private The light, the light [Smokepaw]

[Badgermoon]

There was a great herd of clouds on the horizon, moving slowly but inexorably towards the moor; the thickness of them, the sharp scent on the breeze, hinted strongly at the imminent occurrence of snow. Badgermoon was trudging along, heading towards camp, a dead thrush in his jaws. It wasn't much of a catch, but it was something at least, and he was glad that he had something to show for his efforts. The bicolor tom wearied sometimes of the seemingly endless leaf-bare pursuit of prey that seemed to rarely actually be there - but at least he was well enough to do so. He wasn't trapped in the old den which shared his name due to sickness, he wasn't on the verge of joining StarClan like his predecessor in the deputy role - it was a privilege to be able to do the work of a warrior, even if sometimes all he wanted to do was wrap himself up tight in his nest and sleep til newleaf. He marched on, dark tail swishing slowly behind him, the scent of feathers and blood drifting along with him.

@SMOKEPAW​

 

[SMOKESTEP]

TAGS — The snow doesn't make him anxious like it does other cats. The tunnels are good cover from the elements- though he is conscious of the fact that he'll have to be more careful when all of the white dust melts and becomes water to flood them. That makes him anxious, he supposes, but not the snow. Not the tunnels, either. Sometimes he wonders if he really is a WindClanner, considering all the ways the open moors seem to hinder him anymore. Smokepaw is no skilled hunter, no swift runner, no quiet stalker- at least not aboveground. He's not sure what changes between the surface and its beneath, but as he strolls into camp with his mentor, hunched from his long days in the tunnels, his ambling stride makes him feel more beast more than cat.

The sharp tang of blood cuts through the oppressive scent of the incoming storm. Smokepaw's attention snaps to the source, finding Badgermoon at the end of it, a thrush in his jaws. His stomach rumbles at the sight of it. The only sign of his sheepishness is the gentle tilt of his ears towards the back of his skull. He wrestles with his two conflicting desires; to approach Badgermoon and ask for a bite, or to remain resolute in his ability to catch his own prey to eat. The only problem is, he hadn't caught anything at all today- he'd just followed his mentor through the tunnels as they patrolled and patched up any weak points. Eventually he gives in, and approaching the tom, opens his jaws to ask, "Um, are you looking to share that?" A heartbeat passes before he seems to remember his manners. "Nice catch, by the way." Better than anything I could do.​

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