- Feb 16, 2024
- 83
- 16
- 8
Starvation lined the mind like a fever, welting from the stomach and heaving through the windpipe. It would drive a lesser man insane - though Privetfrost knew that even he could not resist the abyss' call to succumb. Duskclan had always gotten the shorter end of the stick when it came to abundance, for even the summer granted little penance for the forgotten. The young warrior would not give in to despair, though, and knew that he had to try. Despite the blizzard that roiled through the sky and thrashed on the land, he still found himself outside of the bounds of his territory.
Privetfrost's tarmac-black was barely visible through the snow, like a maroon speck upon the white skin of winter, a slight wound breaching through the monotony. Moving through the snow proved inefficient, slow, costly in the dire hours. An acute awareness of his insignificance in the face of nature itself always rested upon his periphery, always lined the gut like a bell's chime. Frustration lie plain upon the young warrior's angular face as he searched the desolate scrublands, for the ringing bell of hunger proved more perilous than to simply bide his time, forcing even the seclusive Duskclan to travel out of the bounds of their small territory. He lifted his head, whiskers twitching as not even a single scent trail dangled above the snowdrift. Cold weather shook through his very bones, an ever-present presence that hummed a half-elegy through angled ears. It would sooner consume him than work with him, but he still forced his way through the winds that whipped at his sides. "Do not stop looking until you find something." Privetfrost barked to the meager patrol, as though the unforgiving season had allowed the composed cat to err to madness, inured by the ever-eager lash of their circumstances. Cold gaze abraded into thin-edged jewels. The circumstances were not kind, so he only found it fit to become more unkind to it, in turn. Compassion and mercy never saved anyone, when it came down to it. It would only be those willing to break through the flesh and take what they had torn open that would survive this harsh season.
Privetfrost's tarmac-black was barely visible through the snow, like a maroon speck upon the white skin of winter, a slight wound breaching through the monotony. Moving through the snow proved inefficient, slow, costly in the dire hours. An acute awareness of his insignificance in the face of nature itself always rested upon his periphery, always lined the gut like a bell's chime. Frustration lie plain upon the young warrior's angular face as he searched the desolate scrublands, for the ringing bell of hunger proved more perilous than to simply bide his time, forcing even the seclusive Duskclan to travel out of the bounds of their small territory. He lifted his head, whiskers twitching as not even a single scent trail dangled above the snowdrift. Cold weather shook through his very bones, an ever-present presence that hummed a half-elegy through angled ears. It would sooner consume him than work with him, but he still forced his way through the winds that whipped at his sides. "Do not stop looking until you find something." Privetfrost barked to the meager patrol, as though the unforgiving season had allowed the composed cat to err to madness, inured by the ever-eager lash of their circumstances. Cold gaze abraded into thin-edged jewels. The circumstances were not kind, so he only found it fit to become more unkind to it, in turn. Compassion and mercy never saved anyone, when it came down to it. It would only be those willing to break through the flesh and take what they had torn open that would survive this harsh season.
