halcyon age // fogbound

[icebreath]

[retro to invasion]

Being on bed rest isn't as terrible as they'd initially feared. The medicine den is rarely quiet; she has plenty of denmates to observe and converse with, should she so choose. Wolfsong, Cottonpaw, and an entire litter of kits. They're nice company, especially the little ones, though each stirs up their own unique flavor of anxieties within the tunneler that she continually does her best to overlook -- often in vain. Still, everyone's presence fortunately helps to stave off the lurking restlessness, though with each passing day it grows increasingly difficult to ignore. Icebreath genuinely can't recall a time she'd ever been as inactive as these past several days, or anything close. It feels so wrong. Her mind, body, and heart long for the tunnels. She itches to run, to feel the flesh of a hare between her teeth as she delivers the final bite. They long to do something, anything, instead of just sitting around like a lame duck, useless to the clan. Cats are sick, starving, dying, and there's nothing they can do.

Constantly they worry that their clanmates suspect them of laziness, even though Wolfsong had forbidden them from working. This fear almost stops them from laying just outside the medicine den today to get some fresh air and sunlight; it feels weird to wave her idleness it in front of everyone's face, as if doing it out in the open suggests that she actually enjoys this. But eventually she does limp her way out into the camp, glancing around nervously, cheeks warm from self-consciousness as she settles back down onto the ground. A breeze stirs her snowy pelt and she lifts her chin to enjoy it, though it isn't long before her tail tip begins to restlessly twitch. It feels forced. They lower their gaze to the ground, dragging a claw through the tightly-packed sand. She follows the same path over and over, digging a deeper and deeper ravine (for an ant, perhaps), watching as the sand begins to form a little pile. After a bit, they slap their uninjured paw onto the pile, flattening it, and then flop down onto their side with a sigh.

@FOGBOUND
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[FOGBOUND]

your entire existence gives me a headache, go stand over there .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

He rarely got injured, nothing more than a few nicks that would scab over in a few days. It certainly wasn’t severe to seek Wolfsong’s presence when his attention fell on Icebreath ready to tear out her fur. He hummed, padding towards the camp-ridden molly to settle beside her with a charismatic purr in greetings. “My lady.”

Fogbound was never one for curving around the truth, blunt as ever, the smokey tom settled a crinkled eye on the other. “Care for a game? I’m certain you’ll love it.” He leaned forward, muzzle crinkling in curiosity. This will do wonders to cure your nervous energy, my dear. If not then, Fogbound wasn’t against dragging her. ​

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thought speech​

 

[icebreath]

Fogbound isn't a stranger, but he isn't someone they would expect to be approached by. They've always been too withdrawn, too awkward, to make many friends among their clanmates, and of that small pool very few are moor-runners; the biggest reason she's friendly with any tunnelers, even, is because work puts her into situations where conversation is inevitable. So naturally, the grayscale tom's sudden approach catches them off guard; they look up with a start, pale eyes wide as they process the way he refers to her. My lady. Huh? "Oh- hi, Fogbound." Instinctively she leans back just a bit as he draws closer, surprised yet again by his offer. He... wants to play a game? With her? A small part of them thinks about how unproductive this (and he) is -- WindClan is starving, and he wants to goof off? But a bigger part of her fixates on two things: a potential cure to her boredom, and the fact that someone outside of her small circle actually cares enough to entertain her while she's stuck sitting around. "What kind of game? I'm... not supposed to move too much."
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[FOGBOUND]

your entire existence gives me a headache, go stand over there .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

He grinned, muzzle angling just slightly to catch the light’s rays, ruby optics glimmering. “Do not fret, my lady. This does not require movement.” He soothed, tail flickering, guiding the molly’s gaze towards a random participant, unaware. “Tell me, can you point out their weaknesses?” He rumbled, tilting his helm to watch the other, optics crinkling. “A thrilling game, don’t you think? It’ll keep that pretty mind of yours sharp without moving a paw.” He uttered, tone dripping like fresh honey.

He understood and perhaps this game will help her feel included, or rather, a way to keep one’s mind sharp as a fiddle while resting. “Perhaps you can look at me and see ways to take me down?” He urged, his lips curling into an easy-going grin. ​

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thought speech​