- Jul 1, 2024
- 47
- 6
- 8
𓆧 The sun's low, just beginning to expand its rays over the moor. It burns through the morning fog and sparkles off dew on the germinating vegetation, casting the territory with a hallowed glow. It's beautiful, this territory which has been all Cricketcry's known. It's not often when he truly appreciates it all, takes it in and basks in the glow. He's crouched in the mouth of a burrow that has been widened, an entrance into the labyrinth beneath himself. He'd left camp before the sun awakened. It was irresponsible, to leave without a partner or so much as telling anyone... but he knew the way to this borrow better than he knew himself. Cricketcry would return before his presence was missed and before the tunnelers left to get to work in the tunnels.
Paws tucked beneath his woolly chest, he gazes down from the slight hill the borrow is situated on, watching the sunrise with a glassy gleam over his mossy eyes. The past moons have been tumultuous for the clan, this much is for certain. Less certain is how Cricketcry fits into it all. What is his role in a clan that is striving to grow stronger when danger creeps along the borders, swoops in from above or ferments from within there own ranks? He is weak, in mind and body. He saw that from the reactions on the sidelines of his spar with Scorchstreak, that his weakness is a fact and not his mind twisting his reality. With his paws he can rake away mud and slay, directing it effortlessly aside to reinforce shafts; he can navigate the crawling system as well as any other tunneler, his confidence is nearly palpable underground. In the scheme of things, how does this help his clanmates? Otherwise he flails along, going through the motions of a Windclanner. It's the biggest charade in history, to maintain any semblance of who he's expected to be. Without this performance surely he'd cease to exist, evaporate just as the dew drops do now.
Do not mistake it, Cricketcry does indeed care a great deal about the clan. What use is he to it though? The feeling that creeps along his spine when he steps foot out of the tunnels... its a feeling of having no great value to the clan, he's just another mouth to feed. He is drowning in the feeling of pointlessness, regards himself as a waste. He should've left, gone to the Horseplace... maybe his use lays in mousing-- but that barn is poisoned by his memories of his accident. Maybe he'll roam the scrublands. But Duskclan would eat him alive. Maybe he should perish in some way, maybe the charade should be cast aside. Evaporating like dew, out of existence, is unrealistic but maybe if he just tumbled down this incline? Hit his head? Cricketcry's considered it before, when he's come to this spot prior to this. Maybe his purpose was to perish by the hooves of the barn animals? This hill. Like a rock, he'd tumble down. No, they'd probably blame a Duskclanner, say he'd been pushed and pointless violence may ensue. Maybe he loses his way in the tunnels? This may be equally as impossible as evaporating.
No, he does not want to leave, if there is one thing he knows for certain about himself is that he's loyal to a fault. He doesn't really want to disappear, much less by his own doing-- these thoughts strike him ever so often and paralyze him, he doesn't often entertain them as he just did. He'd rather be struck down by the doing of their enemies, in a feeble attempt to defend the clan. That way, his loyalty to the clan would be set in stone. Though outside of the tunnels his use to the clan is questionable... Cricketcry does not wish to leave them behind. It pains him, to feel so useless; so impossibly unimportant. This moon he's been trying, in his own methods, to make connections... but is it all a futile attempt? Maybe his place is to forever more be seen as a coward, a weak link, a phantom in the tunnels.
A sigh whistles from Cricketcry's maw, a broken sound. It is as though he expels all these pervasive thoughts that swarm his mind like bees. Releasing them to pollinate elsewhere, release from their gloomy hive and go pester another mind. Cricketcry should be going now, much of the clan will be up and he'd like to return before the chances of having to explain his disappearance is likelier. He rises to a sitting position and lifts a stained paw to wipe moisture from his two-toned face, frown deepening as he considers the whirlwind his mind sends him in so often. He won't be returning here, he decides, not unless it is with a patrol.
There is no point to indulge in such thoughts, it is a waste of his energy he should be using to prove himself. The tom takes one last glance at the grasslands, from his hole in the miniature hillside before sauntering down the narrow trail downwards, pawsteps deftly heading to the camp. Surprisingly, when he arrived, the worry he had about questions on his whereabouts or strange stares at the damp fur on his cheeks was no longer a concern. As Cricketcry steps into camp he feels a new sense of commitment towards his intention to grow, like the moor after the fire, flowering within himself, spreading warm tendrils around his entire being he never felt before.
