- Dec 2, 2023
- 14
- 1
- 3
It's getting dark. The sky is an indigo smudge through the trees, the forest awash with dusk-light that darkens by the minute. Fang pushes past a fern frond, gingerly steps across the cold, shadowy snow which has stuck itself across the frozen ground. He pauses just long enough to catch a look at the solidifying moon through the criss-crossing tree branches overhead and thinks: Maybe it's time to give up.
On what he isn't sure. The hunt perhaps. Fang presses a paw to the frosty tread underfoot, watches the misty cloud of his breath billow across his whiskers. It's been hours—three days worth—and he's found nothing of substance. The earth has been culled of its summertime bounty and left nothing but cold, dead husks. Now his dugout burrow nearby calls to him, his bone-tired frame, but so too is its frost-lined interior losing its allure. So maybe he should leave. Try and take to the icy road onward, away from this place, like he plans on when the weather turns fair. There's no promise that he'll have better luck somewhere else, but that could be said about anywhere. It's already being said about here and now.
He sighs. His breath clouds. Something indescribable pushes him onward; he ducks beneath a gnarled cluster of brambly undergrowth and slinks forth, just a bit further.
He told SkyClan that he'd try not to be spotted from their border anymore, and in the first few days that meant keeping from the border altogether. He explored the twolegplace, barely and tentatively. Though he knows to scavenge through upwalker trash far less than he knows to sniff after prey which he can't seem to find, or catch, so he stick to what he can do—it draws him back to the border eventually, just more warily this time.
As he creeps along the territory line now, far closer than he's ever strayed before, Fang catches the rank stench of something unknown.
A yowl pieces through the air.
Just through the undergrowth he sees a familiar face. @TATTEREDLIGHT battles against a grizzled, scarred cat who is already bleeding from the shoulder. The snow beneath their feet is torn up and splashed with red. Fang sees Tatteredlight reel from an attempted swipe before another loud, panicked sound rings out from fox-lengths away—and crowded by another foul-smelling cat is the same girl from before, @Cherrypaw.
Jolted into movement, Fang bursts from the undergrowth and throws his weight against Cherrypaw's opponent, toppling them into the snow. His claws sink into the dirt to keep him upright. His eyes turn to Cherrypaw, once-immaculate pelt mangled, and then to Tatteredlight nearby, and then to the rogue that picks themself up and launches at him again, distracted at once by the haze of combat.
On what he isn't sure. The hunt perhaps. Fang presses a paw to the frosty tread underfoot, watches the misty cloud of his breath billow across his whiskers. It's been hours—three days worth—and he's found nothing of substance. The earth has been culled of its summertime bounty and left nothing but cold, dead husks. Now his dugout burrow nearby calls to him, his bone-tired frame, but so too is its frost-lined interior losing its allure. So maybe he should leave. Try and take to the icy road onward, away from this place, like he plans on when the weather turns fair. There's no promise that he'll have better luck somewhere else, but that could be said about anywhere. It's already being said about here and now.
He sighs. His breath clouds. Something indescribable pushes him onward; he ducks beneath a gnarled cluster of brambly undergrowth and slinks forth, just a bit further.
He told SkyClan that he'd try not to be spotted from their border anymore, and in the first few days that meant keeping from the border altogether. He explored the twolegplace, barely and tentatively. Though he knows to scavenge through upwalker trash far less than he knows to sniff after prey which he can't seem to find, or catch, so he stick to what he can do—it draws him back to the border eventually, just more warily this time.
As he creeps along the territory line now, far closer than he's ever strayed before, Fang catches the rank stench of something unknown.
A yowl pieces through the air.
Just through the undergrowth he sees a familiar face. @TATTEREDLIGHT battles against a grizzled, scarred cat who is already bleeding from the shoulder. The snow beneath their feet is torn up and splashed with red. Fang sees Tatteredlight reel from an attempted swipe before another loud, panicked sound rings out from fox-lengths away—and crowded by another foul-smelling cat is the same girl from before, @Cherrypaw.
Jolted into movement, Fang bursts from the undergrowth and throws his weight against Cherrypaw's opponent, toppling them into the snow. His claws sink into the dirt to keep him upright. His eyes turn to Cherrypaw, once-immaculate pelt mangled, and then to Tatteredlight nearby, and then to the rogue that picks themself up and launches at him again, distracted at once by the haze of combat.
