- Nov 14, 2022
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Snow trickled gently down from the sky every night as the world turned from the sun, nothing more than frozen little crystals descending to the ground. But to the creatures below, life shifted into an unforgiving struggle for survival as the smarter prey buried themselves in the insulated soil for hibernation.
Keeping spirits and morale high through times of strife and turmoil was of utmost importance for any community. Especially for Rowanbelly. The grizzled tabby witnessed his fair share of miserable and hopeless cats surviving on the barest necessities throughout multiple leafbares ― starvation and disease claimed more lives than he could count. Vicious predators, the elements of nature were. But Rowanbelly learned to grin through the hardship, despite clenched teeth and aching cheeks from holding his smile for far too long and far too wide. Someone had to preserve a sense of optimism among miserable cats, and he would shoulder part of the burden.
His tirade began with the question of how he received a particular slash across his face. To older cats, it was a tale he strung many times before, but one the younger generation comprising his audience hadn't heard before. The chocolate tom perched himself on a smooth rock within the camp, sitting on his haunches to free his arms for wild gestures to accompany his descriptions. "It had been a boiling hot day. The only time you could hunt without searing your paws was when night fell..." he initially started, chuckling to himself at the memories here and there. "Of course, I wasn't the only beast hunting that night. When I stopped by a river for a drink, I heard a branch snap from behind me. Two eyes were in the darkness, then four, then six, until eight eyes all stared at me from the undergrowth. Foxes, lurking in the bushes, had tracked me down as a pack."
"There I was trapped, cornered with my back to the river and four or so foxes stalking towards me from all sides," he continued, booming voice dropping to a lower tone for the suspense, fully capturing the attention of listening apprentices and kits. "They intended to make me their dinner. I could see it in their beady eyes! But I didn't fancy being made a meal, as delicious as I may be to a fox. They pounced ― and so did I, clawing one's neck and biting down on the other's. The third I headbutt into the river where it was swept away, and the fourth? It sliced me right across the face, but I sent it running either way." With a bemused twitch of his whiskers, Rowanbelly settled back down onto the rock, bushy tail swaying behind him. Of course, the original telling of events featured only one fox that was far too young to be a real threat, but only the older warriors would know this, able to call him out on his lighthearted exaggerations.
Keeping spirits and morale high through times of strife and turmoil was of utmost importance for any community. Especially for Rowanbelly. The grizzled tabby witnessed his fair share of miserable and hopeless cats surviving on the barest necessities throughout multiple leafbares ― starvation and disease claimed more lives than he could count. Vicious predators, the elements of nature were. But Rowanbelly learned to grin through the hardship, despite clenched teeth and aching cheeks from holding his smile for far too long and far too wide. Someone had to preserve a sense of optimism among miserable cats, and he would shoulder part of the burden.
His tirade began with the question of how he received a particular slash across his face. To older cats, it was a tale he strung many times before, but one the younger generation comprising his audience hadn't heard before. The chocolate tom perched himself on a smooth rock within the camp, sitting on his haunches to free his arms for wild gestures to accompany his descriptions. "It had been a boiling hot day. The only time you could hunt without searing your paws was when night fell..." he initially started, chuckling to himself at the memories here and there. "Of course, I wasn't the only beast hunting that night. When I stopped by a river for a drink, I heard a branch snap from behind me. Two eyes were in the darkness, then four, then six, until eight eyes all stared at me from the undergrowth. Foxes, lurking in the bushes, had tracked me down as a pack."
"There I was trapped, cornered with my back to the river and four or so foxes stalking towards me from all sides," he continued, booming voice dropping to a lower tone for the suspense, fully capturing the attention of listening apprentices and kits. "They intended to make me their dinner. I could see it in their beady eyes! But I didn't fancy being made a meal, as delicious as I may be to a fox. They pounced ― and so did I, clawing one's neck and biting down on the other's. The third I headbutt into the river where it was swept away, and the fourth? It sliced me right across the face, but I sent it running either way." With a bemused twitch of his whiskers, Rowanbelly settled back down onto the rock, bushy tail swaying behind him. Of course, the original telling of events featured only one fox that was far too young to be a real threat, but only the older warriors would know this, able to call him out on his lighthearted exaggerations.
