- May 31, 2023
- 187
- 55
- 28
The setting sun lights the moorland on fire. Pinks and golds rip through each strand of grass that dares lift its head too far; deep, watery indigo stains each shadow cast. But slowly, quietly, something cuts a path through it all on small, white-dipped paws. Scorchpaw moves in a crouch, each limb delicately placed so as to not alert her target. She never raises herself above the grass, never dares to be more than another stalk in the field; to make herself different would be to lose her soon-to-be catch. She feels the sleeping earth beneath her paws; she allows the wind to assist her, carrying scents on the breeze and rustling the golden waters of the moor so that they might cover up any noise of her own. It is the end of a long day of training, but her senses are as sharp as flint. Her bicolor gaze locks intensely on the mouse mere tail-lengths in front of her. She's almost there, she's almost ready to pounce....
Except she has miscalculated. Her paw snaps through a particularly sturdy stalk, and the mouse alerts to her and takes off in one breath. But Scorchpaw is tenacious; she will catch this thing, and she'll catch it today. The apprentice is quick to give chase, her frustration metabolizing into adrenaline to pump her muscles. She tears like gales across the moors, broad, ember-streaked shoulders catching the orange sun. The wind at her back, Scorchpaw is emboldened by its assistance; she speeds her chase, hungry eyes never once leaving the small brown streak ahead of her. She presses her hind paws into the earth and leaps--
--and she can see for miles above the flaxen ocean, the sun shining down on her back, the dewy purple of the heather foaming about the golden sea, the wind holding her gently above it all--
--and her cream-soaked paws come down on the mouse at last. Scorchpaw is quick to deliver upon it a killing blow; she does not so much as wince as the small bones of its neck succumb to the pressure of her milk teeth. It is not the first time she has tasted blood, for Scorchpaw has been weaned off of her mother for some time now, but it is a new and invigorating flavor, to have caught it herself. The girl feels a swell of pride in her chest. She'd done it! She'd caught her first prey! Somewhere in the moors, Badgermoon is watching her, and surely coming to congratulate her, too-- she casts her gaze across the fields, and she doesn't see him immediately, so she returns her focus to her catch. Thank StarClan, she thinks, studying the rodent, frozen in its path to safety. Just a few pawsteps away she sees its goal: a small hole in the earth, no doubt a den where it would have been safe. Silently, Scorchpaw's gaze flashes acidic, but it fades just as quickly-- she'd succeeded, after all, and that was all that mattered.
Scorchpaw picks up the thing in her jaws, hoping to find Badgermoon nearby. Surely he could tell her what to do with it now. Should she eat the heart of the creature, as Wolfsong had eaten the heart of that hare? No, she resolves, the heart of a mouse is far too cowardly.
/ obligatory mentor tag: @Badgermoon but no need to wait for him to post. also serving as her 50th post milestone! ^_^
Except she has miscalculated. Her paw snaps through a particularly sturdy stalk, and the mouse alerts to her and takes off in one breath. But Scorchpaw is tenacious; she will catch this thing, and she'll catch it today. The apprentice is quick to give chase, her frustration metabolizing into adrenaline to pump her muscles. She tears like gales across the moors, broad, ember-streaked shoulders catching the orange sun. The wind at her back, Scorchpaw is emboldened by its assistance; she speeds her chase, hungry eyes never once leaving the small brown streak ahead of her. She presses her hind paws into the earth and leaps--
--and she can see for miles above the flaxen ocean, the sun shining down on her back, the dewy purple of the heather foaming about the golden sea, the wind holding her gently above it all--
--and her cream-soaked paws come down on the mouse at last. Scorchpaw is quick to deliver upon it a killing blow; she does not so much as wince as the small bones of its neck succumb to the pressure of her milk teeth. It is not the first time she has tasted blood, for Scorchpaw has been weaned off of her mother for some time now, but it is a new and invigorating flavor, to have caught it herself. The girl feels a swell of pride in her chest. She'd done it! She'd caught her first prey! Somewhere in the moors, Badgermoon is watching her, and surely coming to congratulate her, too-- she casts her gaze across the fields, and she doesn't see him immediately, so she returns her focus to her catch. Thank StarClan, she thinks, studying the rodent, frozen in its path to safety. Just a few pawsteps away she sees its goal: a small hole in the earth, no doubt a den where it would have been safe. Silently, Scorchpaw's gaze flashes acidic, but it fades just as quickly-- she'd succeeded, after all, and that was all that mattered.
Scorchpaw picks up the thing in her jaws, hoping to find Badgermoon nearby. Surely he could tell her what to do with it now. Should she eat the heart of the creature, as Wolfsong had eaten the heart of that hare? No, she resolves, the heart of a mouse is far too cowardly.
/ obligatory mentor tag: @Badgermoon but no need to wait for him to post. also serving as her 50th post milestone! ^_^