- Sep 2, 2023
- 202
- 60
- 28
( slight CW for mentions of blood in the 2nd paragraph! )
The sun is just beginning to rise over the forest territory, light peeking through the gaps of trees above the patrol. As expected, prey has become more and more scarce as winter has gone on, and every patrol counts. Still, the young warrior is not above a bit of complaining. "It’s so cold… I just want it to get warm again," he says softly as they walk along. Snow has begun to stick to the fur between his toes, clumping together into frosty patches that tug painfully at his skin. He can imagine that it’s worse for the clanmates who have thinner coats than himself, but it’s still a nuisance to pull the clumped snow from his pelt. Glancing at Burnstorm, the dark tom seems even more well-suited to the cold than Falconheart himself.
Lost in thought, the cream tabby is only paying half attention as he trails along behind the patrol. He isn’t sure what makes him turn—perhaps a scent on the wind or a flickering shadow—but no matter what it is, Falconheart is grateful that he looks when he does. There, silhouetted against the purple-pink sky, stands a deer. At once he sees blood, smells it. Sandthorn lies upon snow stained in red, lifeless, her chest crushed by a creature so massive that the warrior hadn’t stood a chance. The deer steps closer, striding through the snow, and blue-green eyes flicker to Burnstorm; his mentor either hasn’t noticed the deer yet, or doesn’t see the danger that they’re all in. If one thing goes wrong…
The deer suddenly straightens, ears flicking as though something has spooked it. Hooves stamp across the ground as it rushes away from whatever threat it’s spotted—moving directly toward their patrol. The young tom’s heart jumps wildly in his chest, fear nearly choking him as he turns to run. "Burnstorm, move!" Pale paws scramble through the snow, and he aims to slam his shoulder against the older tom’s to shove him out of the animal’s path. His vision blurs with red and fear; what if he’s too slow?
// @BURNSTORM
The sun is just beginning to rise over the forest territory, light peeking through the gaps of trees above the patrol. As expected, prey has become more and more scarce as winter has gone on, and every patrol counts. Still, the young warrior is not above a bit of complaining. "It’s so cold… I just want it to get warm again," he says softly as they walk along. Snow has begun to stick to the fur between his toes, clumping together into frosty patches that tug painfully at his skin. He can imagine that it’s worse for the clanmates who have thinner coats than himself, but it’s still a nuisance to pull the clumped snow from his pelt. Glancing at Burnstorm, the dark tom seems even more well-suited to the cold than Falconheart himself.
Lost in thought, the cream tabby is only paying half attention as he trails along behind the patrol. He isn’t sure what makes him turn—perhaps a scent on the wind or a flickering shadow—but no matter what it is, Falconheart is grateful that he looks when he does. There, silhouetted against the purple-pink sky, stands a deer. At once he sees blood, smells it. Sandthorn lies upon snow stained in red, lifeless, her chest crushed by a creature so massive that the warrior hadn’t stood a chance. The deer steps closer, striding through the snow, and blue-green eyes flicker to Burnstorm; his mentor either hasn’t noticed the deer yet, or doesn’t see the danger that they’re all in. If one thing goes wrong…
The deer suddenly straightens, ears flicking as though something has spooked it. Hooves stamp across the ground as it rushes away from whatever threat it’s spotted—moving directly toward their patrol. The young tom’s heart jumps wildly in his chest, fear nearly choking him as he turns to run. "Burnstorm, move!" Pale paws scramble through the snow, and he aims to slam his shoulder against the older tom’s to shove him out of the animal’s path. His vision blurs with red and fear; what if he’s too slow?
// @BURNSTORM
[ find me way out there ]
