- Jun 20, 2023
- 150
- 109
- 43
Skyclaw can still smell them - the wolves. It seems that every inch of their camp was their pissing grounds, though the foolhardy beasts only lingered for hours. Gentlestorm could unleash his entire stock of herbs and petals and the warrior's den would still grip a foul, unrelenting stench. It's an unfortunate side effect, he supposes, of having those wolves around at all. It was something none of them could have predicted nor prevented. Yet all the same - those warriors that stood vigil have each earned ire of their Clanmates. Palefire, his distrust and disdain.
He leaves his tattered nest behind, the moon hung high in the sky. Despite the glittering stars, he decides to go searching for fresher moss - although he wouldn't call it insomnia, his nights after his brother's death have been rather sleepless. And if he does sleep, its restless, dreamless. Regardless, the time he's awake can be used for hunting, patrolling, or in this case fixing a nest that he should've sorted out days ago.
Skyclaw doesn't intend to find Palefire out in the undergrowth. It seems she cannot sleep, like he. Either that or she pushes her work into the night, as if bringing home one more squirrel will save her from some sort of damnation. He cannot help his glare, his disappointment, his frustration. They're alone, and though he could just as easily stalk away, he trudges closer to her.
"Palefire," he says, only once he's certain she's lost whatever she's been hunting, "You're out late. Your light fur - the moonlight makes it shine. Any prey that's awake will see you from fox-lengths away." Although a compliment has fallen from his tongue, he looks unamused and bored. "You should be guarding the camp for the next several seasons, not out here... frolicking, if anything." He's sour and he knows it. She and her lackeys caused the death of Sunfreckle, the dismantlement of their home. He feels he should be allowed a sharper tone.
He leaves his tattered nest behind, the moon hung high in the sky. Despite the glittering stars, he decides to go searching for fresher moss - although he wouldn't call it insomnia, his nights after his brother's death have been rather sleepless. And if he does sleep, its restless, dreamless. Regardless, the time he's awake can be used for hunting, patrolling, or in this case fixing a nest that he should've sorted out days ago.
Skyclaw doesn't intend to find Palefire out in the undergrowth. It seems she cannot sleep, like he. Either that or she pushes her work into the night, as if bringing home one more squirrel will save her from some sort of damnation. He cannot help his glare, his disappointment, his frustration. They're alone, and though he could just as easily stalk away, he trudges closer to her.
"Palefire," he says, only once he's certain she's lost whatever she's been hunting, "You're out late. Your light fur - the moonlight makes it shine. Any prey that's awake will see you from fox-lengths away." Although a compliment has fallen from his tongue, he looks unamused and bored. "You should be guarding the camp for the next several seasons, not out here... frolicking, if anything." He's sour and he knows it. She and her lackeys caused the death of Sunfreckle, the dismantlement of their home. He feels he should be allowed a sharper tone.
