- Jun 6, 2024
- 25
- 3
- 3
꙳•❅* The attack from DuskClan had left the camp in a rough state, and the cats within it in even worse shape. A body had fallen permanently still and cold on each side of the conflict, yet it doesn’t feel good. Doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t feel anything like a victory, even if the clan had driven away the band of rogues in the end. Most of all though, his conversation with Rumblerain is a heavy, foreboding weight on his back. They had looked terribly thin, but they had spoken with a ferocity so unlike the littermate he’d loved. For a moment, he’d been afraid that the pointed rogue would try to kill him if he’d stood in their way any longer.
Frostpaw, they’d called him at first, and for a reason he can’t quite place, that’s what hurts the most. They resent him, but they don’t even know who he is anymore. And truthfully, aside from an estranged brother, what is he to Rumblerain? That train of thought sends him spiraling down a deep rabbit hole in his mind, one that the tunneler doesn’t particularly like. So he has to find ways to distract himself. Mindless, brain-numbing actions, like patching up the too-thin places in the gorse wall, are what he turns to for comfort. He’s doing a great job, he thinks—until he swings his paw to adjust a clump of the horse, and the softness of a pawpad catches on the sharp edge of a thorn.
"Shit," he curses, drawing the paw back to himself in a flash. He cups it close to his chest with his uninjured paw, eyes wide as a single drop of blood beads from the wound. It isn’t… bad. It just hurts. In his moment of surprise, Frostwind hadn’t noticed the figure approaching, and turns to them now with a wide-eyed expression. "Stars, that hurt," he hisses, though a good-natured smile paints his muzzle as he makes a show of shaking the paw out. "Want to help? I’ve got… quite a ways to go."
Frostpaw, they’d called him at first, and for a reason he can’t quite place, that’s what hurts the most. They resent him, but they don’t even know who he is anymore. And truthfully, aside from an estranged brother, what is he to Rumblerain? That train of thought sends him spiraling down a deep rabbit hole in his mind, one that the tunneler doesn’t particularly like. So he has to find ways to distract himself. Mindless, brain-numbing actions, like patching up the too-thin places in the gorse wall, are what he turns to for comfort. He’s doing a great job, he thinks—until he swings his paw to adjust a clump of the horse, and the softness of a pawpad catches on the sharp edge of a thorn.
"Shit," he curses, drawing the paw back to himself in a flash. He cups it close to his chest with his uninjured paw, eyes wide as a single drop of blood beads from the wound. It isn’t… bad. It just hurts. In his moment of surprise, Frostwind hadn’t noticed the figure approaching, and turns to them now with a wide-eyed expression. "Stars, that hurt," he hisses, though a good-natured smile paints his muzzle as he makes a show of shaking the paw out. "Want to help? I’ve got… quite a ways to go."