pafp floating through my mind [hunting invitation]

[FALCONHEART]

𓍊𓋼 How long is too long spent staring at someone else, but trying to seem like he isn’t staring? How long can he spend pretending to be extremely immersed in his task of sorting through the fresh-kill pile and picking out crowfoo—and how long will it take before someone realizes that he’s gone through the pile at least three times now?

In Falconheart’s defense, he’s been asked to gather up a small hunting patrol, but he wasn’t told who to ask. No one was assigned to go with him, either, so he has to form his very own hunting patrol. Which means that he has to ask at least one other cat to go with him. And the cat he wants to ask is one who he doesn’t know how to approach. Of course, Wildheart might just say no and leave it at that. But what if he doesn’t? What if the other tom says no, and then says that he’s a horrible warrior and that he should leave ThunderClan?

Of course, he thinks Wildheart won’t say that, but Falconheart’s fears have never been totally rational. So when it seems he can’t put off the patrol any longer, the cream tabby approaches the other warrior, ears tucked back against his head. It isn’t that he hasn’t had to do this before, but his body language still practically screams nervous. "Um," he begins, careful to avoid direct eye contact with the older tom. His fluffy tail hangs low to the ground behind him, and his entire body is tensed as though he expects to need to dodge a cuff to the ear. "Would you want—uh, you know, it’s not important, actually…" Thoroughly discouraged, Falconheart prepres to walk away, blue-green eyes wide with mortification.

// @WILDHEART​

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[WILDHEART]

No duties had been placed upon his shoulders that day and it only made him feel even pricklier than usual. Sitting idle just wasn't his sort of thing, but what could he even do? The tom scowled at the sky as he sat in the heart of the camp, though in peripherals he detected movement over by the freshkill pile. Repetitive movement. Just how many times did one cat need to go through it all in order to filter out the carrion?

Idly he shook his head, that is until he spied that Falconheart was beginning to approach. The temptation to remark about the freshkill pile sat upon his tongue, but he resisted the urge to say it aloud. The tom turned himself to face the nervous wreck that had come over, his gaze as stern as it had ever been. He waited for Falconheart to speak his inquiry, but it seemed as though the other's strength had died a death before it could even find ground to stand on. Once upon a time he would have mocked and belittled such spinelessness, but not now.

The tom raised a paw at that point, though not so he could strike the other. Instead he aimed to use his paw to tilt Falconheart's head up in order to force eye contact. "Speak your mind, don't shy away or retreat. Do I make myself clear?" Setting his paw back down he then waited for the other to share what had been on their mind.
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