- Dec 27, 2022
- 357
- 51
- 28
Hazel eyes are focused on their mentor, quickened pawsteps ensuring that they remain well within the larger tom’s field of view at all times. They don’t look at him much differently now, even if some of their clanmates do; for some WindClanners, any setback is damning, even if major injuries are to be expected when their leader continues to pick fights with other clans. But Gravelsnap was trained by this tom, sees him as nothing less than a spectacular warrior with a great deal of wisdom lurking behind a visage of long fangs and an intimidating stare. Truly, it’s as though nothing has changed, except that Gravelsnap feels guilty. Gravelsnap feels as though they’re responsible, in some way, for their mentor’s injuries, and as such it is their duty to help Houndthistle out wherever they can.
Today, that happens to be a hunting patrol. It’s just the two of them, allowing the black and white warrior to stew in the lapses of speaking between them. It gives him time to think. About Houndthistle and his sorry state, about WindClan as a whole. Sootstar is on a warpath, out for vengeance against what seems to be every single clan. And while it’s justified, entirely understandable, Gravelsnap has found himself flinching away at every mention of it. He is prepared to throw himself into battle for his clan, but since the days of his own father’s training, a desire for vengeance has always simmered. He cannot help but to recall what Houndthistle had said to him once, about losing everything.
He wants revenge. He wants to find the vile creature who marred his mentor’s face and hunt them down. An eye for an eye. Houndthistle has warned him specifically against such things—but his father has drilled into him a sense of vindictiveness. Perhaps WindClan will face ShadowClan again someday, and their claws will just happen to meet the face of whichever foul-breathed swamp rat hurt the tom who walks beside him. They think of charging into battle, of fighting side by side with their apprentice. But just as their past always has been, the thought grows blurry, messy. Bloody.
Thriftpaw… he’s hardly more than a kit, even at this point. They can’t drag him into battle, not when they could lose him. What if they lose him? They were only made a warrior a few months ago; they can’t be trusted to keep themself alive in battle, much less a younger, more inexperienced cat! But leaving him behind would be worse, wouldn’t it? Every WindClanner needs to have a taste of battle, don’t they? "Houndthistle," he says at last, tilting an ear toward the older tom. "Can I ask you a question?"
// @HOUNDTHISTLE
Today, that happens to be a hunting patrol. It’s just the two of them, allowing the black and white warrior to stew in the lapses of speaking between them. It gives him time to think. About Houndthistle and his sorry state, about WindClan as a whole. Sootstar is on a warpath, out for vengeance against what seems to be every single clan. And while it’s justified, entirely understandable, Gravelsnap has found himself flinching away at every mention of it. He is prepared to throw himself into battle for his clan, but since the days of his own father’s training, a desire for vengeance has always simmered. He cannot help but to recall what Houndthistle had said to him once, about losing everything.
He wants revenge. He wants to find the vile creature who marred his mentor’s face and hunt them down. An eye for an eye. Houndthistle has warned him specifically against such things—but his father has drilled into him a sense of vindictiveness. Perhaps WindClan will face ShadowClan again someday, and their claws will just happen to meet the face of whichever foul-breathed swamp rat hurt the tom who walks beside him. They think of charging into battle, of fighting side by side with their apprentice. But just as their past always has been, the thought grows blurry, messy. Bloody.
Thriftpaw… he’s hardly more than a kit, even at this point. They can’t drag him into battle, not when they could lose him. What if they lose him? They were only made a warrior a few months ago; they can’t be trusted to keep themself alive in battle, much less a younger, more inexperienced cat! But leaving him behind would be worse, wouldn’t it? Every WindClanner needs to have a taste of battle, don’t they? "Houndthistle," he says at last, tilting an ear toward the older tom. "Can I ask you a question?"
// @HOUNDTHISTLE
[ you put the fun into dysfunction ]
