- Aug 1, 2023
- 150
- 35
- 28
Appropriately, the weather is unusually dismal—the blueberry - ripeness of the sky is cloaked in a mask of blackened clouds, soot - smoked drifts blotting out the sun, the day cast in much the same color as his own pelt. Drifts of rain shower down intermittently, alternately drenching his pelt and letting the curls dry into tangled ruffles of black; thunder cracks and lightning shreds the bleakness of the sky occasionally, eliciting a chorus of yelps from the direction of the nursery ( or particularly cowardly Clanmates ).
Outside of the sky's discontent, it's quite typical for him; he's resting between patrols, a barely - touched water vole planted between his white forepaws, ears feathering back and forth to shoo away the fat black flies that have taken upon the placid water like a vengeance with greenleaf's heat. The rain is on a break for the moment, perhaps swept elsewhere by the wind ( privately, he hopes it's currently terrorizing their moorbound neighbors), not that he's really bothered by the water, be it from above or below.
Bicolor gaze catches on a bed of soft grass across camp, a place where the other young warriors often took to lounging. Cicadaflight keeps his distance, as always, but—well, it's hard to ignore the sight there today. Two of his peers lie in a veritable tangle of limbs, one's muzzle tipped against the broadness of the other's chest as if to reassure themselves with the sound of a heartbeat like rushing water. Flowers speckle their carefully - groomed pelts, an aura of romance that borders on the fantastical settled across the young lovers.
I wish that was Driftwood and I, he thinks idly, and then his mind doubles back on itself and his pupils narrow to slits, eyes snapping wide in—horror? Embarassment? What? He's not quite sure. It's as though he flicks a switch and is quite suddenly being terrorized by memories of soft golden eyes, sun - radiant, the curve of a playful smile, blue and white fur next to his own—he wishes it was against his own—Great StarClan, what's wrong with me? His ears feel as if they might be on fire.
Naturally, hoping to put out the burning singing the tips of his ears down to his paws and silence the suddenly - unleashed thoughts, he does the most logical thing: launches himself up in a tangle of limbs and bolts toward the riverbank, unceremoniously shoving his entire head under the cool water.
