“We’re just waiting on Hatchingstorm, then?”
Ribbitleap yawns, blinking away sleep at he arrives at the designated meeting spot for the morning’s hunting patrol. Usually, he’s awake already for these things, but with having to pick up extra duties to compensate for the sick - for the journey-goers too - he’s been spreading himself thin. Sleep has been hard to find in between patrols and hunting, and exhaustion has made him oversleep, has made him nearly miss this patrol.
He’s not the only one, it seems. He knows Hatchingstorm has been picking up extra patrols too.
“Ribbitleap - do you want to check the warrior den?” the patrol leader asks, “Wake him up, if he’s still asleep.”
The dark brown tabby nods his head, turning to return to the den he just left. Maybe he should’ve checked that his patrol mates were awake before he’d exited the den. Ribbitleap had been in such a hurry though that the thought escaped him.
A head peers into the den, and it isn’t difficult to spot the lack of Hatchingstorm’s form within the den. Ribbitleap steps back, about to return to the patrol without the older warrior, only to spot silvered fur around the corner - asleep in the dawn’s shadows behind the warrior den. Ribbitleap doesn’t know why he lays there, but he doesn’t blame the cat for still needing extra sleep.
“Hatchingstorm?” he calls to the tom, stepping toward the slumbering form, “Hatchingstorm, you’re going to miss the patrol.”
Silence.
A frown begins to pull at his face. Maybe if he’s this tired, Ribbitleap should just leave him be. However, he doesn’t want him to get in trouble. He doesn’t know much about the tom, but Ribbitleap knows he's been around for a while, and he thinks Hatchingstorm wouldn’t be too pleased about missing what he’s assigned to.
He moves forward, a paw raising to prod at the cat. “Hatch —”
Thick gray fur is cold beneath his foot. The brown tabby realizes then, his stomach dropping at a churning pace as Hatchingstorm’s stillness is recognized.
Oh.
A shaky breath is taken, his eyes wide as he stares at the cat. Unmoving. Gone.
“Ribbitleap!” the patrol leader calls reach his ears, “Did you find him?” The warrior tears his gaze away, slowly backing away from the chilling image now etched in his mind, to face his patrol mates instead.
“He’s… He’s dead.”
Ribbitleap yawns, blinking away sleep at he arrives at the designated meeting spot for the morning’s hunting patrol. Usually, he’s awake already for these things, but with having to pick up extra duties to compensate for the sick - for the journey-goers too - he’s been spreading himself thin. Sleep has been hard to find in between patrols and hunting, and exhaustion has made him oversleep, has made him nearly miss this patrol.
He’s not the only one, it seems. He knows Hatchingstorm has been picking up extra patrols too.
“Ribbitleap - do you want to check the warrior den?” the patrol leader asks, “Wake him up, if he’s still asleep.”
The dark brown tabby nods his head, turning to return to the den he just left. Maybe he should’ve checked that his patrol mates were awake before he’d exited the den. Ribbitleap had been in such a hurry though that the thought escaped him.
A head peers into the den, and it isn’t difficult to spot the lack of Hatchingstorm’s form within the den. Ribbitleap steps back, about to return to the patrol without the older warrior, only to spot silvered fur around the corner - asleep in the dawn’s shadows behind the warrior den. Ribbitleap doesn’t know why he lays there, but he doesn’t blame the cat for still needing extra sleep.
“Hatchingstorm?” he calls to the tom, stepping toward the slumbering form, “Hatchingstorm, you’re going to miss the patrol.”
Silence.
A frown begins to pull at his face. Maybe if he’s this tired, Ribbitleap should just leave him be. However, he doesn’t want him to get in trouble. He doesn’t know much about the tom, but Ribbitleap knows he's been around for a while, and he thinks Hatchingstorm wouldn’t be too pleased about missing what he’s assigned to.
He moves forward, a paw raising to prod at the cat. “Hatch —”
Thick gray fur is cold beneath his foot. The brown tabby realizes then, his stomach dropping at a churning pace as Hatchingstorm’s stillness is recognized.
Oh.
A shaky breath is taken, his eyes wide as he stares at the cat. Unmoving. Gone.
“Ribbitleap!” the patrol leader calls reach his ears, “Did you find him?” The warrior tears his gaze away, slowly backing away from the chilling image now etched in his mind, to face his patrol mates instead.
“He’s… He’s dead.”
// continuation of this oneshot --