private HARD TIMES / chamomile

( ) A sigh parts his lips. One paw sends a pebble skittering across the surface of the river, his narrowed blue eyes watching it. It's a rare sight to see Honeybee with such a serious expression, and a sight that he tries to reserve for moments of solitude. The skirmish is still fresh on his mind, the reek of blood seems to follow him no matter where he runs to. Why does it always have to come down to fighting? Why couldn't they settle this without unsheathing their claws? Honeybee's lips purse, his stumpy tail twitching. Violence couldn't be the answer, could it?

Rustling from behind catches his attention. The fur along Honeybee's neck rises, the young tom whipping around to scan his surroundings. "Hello?" Despite his previous misgivings, he unsheathes his claws.