- Aug 9, 2022
- 689
- 327
- 63
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He can't stand it anymore. He's never really been comfortable at all since then but it has gotten worse as it grew warmer. He'd considered moving initially when the cold seeped into his pelt on long nights, but he'd almost welcomed it because the focus on huddling and remaining warm pulled all his attention from his thoughts. It was hard to dwell on matters with chattering teeth, but now that the wind was crisp and the frigid nights were behind them he was able to rest without tightly winding himself into a ball and letting his own breath heat his face and paws - no, now he was able to let his mind drift in restless slumber, plagued once more with the memory of once curling into storm patched fur and feeling a heartbeat flutter against his cheek. He was lonely. There was really no denying it any longer.
The blessing of leafbare had been a focus on survival, his every being honed in on keeping the clan alive, facing the rogues, ensuring the nursery was provided for during its harshest season. Now, now he was unchained from the burdens, there was always the usual clan worries like prey and patrols but they hardly settled into his thoughts with enough intensity to rip his focus apart; he had time. He had time to think and despised it.
Smokestar stepped out of his den and made a beeling to a group of apprentices clustered around talking, "You three look bored." It is said with a soft huff of amusement, a light quip in his tone that softened his usually gravelly tone with something lighter; he wasn't here to scold, he was here to enlist. "Could I get one of you to clean the nest out of my den entirely?" He wanted it gone, he wanted the entire thing empty and scraped clean, "...and the others to fetch some more moss? Enough to make a new nest and to touch up the nursery as well." It was always a good idea to keep the queens comfortable, less they riot and overthrow him. With a nod he turned to trot to the warrior's den and stand within the mouth of it looking in.
There were empty places where cats once lay, unclaimed due to the freshness of the wounds but would eventually be filled with new warriors and old as the sleeping arrangements adjusted around come newleaf. He inhaled deeply, the scent of familiarity, of his clanmates, it eased the fluttering dread in his chest. He had not slept in this den since before he lost his eye. He'd moved to the willow tree almost immediately after being released from the medicine cat den and he'd never looked back. Now he wanted nothing more than to not be left alone in that empty hollow that felt like a ribcage unburdened of its heart.
But where to make a nest? He didn't want to push too many cats around to wedge himself in and he felt apprehensive about claiming a spot once slept in by Lightningstone or Clayfur or Mudpelt...so many lost, so many scents that would eventually fade from the moss. The dark tom shuffled, paws tapping nervously. How to go about this?
He can't stand it anymore. He's never really been comfortable at all since then but it has gotten worse as it grew warmer. He'd considered moving initially when the cold seeped into his pelt on long nights, but he'd almost welcomed it because the focus on huddling and remaining warm pulled all his attention from his thoughts. It was hard to dwell on matters with chattering teeth, but now that the wind was crisp and the frigid nights were behind them he was able to rest without tightly winding himself into a ball and letting his own breath heat his face and paws - no, now he was able to let his mind drift in restless slumber, plagued once more with the memory of once curling into storm patched fur and feeling a heartbeat flutter against his cheek. He was lonely. There was really no denying it any longer.
The blessing of leafbare had been a focus on survival, his every being honed in on keeping the clan alive, facing the rogues, ensuring the nursery was provided for during its harshest season. Now, now he was unchained from the burdens, there was always the usual clan worries like prey and patrols but they hardly settled into his thoughts with enough intensity to rip his focus apart; he had time. He had time to think and despised it.
Smokestar stepped out of his den and made a beeling to a group of apprentices clustered around talking, "You three look bored." It is said with a soft huff of amusement, a light quip in his tone that softened his usually gravelly tone with something lighter; he wasn't here to scold, he was here to enlist. "Could I get one of you to clean the nest out of my den entirely?" He wanted it gone, he wanted the entire thing empty and scraped clean, "...and the others to fetch some more moss? Enough to make a new nest and to touch up the nursery as well." It was always a good idea to keep the queens comfortable, less they riot and overthrow him. With a nod he turned to trot to the warrior's den and stand within the mouth of it looking in.
There were empty places where cats once lay, unclaimed due to the freshness of the wounds but would eventually be filled with new warriors and old as the sleeping arrangements adjusted around come newleaf. He inhaled deeply, the scent of familiarity, of his clanmates, it eased the fluttering dread in his chest. He had not slept in this den since before he lost his eye. He'd moved to the willow tree almost immediately after being released from the medicine cat den and he'd never looked back. Now he wanted nothing more than to not be left alone in that empty hollow that felt like a ribcage unburdened of its heart.
But where to make a nest? He didn't want to push too many cats around to wedge himself in and he felt apprehensive about claiming a spot once slept in by Lightningstone or Clayfur or Mudpelt...so many lost, so many scents that would eventually fade from the moss. The dark tom shuffled, paws tapping nervously. How to go about this?
- Talking to: @bubblepaw & @claypaw & @turtlepaw but not a Pafp!
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Smokestar
—⊰⋅ Leader of RiverClan
—⊰⋅ He/Him
"SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
—⊰⋅ Black tom w/vitiligo & one orange eye.
