- Jan 7, 2024
- 151
- 19
- 18
Their argument had struck a chord within her. She had become defensive at his words, trying to brush off what could have happened. Perhaps he was realistic and why he was upset. No, not perhaps, he was realistic about why he was upset. She could have easily died three times over recently. The first time, a dog at her heels, Ospreypaw's words in her ear directing her in the right direction. The second time, a dog on their shores, threatening a kit.
And the third time? Far more recently, and more dicey. A windclanner's warriors claws pinning her done, teeth arcing towards her neck. Her neck, the vital lifeline. She knew that point well- she had torn her own mother's neck out like that. Ferngill is the only reason she still stands today, thanks to his quick action. Claythorn, while she paced in camp, let her thoughts dwell on the fact that if the roles were reversed, Claythorn would perhaps lay siege to Windclan, alone, for their transgressions. Is that her fear response, to become angry? To let the rage take over?
She finally came to a stop in her pacing, turning and padding to sit near Otterbite. Mismatched goldens flicked to find seafoam, hoping that he wasn't giving her the cold shoulder. She wanted to bring something up to him. Her paw covered something she had been carrying, tucking under her tail.
And the third time? Far more recently, and more dicey. A windclanner's warriors claws pinning her done, teeth arcing towards her neck. Her neck, the vital lifeline. She knew that point well- she had torn her own mother's neck out like that. Ferngill is the only reason she still stands today, thanks to his quick action. Claythorn, while she paced in camp, let her thoughts dwell on the fact that if the roles were reversed, Claythorn would perhaps lay siege to Windclan, alone, for their transgressions. Is that her fear response, to become angry? To let the rage take over?
She finally came to a stop in her pacing, turning and padding to sit near Otterbite. Mismatched goldens flicked to find seafoam, hoping that he wasn't giving her the cold shoulder. She wanted to bring something up to him. Her paw covered something she had been carrying, tucking under her tail.
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"speech"
// @otterbite
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CLAYTHORN she/her, warrior of riverclan, fourteen moons.
⭃ LH chocolate torbie with mismatched golden eyes, scars across her right cheek and over her left ear. cold exterior and threatening glares, built for stamina/battle and not swimming (tall/muscled)
⭃mentored by darkbranch (npc)/ / mentoring no one
⭃ padding after otterbite / / only child
⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
⭃ penned by dallas ↛ dallasofnines on discord, feel free to dm for plots.