ROEFLAME — I fell in love with the fire long ago.
Conditioned from apprenticehood, Roeflame typically rose early- not insanely so, but she was hardly caught in her nest by the time the first dawn patrol was sent out.
Some days however, the sun-touched warrior could appreciate the extra time asleep. She has already decided that today will be one of those days, having already rolled over with a reaching forepaw only to be met with more moss in place of Burnstorm.
Roeflame is quick to take advantage of the extra space, rolling to a stretch and miraculously taking up almost the entire nest in her stir.
In her groggy state, she turns her cheek.
Bump.
Ivory muzzle scrunches, while a light forepaw reaches to rub at her stricken cheekbone. Knocking your face against something unknown was always a rude awakening, but Roeflame was still determined to savor her late-start, eyes remaining squinted shut as she reaches an investigative paw to slip over and under the mossy layering, scraping against frozen soil for whatever had so rudely interrupted her peace.
Finally, her paw pads skim against something smooth faced with sharpened edges, and she scoops it from under the nest, dragging it over to peel one eye open and examine it.
Nestled in the pinks of her under paw, the warrior almost snorts at the obsidian in front of her, adoration for its owner tugging a soft smile at her features.
The black stone brings the molly right back to that day, where both of them had been brand-new warriors- Burnstorm moreso than her.
I saw this earlier and it uhm.. it reminded me of you. Her own voice echos from somewhere in her memory, and Roeflame curls her forepaw around the rock, shielding it from prying eyes.
Subconsciously, her tail brushes over her side of their shared nest, where her own piece of amber lay safely tucked under the spongy green shield.
Now, moons later, the warrior knows she had been falling for the tom. How he had been able to spark butterflies in her chest and weaken her speech.
She knows now that it was love, and that she had found it. Roeflame had found happiness in the roots she had forged all on her own, from the scrap of sniffling fur that had been found under brittle twigs.
So deep in thought, the warrior hardly realizes she is once again curled up, with the stone tucked under her chin.
She had made it through it all, and steady, predictable content never felt so good.
"speech"
Conditioned from apprenticehood, Roeflame typically rose early- not insanely so, but she was hardly caught in her nest by the time the first dawn patrol was sent out.
Some days however, the sun-touched warrior could appreciate the extra time asleep. She has already decided that today will be one of those days, having already rolled over with a reaching forepaw only to be met with more moss in place of Burnstorm.
Roeflame is quick to take advantage of the extra space, rolling to a stretch and miraculously taking up almost the entire nest in her stir.
In her groggy state, she turns her cheek.
Bump.
Ivory muzzle scrunches, while a light forepaw reaches to rub at her stricken cheekbone. Knocking your face against something unknown was always a rude awakening, but Roeflame was still determined to savor her late-start, eyes remaining squinted shut as she reaches an investigative paw to slip over and under the mossy layering, scraping against frozen soil for whatever had so rudely interrupted her peace.
Finally, her paw pads skim against something smooth faced with sharpened edges, and she scoops it from under the nest, dragging it over to peel one eye open and examine it.
Nestled in the pinks of her under paw, the warrior almost snorts at the obsidian in front of her, adoration for its owner tugging a soft smile at her features.
The black stone brings the molly right back to that day, where both of them had been brand-new warriors- Burnstorm moreso than her.
I saw this earlier and it uhm.. it reminded me of you. Her own voice echos from somewhere in her memory, and Roeflame curls her forepaw around the rock, shielding it from prying eyes.
Subconsciously, her tail brushes over her side of their shared nest, where her own piece of amber lay safely tucked under the spongy green shield.
Now, moons later, the warrior knows she had been falling for the tom. How he had been able to spark butterflies in her chest and weaken her speech.
She knows now that it was love, and that she had found it. Roeflame had found happiness in the roots she had forged all on her own, from the scrap of sniffling fur that had been found under brittle twigs.
So deep in thought, the warrior hardly realizes she is once again curled up, with the stone tucked under her chin.
She had made it through it all, and steady, predictable content never felt so good.
"speech"