- Feb 16, 2024
- 75
- 15
- 8
There was little to be gained at the swaying grasslands, where his people had lost everything. The moon shone ungenerously, a mere clawmark upon the blistering black, though still did it blanket the world in its silken veils of light. Not that Privetfrost ever needed the light to guide him, not when keen nostrils and reedlike whiskers carried him gently through the raucous symphony of the scrublands and the plains. He knew why he had returned, though he wished not to admit that it was such a frivolity upon a well-planned life. Brackenpaw, the gullible and eager apprentice of the fields... They had told him so much of what lie beyond the border, so much so that he could not bear to release his grip from what he conceived as a victory upon himself. It was the fallacy of man to hold onto his achivements while deigning the risks of it.
The black blur amongst the wildgrasses only continued in his journey, like the sedges lurched towards him in roiling movements, and the very moorlands rejected his silent footfall upon its silt-skin. Thin fur upon the nape of his neck could not help but raise, for it felt as though he were being watched with every step that he took. He had made sure to move downwind, at least, even as the blusters howled and rushed through his ears. Owlish stare burned through the verdancy as he sought a calico pelt through the midst of the murk, as the winds only roistered like it rocked drunkenly against him, spinning along his purls and pushing against his shorthaired pelt. He considered himself lucky that he would live within the shelter of the scrub bushes and not in the open wilds like some sort of prey animal just waiting to be killed. He stopped as soon as the stench of Windclan hit his nose, like an impasse between his life and that of the enemy. The young man simply waited near an errant stone near Windclan's border, like a lissome ghost vacillating between his world and the other, as though the purpose-driven beast could not find any other reason for his being here other than that of pure satisfaction. Had he played his hand too proudly and exposed his deck too much? No, he reasoned. If there was anything that he knew of Windclan, it was that their hospitality made them dull, like sitting rabbits. It was only right that he treat them as such.
The black blur amongst the wildgrasses only continued in his journey, like the sedges lurched towards him in roiling movements, and the very moorlands rejected his silent footfall upon its silt-skin. Thin fur upon the nape of his neck could not help but raise, for it felt as though he were being watched with every step that he took. He had made sure to move downwind, at least, even as the blusters howled and rushed through his ears. Owlish stare burned through the verdancy as he sought a calico pelt through the midst of the murk, as the winds only roistered like it rocked drunkenly against him, spinning along his purls and pushing against his shorthaired pelt. He considered himself lucky that he would live within the shelter of the scrub bushes and not in the open wilds like some sort of prey animal just waiting to be killed. He stopped as soon as the stench of Windclan hit his nose, like an impasse between his life and that of the enemy. The young man simply waited near an errant stone near Windclan's border, like a lissome ghost vacillating between his world and the other, as though the purpose-driven beast could not find any other reason for his being here other than that of pure satisfaction. Had he played his hand too proudly and exposed his deck too much? No, he reasoned. If there was anything that he knew of Windclan, it was that their hospitality made them dull, like sitting rabbits. It was only right that he treat them as such.
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@Brackenpaw
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—— PRIVETFROST / He/Him / 9 Moons
—— Warrior of Duskclan / Formerly mentored by Rumblerain
—— Wine-dark and white-tipped, almost like a magpie. He has black fur except for the tips of his ears, his muzzle and chin, a blaze on his chest, bottom portion of the legs, outer end of the tail, and along the upper ridges of eyes. He has ghost striping that can only be seen in certain sunlight. He has fern-green eyes.
—— Cool, calculating, and much too mature for such a young age. Enamored with the life of a warrior and burdened by the expectations of his people. Hard to befriend and harder to maintain a steady friendship with.
—— Penned by Tempest. Contact on Discord (naruk4mi) for plots and threads.