- Jan 27, 2023
- 406
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It's a little more difficult to slip discreetly away, Bluefrost has realized, when you are a lead warrior. Cats expect you to be present, to be available, and Scorchstreak has her weary eye on Bluefrost always. The tunneler had made an excuse about hunting alone and had barreled from camp, her heart hammering in her chest. It's not fear—it's something new, something so compelling she cannot quell it, can hardly name it. Anticipation, perhaps, but even that is not quite right.
This time, she brings her gift. It's a young rabbit, small and still-thin from the flames' impact on the moorland, but it has more than the few paltry mouthfuls her friend has grown used to in his scrubland. She drags her prize through the dust and lets it drop amidst crackling grasses. Her jaws part, and when she tastes his scent on the air, some errant feeling sears her with lightning.
"I kept my word, this time," she murmurs at his approach. She dips her head, formal as ever, but this time the fur that falls before her face does well to conceal a glimmer of warmth that has melted the frost from her expression. "Vulturekit is back safe and sound. Did you find much trouble?"
Her pointed green gaze flicks from his notched ear to his broad, sunshine-colored face, to the rippling fur on his tabby pelt. She searches for wounds untended to, blood spilt anew, and is relieved to find she comes up with nothing. "How is your throat? I could ask Cottonsprig for an herb, maybe..." She trails off, realizing belatedly how foolish this would be. Even her airheaded sister would catch on if Bluefrost started showing interest in herbs.
This time, she brings her gift. It's a young rabbit, small and still-thin from the flames' impact on the moorland, but it has more than the few paltry mouthfuls her friend has grown used to in his scrubland. She drags her prize through the dust and lets it drop amidst crackling grasses. Her jaws part, and when she tastes his scent on the air, some errant feeling sears her with lightning.
"I kept my word, this time," she murmurs at his approach. She dips her head, formal as ever, but this time the fur that falls before her face does well to conceal a glimmer of warmth that has melted the frost from her expression. "Vulturekit is back safe and sound. Did you find much trouble?"
Her pointed green gaze flicks from his notched ear to his broad, sunshine-colored face, to the rippling fur on his tabby pelt. She searches for wounds untended to, blood spilt anew, and is relieved to find she comes up with nothing. "How is your throat? I could ask Cottonsprig for an herb, maybe..." She trails off, realizing belatedly how foolish this would be. Even her airheaded sister would catch on if Bluefrost started showing interest in herbs.
- ooc: @Thriftfeather
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Bluekit.Bluepaw. Bluefrost, she/her w/ feminine terms.
— “speech”, thoughts, attack
— 16 moons old, ages realistically on the 14th.
— mentored by Sootstar ; mentoring Brackenpaw ; previously mentored n/a.
— windclan warrior.sootstarxweaselclaw, gen 2.
— penned by Marquette.
lh blue smoke she-cat with white and emerald eyes. aloof, dignified, poised, haughty, composed, distant.