- Dec 17, 2022
- 680
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Perhaps it is only the knowledge of what has already come upon WindClan that changes his perception now. He would prefer it to be so simple. That it is only his mind telling him of danger behind every floating leaf, or a patrol cracking upon each twig. Death has found its way to the heart of him once more. And to know that it was not of his own doing– Sunstride does not fear the day that his own heart stills. Yet the threat of it upon those he cares for is a haunting concern. It is one that will not leave him be. The patrol has turned to a watch, some premature wake. Typically jovial, full of stories and levity to carry their patrols through the dull ache of routine, the lead warrior moves with tension and silence unlike him.
They near the horseplace, alongside the winding thunderpath. The stink of both places overwhelms his senses. How they might function here, without the pure scent of snow to balance the rest, he still cannot believe. Should he inhale deeply enough, he might picture it a moment more. The crisp scent that stings one's lungs and bites the thin skin of an ear. Rather than growing heat, he would shove himself to the cold with each step. He would breathe in snow, and mud, and animal. Here, there are flowers. The stench of the black earth, and the beasts of burden these twolegs are so fond of.
Beneath it, though– and this is when his wariness begins to matter. "Dog!" the auburn tom snaps as his own paws leap to motion. Not to charge, yet to crouch; he urges @Adderpaw to do the same. In the distance, there is a yap! A sharp, ringing noise. It comes closer, as the prey around them startles. Pale eyes flicker through their patrol, and finally land upon Weaselclaw. With the seniority and experience to count among WindClan's finest, there is no question that he is the one they may rely on for this. Your call, his eyes seem to say.
They near the horseplace, alongside the winding thunderpath. The stink of both places overwhelms his senses. How they might function here, without the pure scent of snow to balance the rest, he still cannot believe. Should he inhale deeply enough, he might picture it a moment more. The crisp scent that stings one's lungs and bites the thin skin of an ear. Rather than growing heat, he would shove himself to the cold with each step. He would breathe in snow, and mud, and animal. Here, there are flowers. The stench of the black earth, and the beasts of burden these twolegs are so fond of.
Beneath it, though– and this is when his wariness begins to matter. "Dog!" the auburn tom snaps as his own paws leap to motion. Not to charge, yet to crouch; he urges @Adderpaw to do the same. In the distance, there is a yap! A sharp, ringing noise. It comes closer, as the prey around them startles. Pale eyes flicker through their patrol, and finally land upon Weaselclaw. With the seniority and experience to count among WindClan's finest, there is no question that he is the one they may rely on for this. Your call, his eyes seem to say.
- ooc: Chasing hares is dangerous business, especially when you're not the only predator on the moor! A small, yapping dog is scaring all the rabbits away! It's smaller than most cats, but it sure is a nuisance. What will your characters do about it? Please wait for @WEASELCLAW !!
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SUNSTRIDE. named for his coloration and his bold chasing of fate.
—— cis male, he - him. thirty-eight moons old. lead warrior of windclan + former rogue.
—— gay, but somewhat closeted. will not be open about his interests. single, will be so.
—— seems comparatively stranger than who he was some moons ago, serious and cool.
sunstride is broad and bold– a creature standing above most of windclan, though not a beast beyond its borders, with fur that flames red at its base and deepens to a burnt amber with every whorl and stripe. his eyes, in comparison, are a pale summer's blue, still as bold as the rest of him. - "speech"
჻ 001 GENERAL INFORMATION ,
