- Jan 28, 2024
- 70
- 13
- 8
ꕀꕀ Tan-splotched fur still bristles at his neck and shoulders as the tom pushes his way back into camp, brushing aside reeds as he goes. Droplets of water still cling to silky fur, but he doesn’t bother to shake them off as he normally does. His head swims with worry, with teeth-gritting anger. He’s brought the shattered shell back to camp with him. He still isn’t sure why—sentimentality? Rage? Some deeper, more specific reason? Maybe he’d looked at the ugly, cracked surface first, and then watched it give way to the shining inner shell. And maybe he’d seen a bit of himself in the shell, especially in its initial resilience against his heavy paws. He’s resilient. He could be strong.
He stalks through camp, unconcerned about how his clanmates view him. Let them think what they want. Surely, his argument with his parents had been heard by anyone who’d happened to stand close to the shoreline. Surely, he’ll be questioned about it by anyone bold enough to eavesdrop. But his path to the warriors’ den is, thankfully, uninterrupted—he shoves his way inside the den, single eye narrowed in a glare. His paws tremble with leftover rage, with a hint of fear. He doesn’t want to fulfill what his parents ask of him, and it’s the first time he’s ever felt this way. The idea of having more siblings terrifies him, too; he enjoys spending time around RiverClan’s kits, but his family has always been himself and his parents.
Gradually he settles, shaking, into his nest. Hopefully no one had seen—or heard—his cathartic moment of destruction. And if they had, hopefully they’ll have the good sense to leave him alone. A tired yellow eye blinks open, then drifts shut, then blinks open again. Restlessness is unfamiliar to him, normally too busy doing every duty that he can. But today, his inner mantra isn’t enough to keep him from growing antsy. It’ll turn out okay. It always does. Even as he mentally repeats it to himself, the words don’t seem quite true.
He stalks through camp, unconcerned about how his clanmates view him. Let them think what they want. Surely, his argument with his parents had been heard by anyone who’d happened to stand close to the shoreline. Surely, he’ll be questioned about it by anyone bold enough to eavesdrop. But his path to the warriors’ den is, thankfully, uninterrupted—he shoves his way inside the den, single eye narrowed in a glare. His paws tremble with leftover rage, with a hint of fear. He doesn’t want to fulfill what his parents ask of him, and it’s the first time he’s ever felt this way. The idea of having more siblings terrifies him, too; he enjoys spending time around RiverClan’s kits, but his family has always been himself and his parents.
Gradually he settles, shaking, into his nest. Hopefully no one had seen—or heard—his cathartic moment of destruction. And if they had, hopefully they’ll have the good sense to leave him alone. A tired yellow eye blinks open, then drifts shut, then blinks open again. Restlessness is unfamiliar to him, normally too busy doing every duty that he can. But today, his inner mantra isn’t enough to keep him from growing antsy. It’ll turn out okay. It always does. Even as he mentally repeats it to himself, the words don’t seem quite true.
- ooc: this is a follow-up to The Oneshot
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SANDPELT ❯❯ he/him, warrior of riverclan
❀ pretty, silky-furred tan tortoiseshell with one yellow eye. calm and hardworking, but can become snappy if angered.
❀ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
❀ penned by foxlore