- Jun 7, 2022
- 418
- 150
- 43
[[ warning for mentions of vomit ]]
The days are growing shorter, the air is getting colder, and the clan is… about the same as ever, actually. Buckgait is the deputy now—which, whoa. That’s an awesome thing, but the she-cat didn’t even seem excited about it when Cicadastar had announced it. Clay hadn’t really expected her to, like, jump and scream or anything, but she’d been so… stoic. It’s unsettling, but that’s just how she and Cicada both are. Just a couple of weird people leading a clan. But there’s no one else more suited for the job, he thinks.
As it begins to grow colder, the twinge in his hip has become more pronounced—not enough to hamper his daily activities, but enough to let him know that it’s there. Must have pulled something, he thinks, because he can’t think of anytime that he’d banged his hip super hard on something, or otherwise injured himself. It’s probably not a huge deal or anything. But his hip’s mild protesting does hamper his daily walk around the territory, which kind of sucks, honestly. It’s working, he’s starting to get some actual muscles, there’s no way he’s stopping now!
He’s on his daily walk when he spots a pretty flower, all red with a black center. He recalls Cicadastar, and how the leader had said that the dried flowers he’d collected might be the last until it starts to get warm again. Maybe he’d be happy if Clay brought him a flower, one more before the cold truly sets in. So the brown tabby plucks the flower and sets off back toward camp, chewing gently at the stem of it.
He’s halfway back to camp by the time he realizes that he’s escalated from chewing, and has been biting the flower’s stem. It tastes good, what can he say? And it gives him something to do while he walks. Maybe Cicada can do without one flower today—or maybe Clay can find another for him tomorrow. He crunches down with purpose, chewing at the stem until the flower is also in his mouth, then he chews that as well. Swallows it. It tastes… well, not half-bad, actually.
He’s almost all the way back to camp, crossing the river, when his stomach turns, and he feels suddenly nauseous. Shit.
When he finally stumbles back into camp after emptying his stomach into the river, Clayfur slumps into a sitting position beside the warrior’s den, looking up at the first cat he sees. "Hey? Sorry. I threw up. I don’t feel very good." He coughs once, and one last petal falls from his mouth. He stares down at it, and suddenly realizes why he got sick. I knew that fish I had this morning was rotten!
The days are growing shorter, the air is getting colder, and the clan is… about the same as ever, actually. Buckgait is the deputy now—which, whoa. That’s an awesome thing, but the she-cat didn’t even seem excited about it when Cicadastar had announced it. Clay hadn’t really expected her to, like, jump and scream or anything, but she’d been so… stoic. It’s unsettling, but that’s just how she and Cicada both are. Just a couple of weird people leading a clan. But there’s no one else more suited for the job, he thinks.
As it begins to grow colder, the twinge in his hip has become more pronounced—not enough to hamper his daily activities, but enough to let him know that it’s there. Must have pulled something, he thinks, because he can’t think of anytime that he’d banged his hip super hard on something, or otherwise injured himself. It’s probably not a huge deal or anything. But his hip’s mild protesting does hamper his daily walk around the territory, which kind of sucks, honestly. It’s working, he’s starting to get some actual muscles, there’s no way he’s stopping now!
He’s on his daily walk when he spots a pretty flower, all red with a black center. He recalls Cicadastar, and how the leader had said that the dried flowers he’d collected might be the last until it starts to get warm again. Maybe he’d be happy if Clay brought him a flower, one more before the cold truly sets in. So the brown tabby plucks the flower and sets off back toward camp, chewing gently at the stem of it.
He’s halfway back to camp by the time he realizes that he’s escalated from chewing, and has been biting the flower’s stem. It tastes good, what can he say? And it gives him something to do while he walks. Maybe Cicada can do without one flower today—or maybe Clay can find another for him tomorrow. He crunches down with purpose, chewing at the stem until the flower is also in his mouth, then he chews that as well. Swallows it. It tastes… well, not half-bad, actually.
He’s almost all the way back to camp, crossing the river, when his stomach turns, and he feels suddenly nauseous. Shit.
When he finally stumbles back into camp after emptying his stomach into the river, Clayfur slumps into a sitting position beside the warrior’s den, looking up at the first cat he sees. "Hey? Sorry. I threw up. I don’t feel very good." He coughs once, and one last petal falls from his mouth. He stares down at it, and suddenly realizes why he got sick. I knew that fish I had this morning was rotten!
[ WHAT'S MY AGE AGAIN? ]
