Blastoise Fortooate
Geographical!
Snow was blowing all around Mark, swirling in eerie contrast with the darkness of the night. The Sneasel sped alongthrough the icy grove, his pale claws giving him traction on an otherwise treacherous surface. His ears, both feathered, were perked, straining for any sound that might give away his enemies' location.
His feathered ears. They were the reason that he had been flung from his home, simply because both of them had the bloodred feathers that adorned a Sneasel.
Mark was rather far north of his former home, running parallel to the Ghost territory. Mark was very alert for an ambush. He wasn't on their territory, but those Ghosts were a bit screwy. Who knew what they might do?
His feathered ears. They were the reason that he had been flung from his home, simply because both of them had the bloodred feathers that adorned a Sneasel.
Mark was rather far north of his former home, running parallel to the Ghost territory. Mark was very alert for an ambush. He wasn't on their territory, but those Ghosts were a bit screwy. Who knew what they might do?