Marspaw strides purposefully through the SkyClan territory, his fiery gaze scanning the undergrowth with determination. Frost crunches under his paws with each step, and he scowls at the white sheen coating every fallen leaf and blade of grass. As much as he despises this freezing grip on the earth, he's out here for a reason. Pallasheart suggested it might be helpful if he learned to recognize some basic herbs—especially with leaf-bare creeping in. He wasn't thrilled by the idea at first. Digging through roots and leaves doesn't seem like it would match his natural energy, but he understands the necessity. SkyClan can't afford to be caught off guard if illness strikes, so he's determined to prove he can do this, frost or no frost.
After nearly a half-hour of searching, though, his confidence begins to waver. Every spot he investigates seems to be barren, only offering dried stems or wilted remnants of plants that once flourished. Marspaw growls under his breath. The territory must've had something here before—how can it all just be…gone? The memory of green leaves and vibrant flowers from warmer seasons flashes in his mind, and he mutters irritably to himself, frustrated that nature could wither so completely just because of a cold snap. He digs his paws into the hard ground near an ancient oak, hoping to unearth even a single surviving sprig of thyme or chamomile. But all he gets for his trouble is a clump of frozen dirt and a flash of cold wind that stings his nose. His frustration bubbles over. "If you're hiding something useful, now would be the time to show yourself!" he calls into the empty air, his voice echoing slightly. It's half a joke, half a plea, and he flicks his tail in exasperation. He knows he's venting to nothing but trees and frost-covered stones, but it makes him feel better to voice his irritation. He paces around in a circle, his tail lashing with the rising heat of his impatience, his breath puffing in little white clouds in the crisp morning air.
Marspaw finally slumps against a frostbitten bush, exhaling a huff as he gives the empty surroundings a disdainful look. He considers giving up, but the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Giving up isn't an option, not for him. The drive within him, that spark of energy and pride that defines him, won't let him back down. Even if the earth has nothing to give him, he'll at least leave knowing he gave his best. "Fine, you win," he mutters to the frost-bitten landscape, narrowing his eyes as if daring it to prove him wrong.
[ rolled a 6 </3 ]
After nearly a half-hour of searching, though, his confidence begins to waver. Every spot he investigates seems to be barren, only offering dried stems or wilted remnants of plants that once flourished. Marspaw growls under his breath. The territory must've had something here before—how can it all just be…gone? The memory of green leaves and vibrant flowers from warmer seasons flashes in his mind, and he mutters irritably to himself, frustrated that nature could wither so completely just because of a cold snap. He digs his paws into the hard ground near an ancient oak, hoping to unearth even a single surviving sprig of thyme or chamomile. But all he gets for his trouble is a clump of frozen dirt and a flash of cold wind that stings his nose. His frustration bubbles over. "If you're hiding something useful, now would be the time to show yourself!" he calls into the empty air, his voice echoing slightly. It's half a joke, half a plea, and he flicks his tail in exasperation. He knows he's venting to nothing but trees and frost-covered stones, but it makes him feel better to voice his irritation. He paces around in a circle, his tail lashing with the rising heat of his impatience, his breath puffing in little white clouds in the crisp morning air.
Marspaw finally slumps against a frostbitten bush, exhaling a huff as he gives the empty surroundings a disdainful look. He considers giving up, but the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Giving up isn't an option, not for him. The drive within him, that spark of energy and pride that defines him, won't let him back down. Even if the earth has nothing to give him, he'll at least leave knowing he gave his best. "Fine, you win," he mutters to the frost-bitten landscape, narrowing his eyes as if daring it to prove him wrong.
[ rolled a 6 </3 ]