Paws tucked beneath his woolly chest, he gazes down from the slight hill the borrow is situated on, watching the sunrise with a glassy gleam over his mossy eyes. The past moons have been tumultuous for the clan, this much is for certain. Less certain is how Cricketcry fits into it all. What is his role in a clan that is striving to grow stronger when danger creeps along the borders, swoops in from above or ferments from within there own ranks? He is weak, in mind and body. He saw that from the reactions on the sidelines of his spar with Scorchstreak, that his weakness is a fact and not his mind twisting his reality. With his paws he can rake away mud and slay, directing it effortlessly aside to reinforce shafts; he can navigate the crawling system as well as any other tunneler, his confidence is nearly palpable underground. In the scheme of things, how does this help his clanmates? Otherwise he flails along, going through the motions of a Windclanner. It's the biggest charade in history, to maintain any semblance of who he's expected to be. Without this performance surely he'd cease to exist, evaporate just as the dew drops do now.
Do not mistake it, Cricketcry does indeed care a great deal about the clan. What use is he to it though? The feeling that creeps along his spine when he steps foot out of the tunnels... its a feeling of having no great value to the clan, he's just another mouth to feed. He is drowning in the feeling of pointlessness, regards himself as a waste. He should've left, gone to the Horseplace... maybe his use lays in mousing-- but that barn is poisoned by his memories of his accident. Maybe he'll roam the scrublands. But Duskclan would eat him alive. Maybe he should perish in some way, maybe the charade should be cast aside. Evaporating like dew, out of existence, is unrealistic but maybe if he just tumbled down this incline? Hit his head? Cricketcry's considered it before, when he's come to this spot prior to this. Maybe his purpose was to perish by the hooves of the barn animals? This hill. Like a rock, he'd tumble down. No, they'd probably blame a Duskclanner, say he'd been pushed and pointless violence may ensue. Maybe he loses his way in the tunnels? This may be equally as impossible as evaporating.
No, he does not want to leave, if there is one thing he knows for certain about himself is that he's loyal to a fault. He doesn't really want to disappear, much less by his own doing-- these thoughts strike him ever so often and paralyze him, he doesn't often entertain them as he just did. He'd rather be struck down by the doing of their enemies, in a feeble attempt to defend the clan. That way, his loyalty to the clan would be set in stone. Though outside of the tunnels his use to the clan is questionable... Cricketcry does not wish to leave them behind. It pains him, to feel so useless; so impossibly unimportant. This moon he's been trying, in his own methods, to make connections... but is it all a futile attempt? Maybe his place is to forever more be seen as a coward, a weak link, a phantom in the tunnels.
A sigh whistles from Cricketcry's maw, a broken sound. It is as though he expels all these pervasive thoughts that swarm his mind like bees. Releasing them to pollinate elsewhere, release from their gloomy hive and go pester another mind. Cricketcry should be going now, much of the clan will be up and he'd like to return before the chances of having to explain his disappearance is likelier. He rises to a sitting position and lifts a stained paw to wipe moisture from his two-toned face, frown deepening as he considers the whirlwind his mind sends him in so often. He won't be returning here, he decides, not unless it is with a patrol.
There is no point to indulge in such thoughts, it is a waste of his energy he should be using to prove himself. The tom takes one last glance at the grasslands, from his hole in the miniature hillside before sauntering down the narrow trail downwards, pawsteps deftly heading to the camp. Surprisingly, when he arrived, the worry he had about questions on his whereabouts or strange stares at the damp fur on his cheeks was no longer a concern. As Cricketcry steps into camp he feels a new sense of commitment towards his intention to grow, like the moor after the fire, flowering within himself, spreading warm tendrils around his entire being he never felt before.
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OOC—
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CRICKETCRY —— Tunneler of Windclan 𓆧
𓆧 [color=766153]he/him/ 28 ☾ [/color]
𓆧 [color=766153]petite, reclusive, & wistful [/color]
𓆧 [color=766153]has a slight limp [/color]
𓆧 [color=766153]lh chocolate tabby/fawn chimera [/color]
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