- May 31, 2023
- 187
- 55
- 28
Wolfsong and Sunstride used to tell her stories of the mountains; the way they disappeared into the clouds; the way the snow was so deep it could swallow her whole. Now she stands upon them, able to take in the beauty of the craggy peaks and sparkling white frost. There's no denying that the mountains are beautiful. The air is colder, clearer; the sky is bluer; the terrain is unforgiving and so she feels all the more accomplished as she conquers it. Scorchpaw has a new appreciation for the sun-kissed toms back home. Maybe she can tell their kits about her trip through the peaks, each crag pointing up at StarClan as if waiting to snap its jaws on the heavens.
But Scorchpaw does not belong here. Her heart pulses with the blood of the moorlands itself– when she sleeps she feels the warm breeze in her fur; she sees the rolling golden fields. Her claws itch so terribly to swim through them again, cutting through the heather like sharks through currents. She carries the ache in her chest, and it spreads through her ribs, and then through her spine, and then through her blood until it consumes each inch of her. She's homesick.
The sun is barely peeking above the horizon now; the dawn sky is radically orange. As their makeshift camp stirs awake, Scorchpaw finds an itch in her claws that she can no longer ignore. Glancing around quickly, her bi-colored gaze settles on another WindClanner.
"Mouseflight," she calls, stalking to the tunneler with a demanding gleam in her eye, "let's race to that tree." With her tail, she gestures to a lone pine many fox-lengths away. "... Please?" They can figure out the prizes for winning later– all she knows right now is that she needs to run.
/ @Mouseflight
But Scorchpaw does not belong here. Her heart pulses with the blood of the moorlands itself– when she sleeps she feels the warm breeze in her fur; she sees the rolling golden fields. Her claws itch so terribly to swim through them again, cutting through the heather like sharks through currents. She carries the ache in her chest, and it spreads through her ribs, and then through her spine, and then through her blood until it consumes each inch of her. She's homesick.
The sun is barely peeking above the horizon now; the dawn sky is radically orange. As their makeshift camp stirs awake, Scorchpaw finds an itch in her claws that she can no longer ignore. Glancing around quickly, her bi-colored gaze settles on another WindClanner.
"Mouseflight," she calls, stalking to the tunneler with a demanding gleam in her eye, "let's race to that tree." With her tail, she gestures to a lone pine many fox-lengths away. "... Please?" They can figure out the prizes for winning later– all she knows right now is that she needs to run.
/ @Mouseflight
![4d5460.png](https://dummyimage.com/600x1/4d5460/4d5460.png)
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—scorchkit. scorchpaw
— she/they ; apprentice of windclan
— short-haired tortoiseshell she-cat with low white and orange/yellow eyes
— "speech" ; thoughts
— chibi by giinya, signature by raphaelion
— penned by meghan