- Jun 29, 2022
- 15
- 34
- 13
ThunderClan, of all five Clans, has the least to celebrate during this rare snap of warm weather, but in true fashion, they make the most of it. Flamestar calls her Clan together, urging the to keep their heads held high, their spirits strong, for ThunderClan will always remain. The warriors do their best to bring in enough fresh-kill for the feast, and their efforts pay off; every cat has enough, and even the injured cats pull themselves from Gentlestorm's den to mingle with their Clanmates.
Gentlestorm himself is not far from his patients, tired gaze settling on their poultice-smeared pelts. His Clan is suffering, and he bears that weight as heavily as Flamestar does. He has Hopepaw, now, to aid him, but she is still young and has much to learn; their herb stocks, so full from greenleaf and leaf-fall, have dwindled within the span of a single night. He must be hoping this celebration is a sign of better things to come...
But something twirls from the sky, a fragment of the clouds. It almost burns when it touches his nose, and as it melts, he's greeted with vivid, colorful imagery he cannot look away from. Gentlestorm sees Leafhusk, her pale tawny fur crusted with snow and blood, facing a fox whose body is hollow with hunger; he sees Sunshinespot, his eyes rheumy with illness, his breath barely a wheeze as he struggles to sustain not only himself, but the kittens in his belly; he sees Wolfpaw, golden fur sodden and cold, limp in his nest of moss, his ribs protruding from his coat.
The vision fades as soon as it had come. Gentlestorm is left with the aftermath as the festivities continue around him.
@GENTLESTORM
Gentlestorm himself is not far from his patients, tired gaze settling on their poultice-smeared pelts. His Clan is suffering, and he bears that weight as heavily as Flamestar does. He has Hopepaw, now, to aid him, but she is still young and has much to learn; their herb stocks, so full from greenleaf and leaf-fall, have dwindled within the span of a single night. He must be hoping this celebration is a sign of better things to come...
But something twirls from the sky, a fragment of the clouds. It almost burns when it touches his nose, and as it melts, he's greeted with vivid, colorful imagery he cannot look away from. Gentlestorm sees Leafhusk, her pale tawny fur crusted with snow and blood, facing a fox whose body is hollow with hunger; he sees Sunshinespot, his eyes rheumy with illness, his breath barely a wheeze as he struggles to sustain not only himself, but the kittens in his belly; he sees Wolfpaw, golden fur sodden and cold, limp in his nest of moss, his ribs protruding from his coat.
The vision fades as soon as it had come. Gentlestorm is left with the aftermath as the festivities continue around him.
@GENTLESTORM