In theory, what they're tasked to is easy. Find Smogstar, the cat that's been bedridden for nearly a moon. A starkly - striped, broad, albeit terribly - postured, but never subtle in all the moons she's known him tom. Why was it that they were turning up empty? Was was it that she had this sinking feeling every search party would turn up empty?
Maybe this would be more affective in silence. With heads bowed, ears pricked to any rustle the marsh sent their way... But Sharpshadow chatters — blurts, more like, with worries tumbling from her maw in a paranoid slurry. " So — so say we don't find S-smogmaw " Forestshade's presence isn't helping either. Somehow — at some point, she's stockholmed her into being someone she doesn't mind expressing things to as much... " What happens then? " And its a stupid question, she knows. They'd move on, like they had after Briarstar, after Pitchstar, after Chilledstar... but didn't this make the least sense of any of them? Not a death. Not brutally crushed beneath monster paws or felled by Granitepelt, but a disappearance. Those weren't new for ShadowClan, but she would have never thought it'd be him. Anyone but Smogmaw. Anyone but him.
...Smogstar, he means. His Leader, his deputy, his mentor, his superior. No matter in what skin, always there, always watching, always insufferable, always him. What would ShadowClan be without him? ( What would he be without him? )
He isn't acting the way a Lead Warrior should. It's the first thing he realizes before he even tunes into the blood rushing in his ears or the pound of his chest. He definitely isn't, when he realizes he's not the only one that can hear his breathing. When he swallows, it feels like choking down carrion — even though all it is is his own bile. " S-sorry, I'm sorry, " she strains not to stutter, not to shake. The slowness of a search wasn't the exhilaration she needed to make herself useful. She just needed to do more. Somehow do more.
Maybe this would be more affective in silence. With heads bowed, ears pricked to any rustle the marsh sent their way... But Sharpshadow chatters — blurts, more like, with worries tumbling from her maw in a paranoid slurry. " So — so say we don't find S-smogmaw " Forestshade's presence isn't helping either. Somehow — at some point, she's stockholmed her into being someone she doesn't mind expressing things to as much... " What happens then? " And its a stupid question, she knows. They'd move on, like they had after Briarstar, after Pitchstar, after Chilledstar... but didn't this make the least sense of any of them? Not a death. Not brutally crushed beneath monster paws or felled by Granitepelt, but a disappearance. Those weren't new for ShadowClan, but she would have never thought it'd be him. Anyone but Smogmaw. Anyone but him.
...Smogstar, he means. His Leader, his deputy, his mentor, his superior. No matter in what skin, always there, always watching, always insufferable, always him. What would ShadowClan be without him? ( What would he be without him? )
He isn't acting the way a Lead Warrior should. It's the first thing he realizes before he even tunes into the blood rushing in his ears or the pound of his chest. He definitely isn't, when he realizes he's not the only one that can hear his breathing. When he swallows, it feels like choking down carrion — even though all it is is his own bile. " S-sorry, I'm sorry, " she strains not to stutter, not to shake. The slowness of a search wasn't the exhilaration she needed to make herself useful. She just needed to do more. Somehow do more.