- Jun 7, 2023
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There was a loquacious buzz within camp, like a horde of angry bees preparing to suffocate a threat. The leader's den stood as a bastion against it all, separated only by a thin layer of lycan. He watched some cats hover close to it, adamant that if they pressed their ears to the stone, they would receive some worthwhile information. Others cast their sights on the Nursery, some sympathetic, others glaring at the walls. A sense of betrayal hung in the air and, although Sunstar had called a recess to talk with the xanthic traitor, it had not quelled the desire for others to talk. He saw it in the way they moved and the way their flanks rose and fell with a mixture of emotions driving their hearts to soar.
'She gave me what I wanted.' Yet, as his inflated ego grew steady, there was something hollow about the victory, something that reminded him that she had been a fool for Thriftfeather's sake and not his. His chance to lionize had been squandered by mediocrity, and until Sunstar emerged from his nest, no one would know how much they'd been able to influence what happened to the timorous tom. Would their leader emerge with a bloodied maw, or would he succumb to his clanmates and find friendship in the rogue? The latter seemed... wrong, revolting in a way the chimera could not describe. It couldn't happen. Juncoclaw's acceptance had been a mistake, but this? This would be sordid, irrefutable proof that he was the only one within WindClan that could honour the code.
He fed the young, he did not waste prey (the snake eggs were already dead, outside of the code, he reasoned), he only trespassed on his leader's orders, he had fought underground in defence of a Deputy, he had held a posthumous vigil for himself. The longer he stood, the easier it was to believe how virtuous he was, how much he deserved Bluefrost's place. There was plenty to do to show how much he'd earned in the two moons before he was free from the nursery.
His ears fell sadly to the sides of his skull, the prominent lashing of his tail falling to a still. In the face of the hustle and bustle, he'd grown immutable. Over and over he replayed Bluefrost's expression in his mind until he emulated it himself, growing a regretful frown and downcast eyes as if they were plants. When the look was at its crescendo, someone asked if he was alright. "When DuskClan raided our camp, I watched Bluefrost leave her post at WindClan's entrance which allowed them to escape. It looked like she ran towards Thriftfeather first even though her leader was dead, but it was dark, I thought I was mistaken." 'I thought her vision so poor that she could not tell the difference between friend or foe. It seems now her vision doesn't matter, they were both her friends.' "I am sorry, had I been less trusting, this may never have escalated."