- Jul 1, 2024
- 47
- 6
- 8
𓆧 It was a relief to escape the feverish temperature of the moor and escape from the ever-present reminders of the fire which had raged above by escaping into the drafty system of tunnels. Cricketcry and a posse of clanmates moved diligently through the tunnels, the mottled tabby at the helm of the patrol guiding the patrol assuredly through the tunnels. He systematically chose which branch of the system to pivot down. It was only a routine perusal of the tunnels, there would be no digging today. Cricketcry would routinely halt the patrol after several tail lengths with a flick of his feathery tail tip, which would indicate to whomever was behind him that he would like to stop and from there the message would be sent down the line. When Cricketcry would pause he would slow his breathing and careen his ears while also parting his maw, tasting the air for any prey and predators which may have passed through the specific tunnel they were in. He would conclude the tunnels ahead were safe enough to proceed and would continue onwards.
As they continue, Cricketcry's nostrils flare as he smells the faint stench of a hare and he pauses quickly, trying to trace its whereabouts. If it had traveled forward, it could be around a bend– as an apprentice tunnelers would be taught not to track a hare into a corner, as they could pack a painful kick, and Cricketcry was not yearning for broken ribs. He paces forward once he concludes the hare’s trail was several hours old, perhaps even a day old, but pauses abruptly– without warning– as he hears helpless squeals echoing towards their direction. Cricketcry flares his ears forward and then rasps, “Do you hear that?” He does not wait for a reply and dashes down the tunnel, his whiskers quavering as he uses them to sense the next turn where the sounds are originating from. Cricketcry leads his patrol towards an open chamber, a naturally occurring hollow in the ground that the tunnelers fortified many moons ago to prevent a cave in. Here, the patrol may spread out without and also stand without the fear of hitting their heads on the ceiling.
He pads further into the chamber, his eyes dilating as he attempts to make out what may be producing the helpless noises that shatter the stillness of the tunnels. He leans forward as he approaches the farthest wall from the tunnel they exited and his nose bumps into a little body, causing him to flare his nostrils as the familiar scent floods his senses, causing his mouth to salivate. Cricketcry gasps slightly, swallowing back his saliva, and looks over his shoulder to announce, “Hare kits–” He brushes the figure with his nose and discovers two more, a total of three leverets in a warm heap. “--three, in total. They must have been abandoned.” Cricketcry nuzzles the downy fur of one of the helpless creatures and then steps aside for his counterparts to view them. “We should leave them here... o-or relocate them,” he blurts hoarsely, his tail wavering slightly as he realizes the ridiculousness of this proposition. His face burns in embarrassment but then he rolls his shoulders, deciding he will stand by this suggestion.
As they continue, Cricketcry's nostrils flare as he smells the faint stench of a hare and he pauses quickly, trying to trace its whereabouts. If it had traveled forward, it could be around a bend– as an apprentice tunnelers would be taught not to track a hare into a corner, as they could pack a painful kick, and Cricketcry was not yearning for broken ribs. He paces forward once he concludes the hare’s trail was several hours old, perhaps even a day old, but pauses abruptly– without warning– as he hears helpless squeals echoing towards their direction. Cricketcry flares his ears forward and then rasps, “Do you hear that?” He does not wait for a reply and dashes down the tunnel, his whiskers quavering as he uses them to sense the next turn where the sounds are originating from. Cricketcry leads his patrol towards an open chamber, a naturally occurring hollow in the ground that the tunnelers fortified many moons ago to prevent a cave in. Here, the patrol may spread out without and also stand without the fear of hitting their heads on the ceiling.
He pads further into the chamber, his eyes dilating as he attempts to make out what may be producing the helpless noises that shatter the stillness of the tunnels. He leans forward as he approaches the farthest wall from the tunnel they exited and his nose bumps into a little body, causing him to flare his nostrils as the familiar scent floods his senses, causing his mouth to salivate. Cricketcry gasps slightly, swallowing back his saliva, and looks over his shoulder to announce, “Hare kits–” He brushes the figure with his nose and discovers two more, a total of three leverets in a warm heap. “--three, in total. They must have been abandoned.” Cricketcry nuzzles the downy fur of one of the helpless creatures and then steps aside for his counterparts to view them. “We should leave them here... o-or relocate them,” he blurts hoarsely, his tail wavering slightly as he realizes the ridiculousness of this proposition. His face burns in embarrassment but then he rolls his shoulders, deciding he will stand by this suggestion.
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ooc —
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CRICKETCRY —— Tunneler of Windclan 𓆧
𓆧 AMAB / he/they / 28 ☾
𓆧 petite, reclusive, timid, wistful
long coat diminutive chocolate tabby with oddly large mossy eyes