Surge: Chapter One
Disclaimer: I apologise in advance for any spelling/grammar - this is an entirely unedited Work In Progress and therefore my dyslexia will be on full display. ^_^; If I publish this, I'll get it edited, but for now, enjoy the rough draft - let's have fun!
A child need only envision a thought for it to become real to them.
Light glossed over a round bed and the tiny curled up figure therein. Loose blankets had been tossed aside as twin tails flicked back and forth. Little pointed ears twitched. Tyrin was lost in a dream. He yowled in fright, breaking free of the icy claws of slumber. His chest ached from harsh, rough breathing. Perspiration dampened grey fur. Tyrin wiped cheeks with a paw, shivering at the air from the doors, open to the balcony. He frowned. He could not recall opening the large doors that evening, and everyone in the fortress knew of his dislike of the howling desert winds that could rip in sudden waves at night without warning. Crawling from the bed he padded across the floor, daring to peer out onto the balcony. White curtains fluttered in the warm breeze, turning silver in the hue of the broken moon’s gaze as its fragmented shape crested the tips of the distant mountain ranges, painted with a dusting of snow. Night decorated the lands of his Pride in glittering jewels, with the constellation of Pantanora swirling in the sky beyond the Moons, Dathron and Kapaella. The Tyrin Pyramids, after which he was named, shone like enormous crowning diamonds in the far distance, surrounded by the climbing metropolises of Yin.
Something was calling to him, beyond the flatlands of the shipyards, out across the expanses of space. The pull of a deep yearning, to be with the one who shared his dreams. His ears pinned back, and he turned quickly from the view, trembling at the intense swell of cold besetting his body as though he was being frozen from the inside, despite the warm desert air of the north. With both tails balancing him on his foot-claws he awkwardly dashed out of his chamber and down the corridors of the fortress, passing the marble statues of his forebears, huge in their luxury, until he reached the southern chambers.
His raw mind, infused with the craft he had been born with, sensed the sleep of his bloods. Their familiar tones were easily extinguishable from the other members of the large household of the Empathic and Telepathic Pride. Curling his claws around the heavy wooden door handle he shoved it open and peered into the silver glow.
Across the large chamber the circular bed looked small amongst the enormity of the pillars holding up the high ceiling. His kalathra and falathra rested therein, though he could not see them, their mind-waves displaced his own with a deep urge to slumber. His legs wobbled. Tyrin shook off the sensation and dared to creep closer, until, with a quick burst of energy, he dropped to all fours and scampered to the edge of the bed. He was so cold, bitterly frozen, and he needed their warmth and comfort, though like so many nights before, he knew even their powerful minds would not disperse the ice within his veins.