- Oct 22, 2022
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As per the cracked and tarnished lens of Smogmaw's perception, he felt he could get away with getting his kits away from the camp for a brief stint. Nothing too dramatic, nothing capable of making his mate tear her fur out in messy clumps. No. Just a vacation, a leave from the ever-incessant squabbling that burstened across the hollow. Granted, a hefty fraction of it may have stemmed from the deputy himself, but it left a sworn bitterness on his tongue—a taste, if discernable to him, then certainly detectable by his kits. How the unruly lifestyle in this clan might mould their upbringing was a discouraging notion to entertain. Thus, he aimed to remind them of the little things, the simple pleasures offered by this existence. Similar to stopping to smell the roses, though such pleasant smells were scant in this grotty bog.
"Put some pep in your step, Swankit," remarks the broad tom, whose head swivels over a shoulder to glimpse the drowsy boy. All four of them sat on the cusp of apprenticeship, and all four of them had already enjoyed a merry escapade into the greater marsh (they had the bears to thank for that). And, if his son could sleepwalk into ThunderClan lands without thrusting himself into harm's way, then a guided tour of the territory near camp seemed like a benign enough idea.
Smogmaw traverses on heedful pawsteps, paws squelching in the miry filth. Knowing that Halfshade roamed a couple of lengths behind, also shepherding the young ones onward, made him a tad less uneasy about the dense morning fog. His gait decelerates as the troupe draws near their destination—tucked away just off the beaten path was a divot in the marshscape, lavish with muddy water and jagged stones protruding from the surface. It's profuse with tadpoles and their grown-up counterparts, a swamp pool he'd used to train apprentices, both past and present, on frog-hunting.
"Okay," he says upon halting. "Keep your voices hushed, and your movements slow." Special attention is paid to Garlickit as he addresses them, for reasons that needn't elaborating on. A flick of the eyes is then sent towards his mate, pointed and warm. In allowing her kits to return to the nursery with muddy fur, she once again proves her finesse as a mother. The vague outline of a smile tugs his maw upwards, and he turns around to observe the swamp pool alongside his kits. "Do you think the froggies have clans? I think I can see a leader amongst them." Smogmaw, of course, is alluding to a particularly warty specimen settled amid low-lying reeds near the water's perimiter. Almost looks like Chittertongue, if you tilt your head a little.
// @swankit @valeriankit @Garlickit @APPLEKIT @Halfshade
// please wait for two of those tagged to reply before posting!
"Put some pep in your step, Swankit," remarks the broad tom, whose head swivels over a shoulder to glimpse the drowsy boy. All four of them sat on the cusp of apprenticeship, and all four of them had already enjoyed a merry escapade into the greater marsh (they had the bears to thank for that). And, if his son could sleepwalk into ThunderClan lands without thrusting himself into harm's way, then a guided tour of the territory near camp seemed like a benign enough idea.
Smogmaw traverses on heedful pawsteps, paws squelching in the miry filth. Knowing that Halfshade roamed a couple of lengths behind, also shepherding the young ones onward, made him a tad less uneasy about the dense morning fog. His gait decelerates as the troupe draws near their destination—tucked away just off the beaten path was a divot in the marshscape, lavish with muddy water and jagged stones protruding from the surface. It's profuse with tadpoles and their grown-up counterparts, a swamp pool he'd used to train apprentices, both past and present, on frog-hunting.
"Okay," he says upon halting. "Keep your voices hushed, and your movements slow." Special attention is paid to Garlickit as he addresses them, for reasons that needn't elaborating on. A flick of the eyes is then sent towards his mate, pointed and warm. In allowing her kits to return to the nursery with muddy fur, she once again proves her finesse as a mother. The vague outline of a smile tugs his maw upwards, and he turns around to observe the swamp pool alongside his kits. "Do you think the froggies have clans? I think I can see a leader amongst them." Smogmaw, of course, is alluding to a particularly warty specimen settled amid low-lying reeds near the water's perimiter. Almost looks like Chittertongue, if you tilt your head a little.
// @swankit @valeriankit @Garlickit @APPLEKIT @Halfshade
// please wait for two of those tagged to reply before posting!
