private man i love to fish

When he first started to learn how to fish he was impatient, but that was most of his early youth. Impatient, reckless, impulsive and quick to anger-it was a wonder his Moss had put up with him for as long as it took to mellow him out. He'd been a fighty kitten, a biter and an all around troublemaker but she'd had the patience to and firmness to guide him along a less hectic path. When she died he mellowed out even more considerably, he sometimes wondered if she'd done it on purpose to spurn him forward into adapting the more calm and collected persona he now held. She'd been a cheeky thing so he wouldn't put it past her to joke that way. It was perhaps why he clung to the idea of StarClan as quickly as he had, he liked the idea of it. Liked the idea that those lost were never truly gone and that life didn't end when you breathed your last.
Ember huffed at himself, his thoughts too noisy and distracting today and he'd missed the silver dart of a fish slipping by under his paws in his contemplation. Annoying. The dark tom perched across the shore, positioned in a neat crouch on the smooth flat stones bordering the water's edge with his paws limply hanging from the side. The next fish to come close would be struck with a swift scoop of his paw and thrown ashore to flop harmlessly until he'd put it down. But right now it seemed the fish weren't moving along this side, he debated moving but he was comfortable and eventually something would come along...

riverclan --- warrior--- tags