- Feb 8, 2023
- 74
- 39
- 18
Dawn settles on a new day, and the sky sure is an ugly one—metaphorically speaking, at least. It doesn't rain or anything like that, and as a matter of fact, the feathery clouds weave together in a rather pretty way. But it isn't a sky fit for Moorblossom.
The lissom warrior would rather a prolonged period of moonlit silence, so she may soak in the quiet without interruption. She isn't so sure she wants to awake on this day, in this scarily different world, but there is no helping it. She's awake already, isn't she? Sable-draped limbs rise in a languid stretch, sending her spine and tail into an arched ripple. Her sleek, short pelt pulls back, her features alight with worry and vague restlessness.
Change has seized WindClan by its scruff and flipped its foundation on its ugly rear. A seismic shift in the landscape that makes Moorblossom very unsure—of what she belongs to now, who she trusts, who she will go on to trust for seasons after this one. Her mother met a brutal end in the name of what's right, her brother, too. The prestige she once carried from being Sootstar and Weaselclaw's eldest has given way to this gripping notoriety. Moorblossom sighs, resigning herself to the fact normalcy is lost to WindClan, and maybe for seasons yet.
It's a lonely business waking up this early. As if she wasn't lonely enough as is. The young molly paces from her sleeping spot and off towards the fresh-kill pile with brisk steps, beside which she seats herself. Despite not having eaten in more than a day, her tummy doesn't so much as rumble.
The lissom warrior would rather a prolonged period of moonlit silence, so she may soak in the quiet without interruption. She isn't so sure she wants to awake on this day, in this scarily different world, but there is no helping it. She's awake already, isn't she? Sable-draped limbs rise in a languid stretch, sending her spine and tail into an arched ripple. Her sleek, short pelt pulls back, her features alight with worry and vague restlessness.
Change has seized WindClan by its scruff and flipped its foundation on its ugly rear. A seismic shift in the landscape that makes Moorblossom very unsure—of what she belongs to now, who she trusts, who she will go on to trust for seasons after this one. Her mother met a brutal end in the name of what's right, her brother, too. The prestige she once carried from being Sootstar and Weaselclaw's eldest has given way to this gripping notoriety. Moorblossom sighs, resigning herself to the fact normalcy is lost to WindClan, and maybe for seasons yet.
It's a lonely business waking up this early. As if she wasn't lonely enough as is. The young molly paces from her sleeping spot and off towards the fresh-kill pile with brisk steps, beside which she seats herself. Despite not having eaten in more than a day, her tummy doesn't so much as rumble.