noir, she was better at this than he was. Then, his grayihs blue eyes landed in the barn besides the fields. Than a smile. Not his evil grin, but a contented smile. The Aston boy tried to recall the last time he smiled like that... no, it must be the first time. Odd. His legs, then, took him to the big structure -it might use some paint in the outter part, at least- that seemed still undone. Where was Dawali, with his oppositive thumbs, in moments like that?! Attila hadn't shifted yet, which meant he couldn't do much around here. He hated so much that belated shift. "Why?!", he always thought, while looking at his rounded white paw. His grayish white claws, his pinky pawpads, his four small fingers... and his lack of an oppositive thumb. Althought he couldn't make great things, he could do something. A quick look around screamed: "Nothing simple enough for you, thumbless brat!" Dissapointed, he walked very slowly around, exploring that already familiar place. He and his sisters had already came here, but not so frequently. Just enough to know the building. For the sake of his sanity -when he finally wants to be good, there is nothing for him to do!-, a miracle happened: a tool, broken -a shovel, without the steel blade-. It needed to be fixed. And it was an easy repair, even for him. A wider smile appeared in his face. "Yes!", he thought. He hopped to it, and sat heavily in the ground. It was easy! All hew needed to do was... to... just... Well, just... Well, It wasn't that easy as it seemed. It was just to place the hole of the metal in the wooden stick... He tried to hold it with the arm, hugging the stick, and trying to make it enter the hole in the metal -which should be where the stick goes-, but his body trembled with the weight of the stick, making it a hard task. After a while, the Aston boy just to stab around, hoping to hit the entrance at once. But he only hitted the ground and the metal, luckily not strong enough to smash it or mould it. Time passed and he grew frustated. More and more, until he couldn't hold it anymore: he hitted the metal blade very strongly, purposely, to relieve his stress. But it didn't happen as he planned. Instead of smashing it, the blade was threw by the strenght of the hit, and it hitted a wood board in the ceiling of the barn, shaking it and pulling whatever it was over it. The boy heard the hay pads falling down. An adrenaline shot did the work for him. His legs made him run away from the dangerously heavy material above his head. When he noticed everything was down, it was a relieve and a desaster. What have he done? He was supposed to be nice, not to mess things up! He such a jackass! The clumsy boy put a paw over his eye, rubbig it down very slowly, thinking to himself multiple times: "I'm screwed!" His sensible ears heard desperate pleas, from under the pounds and pounds of hay. It was his chance to make up with his mess and be... nice. If he saved the life of whatever was down there, maybe he wouldn't have a very hard punishment! He then quickly went to the great amount of hay, and started to dig it, throwing all the dry grass in the air, making an even bigger mess. He really didn't care, since he at least find what was asking for help. The cries got louder and less choky. He, somehow, knew that it was the cries of a bird. With one last push, he found the victim of his anger: a baby owl. It was very... ugly, but it was hurt. It looked at the young male with tortured eyes. A glance around, and the boy found his nest. "Poor thing...", he thought, than realized what he thought. "Did I really said that?!", he mouthed, thinking to himself. That was... no, not odd... no, not weird... it was... spooky! That one he was sure never saying before. It really didn't matter now. He needed help with that... thing! The most delicately he could, he grabbed the poor bird out the remaining of the hay, and placed him near a wooden crate. The owl wasn't going to stop screaming, and it was beggining to annoy him -he had never been much of fan of baby cry. The pale boy went after his nest. He rushed to put the baby back to his bed. It would probably help him to feel better. Noir always calmed down when she got Toefur back. It might work with owls too, right? The bird seemed to low its shouting, but there was no perspective for it to stop.
The boy needed to think: what would his mom do in such situation? She was a doctor, and would know what to do. But he was not, and he couldn't remember what she spoke about things like those... "Shoot!" he finally said, shouting in frustation. The nestling seemed to quiet down a bit, crying only time to time, probably with the pain. The boy couldn't think straight without imaginating what would happen if the baby don't get help quick enough... So many bad and irracional fears... It was like... the boy was getting bounded to the bird he met not minutes ago... Oh, that was being a horrible day. Attila could barely remember why he had started with that stupid idea of doing something... extreme! |
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