- Sep 11, 2022
- 52
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➵ Clearsight's so glad to finally get out.
It's been a rough couple of months since his injury. Recovery had been long and arduous, his mind quite literally rattled by the twoleg hound's attack.
In all his moons, he could not remember feeling so helpless. Dragged back to camp between Smokethroat and Coast, unable to even walk upright, slurring every word—and then bound to the medicine den for weeks, Gillpaw temporarily reassigned to another mentor. No patrols, no hunting, not even sunlight permitted, that his head might heal. Just another cat fallen victim to a long string of violence, bloodthirsty twolegs running amok. Walled off, even, from his Clayfur—the time spent with his other half reduced to visiting hours.
For a man so used to his own unstoppable strength, it was frustrating to be so thoroughly stopped.
But the threat's long gone now, and Clearsight has returned to the land of the living. It's a joy and a relief—free to roam the territory again, to spend as much time as he likes with his clanmates. To hunt for them again.
Long, sleek blue fur glistens, midmorning light illuminating stray droplets that cling to his coat. He steps through the camp entrance, a hefty trout held firmly in his jaws, and drops it onto the fresh-kill pile, then picks a sandy spot to sit and groom.
"Morning," he murmurs to a clanmate sitting nearby, golden eyes warm and kind. "How's the day treating you?"
& we've all got battle scars ✗