wind beneath my wings | heron

[LILYBLOOM.]

After moons of snow and biting cold winds, it was nice to have more pleasant and temperate weather bearing down upon the clans. Soon the river would recede and she could swim to sunningrocks again.

With warmer weather, it seemed that the whole forest was waking up again. Now that they were no longer constrained by sudden snowdrifts, the clan was becoming increasingly active both in terms of hunting patrols and regular border patrols. More prey and rarely-seen birds and river animals were beginning to emerge by the day, lured out by the promise of spring and all the riches it brought with it. It was only recently that Smokethroar had gotten swarmed by tiny crabs. A few of her clanmates had even spoken of seeing turtles and snakes, the latter of which Lilybloom had to admit she hadn't seen much of in her life. A fact for which she was very grateful not being particularly fond of them.

She and her patrol were nearing the river's edge when Lilybloom spots something in the river. She gestures for some of the cats nearby to slow down, gesturing to the shape on the water. It only takes a few more steps forward for Lilybloom to register what she is looking at. A heron. It moved very slowly in the water, wings outstretched to block the light. "Do you think it'll catch anything?" Lilybloom asked in a quiet tone to the cat nearest her. Her green eyes watched the bird with interest as it moved its head side to side before thrusting it into the water and deftly catching a fish.​

 

[Riffleheart]

The familiar ritual of patrolling wasn't particularly pleasant or unpleasant in its own right, in Riffleheart's mind: whether or not a patrol was a chore or a pleasure depended on the weather, the cats you were patrolling with, and - of course - the eventfulness of the patrol itself. Thus far, this patrol was shaping up nicely - it was a beautiful day, with enticing scents on the breeze and warm light draped over the landscape by some generous hand. The tall blue tabby gave a small hmm? of surprise as Lilybloom gestured for them to stop, peering curiously past her mottled head. A heron! How exciting. "I expect so. It's using the same tactics we do." he noted in an undertone, reclining lightly next to the she-cat. "Making sure it doesn't cast a shadow, striking fast...ah! Well, look at that. I guess it pays off for all types of creatures." a soft chuckle escaped the green-eyed tom as the heron snatched its prey from the water. Riffleheart tilted his head thoughtfully, wondering for a moment if it would be possible - or worthwhile - to attempt taking down a heron, blue-tipped tail curling around his paws.​

 

[HOUNDSTRIDE.]

When it comes to creatures such as this, Hound would nearly prefer the snake. He's been walking along cautiously, waiting for just that— with the changing of seasons came a whole new sort of life, and he's all too prepared for something more to reach from the growing grass and snap at his heels. A snake would make good enough prey, if caught without injury. A heron, though...large birds have never been a friend to him. Maybe it was his life as a marsh cat before coming to the river, or maybe it was just a normal amount of caution. Either way, when Lily calls them to a stop, he's expecting something great and grand, and all sorts of awful.

As long as they don't start anything, the heron shouldn't be that. Shouldn't. But after a leafbare's struggle of unfilled bellies, it's an awful tempting sight. Unknowingly, Houndstride puts words to Riffleheart's thoughts– "You don't suppose we could make a meal of it?" He squints at the heron as it swallows the fish. "Now that's a story they'll tell for a lifetime or two."

﹥ˏˋ〘  OOC NOTES INFORMATION 〙ˊˎ﹤

• ooc: —
• ──── houndstride. trans male, he - him - his pronouns.
  ──── over three years old. born late december of 2020.
  ──── bisexual but with a heavy masc preference; single.
  
  ──── a chocolate tabby with ( stylized ) low white and intense lime eyes. lean and lanky,  with whiplike musculature and a long, quick stride. hound's notable features include his impressive height, the long scar across the left side of his face from nose to jaw, his very deep, dense fur, and the confident manner with which he conducts himself.
• "speech"

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[RAVENSONG]

Tagging along at the back of the patrol was Ravenpaw. He welcomed the warmth and the thaw of the snow. It was a sign that better days were coming. Their starvation would be over soon. He nearly bumped into the cat in front of him when told to halt. Rearing his head up uneasily, Ravenpaw peeked around the others to get a look at the new bird.

He had never seen anything like it. Breath held, he watched as the bird lunged forward and speared a fish with practiced precision. Hi ears flattened, huffing at Riffleheart's words. The bird was a better fisher than Ravenpaw. He could hardly keep his balance on the rocks to catch anything. Stupid, foul bird. He thought bitterly to himself as his eye continued to track the heron.

"I don't fancy getting stabbed with that beak of it's." The apprentice grumbled, tail twitching at Houndsnarl's thought of catching the bird itself.

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[LILYBLOOM.]

Her fellow clanmates generally seem as mystified by the bird as she is. Only Houndsnarl doesn't seem as in awe of it, instead studying it warily. Probably with good reason, Lilybloom thinks. It's unlikely the bird would attack them but its considerably large in its own right and as Ravenpaw said getting stabbed by its beak doesn't sound particularly pleasant. "I bet we could catch it if we worked together," Lilybloom mused, though she doesn't sound particularly keen on the idea. "Maybe it would be best to leave it in peace?"​

 

[CLAYFUR]

Trailing after the others, Clayfur keeps his head down and his mouth shut. He’s paying sharp attention to their surroundings, ears swiveling around to listen for threats. But the only thing of note that the others spot is a heron, and he finally speaks up when he catches sight of it. "I learned how to fish from herons." And Clearsight. But he doesn’t say the latter part aloud, white maw kept firmly shut.

He keeps his mind on the bird—drawing fish to its shadow, only to strike once they’ve grown comfortable in the shade, let their guards down. It takes a while of waiting, but it works with enough patience. Houndstride suggests that they could try to bring it down, but Ravenpaw and Lily neither sound particularly excited about the prospect. Clay, he’d probably feel too guilty about it. "They have sharp beaks… should probably leave it alone." The image of fish speared on a heron’s beak flashes through his head. He’d rather stay far out of the bird’s range, anyway.
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[ YOU ARE THE STARS TO ME ]​

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