- Aug 9, 2022
- 689
- 327
- 63
He wasn't sure what drew him to the edge of the border that day but his limbs were compelled to carry him. Smooth pebbled stones blended into soft grass and then worn down grass trodden on by many paws throughout the day. Behind him like a halo the faint light of the sun caught behind a spire of trees and he wondered at the bitter irony of it. He was no saint. He was the sinner.
Each step pressed him closer to redemption, but like a lucid dream it continued to advance as he pursued it. Nothing was far enough to reach it, nothing was apt enough to do what he desired.
The dark tom’s expression was already wary when he padded to the edge of the gorge and peered out across it to the moorlands beyond. It was a relief to see no one near the edge at the other side, no hare-breath scent or tall grass obscuring WindClan frames. He’d come out here out of paranoia, that they might try something while RiverClan struggled to stay above the surface of the terror drowning them currently.
If only he could solve his problems the way he once did on the concrete paths and burning skylines of the old two-leg city.
Smokethroat could feel the worn grooves of his claws, the chips where blood had forever stained the ebony. Somehow he doubted StarClan would look down on him from the skies and nod their head in acceptance.
“...looks like rain.” He murmured quietly, the edge of gray clouds pooling in the distance of his vision. Despite the myriad of emotions and feelings he was currently battling with, his tone was calm and his expression lax. Beneath the waves the storm turned on, tumultuous and violent. He wondered who might be caught in it this time.
@Kelpie.