Glares and Scoffs {RTA}


The Boy who had no choice
Jun 30, 2022

Life in Thunderclan was moving along decently in the blue point's mind. There had of course been a few events that caused concern, like the recent fox attack and all of the new joiners that had appeared as of late. But even still, Leaf kept mostly to himself, trying to simply attend to his duties and make sure no cat had a reason to bother him during his afternoon naps.

Today he would have to forgo his nap, as he had been assigned to go on a hunting patrol with a few other of his clanmates. He didn't speak, only giving small grunts of acknowledgment whenever someone spoke to him and his stance was one of rigidity and discomfort. It wasn't that he disliked any of his clanmates, on the contrary, he had actually grown to like a very select few of them, but that didn't make his social awkwardness any better.

Leaf had decided early on that it was better for him to bite his tongue than to let his sharp words fly. Most cats' didn't seem to understand that he just didn't have the patience for trivial and what he deemed unimportant things. As such, he trailed slightly behind the patrol on their trek but still listened to whatever small conversations were happening between the others. He would pause in his walking when the scent of mouse flooded his senses and he veered away from his patrol and began stalking towards the scent.

This was what he enjoyed the most, the quiet of the forest, the stillness in the air, the power and control he felt in his muscles as he moved with disciplined pawsteps towards his target. His steel blue eyes finally filled with some form of fire, a burning intensity that usually wasn't there within his ice-cold glare. His pupils dilated focused now on the small creature that was nibbling on a seed, unaware of the predator that was now looming closer. He would still for a heartbeat, holding his breath as he waited for just the right moment.

It came when the mouse was distracted by a falling leaf, and like an adder, he would strike. The little creature didn't even have time to squeak in alarm before Leaf sank his fangs into it and finished it off with a swift bite. He would exhale heavily as he rose to his full height once more, and the fire in his gaze would be gone once again. Without a word, he would pick up his catch and carry it to where his patrol had stopped and buried it before turning to them to hear what they were talking about now.

She walks through the forest with her tail held high, her sage-colored eyes narrow and scanning the undergrowth for hints of movement. The season is still warm, their territory lush and ripe with land prey, and she counts her blessings to be able to share it with more than just Wildflower or the other occasional loner passing through.

Even the more stoic cats, she muses, like Leaf, or the bold little Tybalt, have earned some wry affection from her heart. She hasn't said it, and she'll be damned if she shows it without reason, but she gives the blue-eyed tom an appraising look over her shoulder as he makes a neat, calculated catch.

"You're a natural," she comments, tone lofty. "I imagine the marshes have fewer mice and squirrels to choose from... do the same hunting techniques work on frogs and lizards?" She's curious, though she has to suppress a shudder as she imagines crunching into slime rather than fur and brittle bones.

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A tall stature carried a head held high, the air tasted for any scent of prey. With age came dwindling talent unfortunately, and though Truffle had managed mostly to keep up his skills sometimes there was a minor distraction, a lapse in a moons-weary mind that meant younger cats were faster. He never took it as a cruel one, though it was a reminder. He was beginning to slow down, and if he lost all ability before he had happened upon his destiny, then where would he end up?

The scent of freshkill pulled him from wandering thoughts, and presented to him again that worry- that others were outpacing him, and soon he would be obsolete. However, he worried not for now- the sight of the lanky tom burying his freshkill filled him with not envy but hope, and a smile curved his gruff maw. ThunderClan was good to survive, even when he was unable to help them.

"You were from the marshes...?" came Truffle's only inquiry, having heard the stories of the battles betwixt marsh and pine. Interest sparked in his golden gaze, no attempt to hide it obvious.

He would flick his ear as he spotted Quailfeather, but would frown in surprise at her praise. It be complimented instead of judged for his hunting skills and with an inner sneer he supposed that his father's training was finally worth something.

He appears thoughtful at her question and then slowly shakes his head, "Not exactly. Lizards are much faster than they look. Frogs have good awareness about them, so if they sense you they either all go quiet as an alert to other frogs that they are there or they all take off. It's...a funny thing to see."

Leafshade's mind wanders to the one day his mother had taken over his training, how she had been soft and gentle in her instruction and even caught a frog live so he could practice. A smile almost broke onto his maw, but then he spotted Trufflepelt and the older toms question would cause his ears to lay flat.

He was expecting a scowl, or something akin to judgment in the cinnamon toms' golden gaze, and yet when he looked there was none. Another surprise. It would appear that interest was the dominating emotion today and he would make his shoulders relax and nod softly, "I am. Born and raised there until I decided to join Thunderclan." His tail tip would flick uneasily and his steely gaze would cast downward once more, "Needed a change."