It's easy to find her. It was easy to find them all; cats that she still hardly knew the names of, at least had faces that stuck out like a torn claw amidst the nobodies milling about the gathering. Nobodies, and somebodies— And there were cats like Iciclefang, like Ferngill, like Mosspaw.
Sharpshadow notes belatedly, that many of her cats of interest happened to be from RiverClan. Sharpshadow wonders where this affinity for fish - eaters has risen from. And then she wonders at herself, because " affinity " was way too strong of a word. She simply cannot forget that young cats that seem to thrive beneath RiverClan's rule, despite their leader— or former leader, she should say, missing the gangly, form of Cicadastar, typically writhing eel - like amongst the crowd. The perfect little soldiers, all of them, even Ferngill, who cracked his smile as if he were someone that ought to be proud of themselves.
A wince. Too close.
If not for him, Sharpshadow would've made her way to Mosspaw sooner. And here he is now, approaching spider - like, A ShadowClanner in name and in looks. He feels bigger than he did before, even though he'd stopped growing nearly three seasons ago. Silver eyes narrow upon her, incessant as they had been when they were nestled at the base of the mountains still. He feels that he may afford to preen, this night. Now— he had the benefit of a name. Sharpshadow's smile is all teeth. " Happy to be home, Mosspaw? " he forgoes pleasantries, because Mosspaw was not someone he'd consider himself on pleasant terms with. She is someone to bother. Sharpshadow hopes that things have been perfectly miserable in RiverClan since their return; someway, somehow.
Sharpshadow notes belatedly, that many of her cats of interest happened to be from RiverClan. Sharpshadow wonders where this affinity for fish - eaters has risen from. And then she wonders at herself, because " affinity " was way too strong of a word. She simply cannot forget that young cats that seem to thrive beneath RiverClan's rule, despite their leader— or former leader, she should say, missing the gangly, form of Cicadastar, typically writhing eel - like amongst the crowd. The perfect little soldiers, all of them, even Ferngill, who cracked his smile as if he were someone that ought to be proud of themselves.
A wince. Too close.
If not for him, Sharpshadow would've made her way to Mosspaw sooner. And here he is now, approaching spider - like, A ShadowClanner in name and in looks. He feels bigger than he did before, even though he'd stopped growing nearly three seasons ago. Silver eyes narrow upon her, incessant as they had been when they were nestled at the base of the mountains still. He feels that he may afford to preen, this night. Now— he had the benefit of a name. Sharpshadow's smile is all teeth. " Happy to be home, Mosspaw? " he forgoes pleasantries, because Mosspaw was not someone he'd consider himself on pleasant terms with. She is someone to bother. Sharpshadow hopes that things have been perfectly miserable in RiverClan since their return; someway, somehow.
