- Jun 2, 2023
- 100
- 17
- 18
Frostwind had distracted them.
The rest of DuskClan is long gone, slipping into the shadows of the night, undeterred by WindClan reinforcements, but Rumblerain's progress had been hindered by their littermate once more; blocking, seething, seeking answers.
The two cats, star-marked and shadow-touched, tumble over a small ridge in their brief chase. The gorse beneath them cushions their fall, but tangles awkwardly. Burrs catch awkwardly on long fur, three legs not quite adequate to bring Sunstar to stand at this angle. Rumblerain's own wounds sting, bleed anew as they brush by sharp leaves. Their blood would remain until rinsed by the rain, but they would be long gone by then. Would Peonybreeze stay up waiting? Would Privetpaw? Rumblerain knows Granitepelt would not. Bitterness seeps through them.
They have no mocking quip for the mountain king with their claws poised upon his throat, no chortling question of his last words. Ebonylight would.
Their eyes don't soften. In fact, quite the opposite— a desperate attempt to steel themself into the cat who had taken a life in the Twolegplace. they're surprised Sunstar allows their moment of hesitation, as if this is a game played with his kits or own apprentice. Is he as surprised as they, at the position they've found themselves in? It would be so easy, within this tableau, to bear down with bloodstained claws and split his throat like prey for the second time this evening.
Yet ... they can't quite do it.
Why can't they do it?
Sharp claws tug, but do not tear, as Rumblerain transfers their weight and removes themself from atop Sunstar's prone form. Weariness seeps through them.
"Get up."
The rest of DuskClan is long gone, slipping into the shadows of the night, undeterred by WindClan reinforcements, but Rumblerain's progress had been hindered by their littermate once more; blocking, seething, seeking answers.
The two cats, star-marked and shadow-touched, tumble over a small ridge in their brief chase. The gorse beneath them cushions their fall, but tangles awkwardly. Burrs catch awkwardly on long fur, three legs not quite adequate to bring Sunstar to stand at this angle. Rumblerain's own wounds sting, bleed anew as they brush by sharp leaves. Their blood would remain until rinsed by the rain, but they would be long gone by then. Would Peonybreeze stay up waiting? Would Privetpaw? Rumblerain knows Granitepelt would not. Bitterness seeps through them.
They have no mocking quip for the mountain king with their claws poised upon his throat, no chortling question of his last words. Ebonylight would.
Their eyes don't soften. In fact, quite the opposite— a desperate attempt to steel themself into the cat who had taken a life in the Twolegplace. they're surprised Sunstar allows their moment of hesitation, as if this is a game played with his kits or own apprentice. Is he as surprised as they, at the position they've found themselves in? It would be so easy, within this tableau, to bear down with bloodstained claws and split his throat like prey for the second time this evening.
Yet ... they can't quite do it.
Why can't they do it?
Sharp claws tug, but do not tear, as Rumblerain transfers their weight and removes themself from atop Sunstar's prone form. Weariness seeps through them.
"Get up."
