- May 17, 2023
- 58
- 2
- 8
THE HERMIT ─── Of course tonight sleep wished to claim him. His sunken drained eyes were beginning to falter and bow under his fluttering eyelids. He rarely was given the graceful hand of a good night's sleep, mind and body were always mismatched. One was too full of energy, the other barely clinging on to whatever vitality it had. The biting teeth of winter's night did not make it any better even as his thick pelt shielded him better than others, a razor blade of wind slicing his worn scarred face, causing his bent head to snap up. He was sitting near the edge of the camp, almost as a sentinel at some imaginary king's orders, guarding the fortress while the others were away. He knew that they would be arriving soon and even with the ruthless attacks from the rogues, it seemed like an optimist's night.
His velvety nicked ear twitched, briefly recalling not a few moments ago that another clanmate had offered to stand to watch and wait for the others to return, perhaps a desperate attempt to make insomnia-induced tom to finally catch a rare night of rest. Rookfang had been swift to dismiss the concern, rushed and frantic (an unusual display of troubled concern), and had snapped himself up in a more upright position, imposing that he was perfectly fine and not feeling the murky waves of exhaustion and sleep. After a few hushed dismissing retorts, he had peeked over his broad shoulder to watch the other walk back to the dens, the streaks of the full moon's shifting with the shadows as the winter gusts reminded him of their rough patch this season and foggy memories that he kept locked in tightly within his heavy chest.
As much as he was comfortable dwelling in the solemn silence by himself, brooding with his conscious, he felt as if every second was dragging its feet. Perhaps, he should hold off in wanting to ensure the other's safety, he was very aware of their capabilities and their strengths, and none of them would ever go down without a good fight. Frantic quick quips of a certain someone flashed in his mind for a second and his drained frown deepened into his muzzle as he briefly screwed his eyes, attempting to still the sudden drumming of his nervous heart at the thought of never hearing them again. The jagged pelt of the chimera shifted as he peeled his weighted eyelids to stare blankly at the constant flow of their protective river. With all the injuries and deaths, it was harder to not be tempted to constantly fish, day and night. But his large paws remained rooted to the ground, his body's desperation causing him to want to conserve whatever little energy he had left. Fatigue was not a stranger to Rookfang, the fanged male had always carried it in his bones since he had become an only child. It gnawed itself a home in the ivory and never appeared to want to leave him, a parasitic relationship one could say. He bitterly understood why it desperately clung to him...nobody liked to be lonely. Even so, surrounded by so many voices, thoughts, and emotions, Rookfang felt a greater sense of comfort in his solitude. He was not one to seek or strive for more than himself, it felt selfish and hungersome. Why bother with his feelings when there were bigger concerns constantly stalking the edge of their little island?
The answer came as the sound of footsteps. As if gliding off a blanket, Rookfang snapped up to his fully standing form, stormy ocean blue eyes locking onto the ones that matched the vibrancy of green fish scales. "You're back." It came out messy and jumbled as if someone had suddenly wrung it out of him like a towel. The depleted strain luckily slashed half of the emotion as Rookfang's stiffened muscles shifted slightly back to loosen, wanting to appear less impacted by the appearance of the lead warrior. He gave a sharp snap of his head to add a last-minute sense of formality. Yet his eyes never left the other tom despite the other returning figures slipping around them, weaving like minnows. The exhaustion was still sticking around like a third wheel but the feeling of relief coated any other feeling. Thank Starclan, he was safe.
ooc | @Snakeblink
His velvety nicked ear twitched, briefly recalling not a few moments ago that another clanmate had offered to stand to watch and wait for the others to return, perhaps a desperate attempt to make insomnia-induced tom to finally catch a rare night of rest. Rookfang had been swift to dismiss the concern, rushed and frantic (an unusual display of troubled concern), and had snapped himself up in a more upright position, imposing that he was perfectly fine and not feeling the murky waves of exhaustion and sleep. After a few hushed dismissing retorts, he had peeked over his broad shoulder to watch the other walk back to the dens, the streaks of the full moon's shifting with the shadows as the winter gusts reminded him of their rough patch this season and foggy memories that he kept locked in tightly within his heavy chest.
As much as he was comfortable dwelling in the solemn silence by himself, brooding with his conscious, he felt as if every second was dragging its feet. Perhaps, he should hold off in wanting to ensure the other's safety, he was very aware of their capabilities and their strengths, and none of them would ever go down without a good fight. Frantic quick quips of a certain someone flashed in his mind for a second and his drained frown deepened into his muzzle as he briefly screwed his eyes, attempting to still the sudden drumming of his nervous heart at the thought of never hearing them again. The jagged pelt of the chimera shifted as he peeled his weighted eyelids to stare blankly at the constant flow of their protective river. With all the injuries and deaths, it was harder to not be tempted to constantly fish, day and night. But his large paws remained rooted to the ground, his body's desperation causing him to want to conserve whatever little energy he had left. Fatigue was not a stranger to Rookfang, the fanged male had always carried it in his bones since he had become an only child. It gnawed itself a home in the ivory and never appeared to want to leave him, a parasitic relationship one could say. He bitterly understood why it desperately clung to him...nobody liked to be lonely. Even so, surrounded by so many voices, thoughts, and emotions, Rookfang felt a greater sense of comfort in his solitude. He was not one to seek or strive for more than himself, it felt selfish and hungersome. Why bother with his feelings when there were bigger concerns constantly stalking the edge of their little island?
The answer came as the sound of footsteps. As if gliding off a blanket, Rookfang snapped up to his fully standing form, stormy ocean blue eyes locking onto the ones that matched the vibrancy of green fish scales. "You're back." It came out messy and jumbled as if someone had suddenly wrung it out of him like a towel. The depleted strain luckily slashed half of the emotion as Rookfang's stiffened muscles shifted slightly back to loosen, wanting to appear less impacted by the appearance of the lead warrior. He gave a sharp snap of his head to add a last-minute sense of formality. Yet his eyes never left the other tom despite the other returning figures slipping around them, weaving like minnows. The exhaustion was still sticking around like a third wheel but the feeling of relief coated any other feeling. Thank Starclan, he was safe.
ooc | @Snakeblink
