Post by Fawn on Aug 18, 2015 15:47:00 GMT -5
[smear:fa401c]HAZEHEART[/smear:000000]
21 Moons || NightClan || Tom || Narcoleptic
Three moons spent on his own had done wonders for Hazeheart's humility. Not to say that he'd ever been a particularly arrogant or ungrateful cat, but ever since his return and the past three moons of playing catch-up with his siblings and kithood friends, Hazeheart had awoken with a profound sense of gratitude. He had come so close to losing his life, that there wasn't a morning that dawned where he didn't thank their ancestors that he was alive. That he could still see Darkblaze and Brightfeather.
There was something else to be grateful for, also. With Featherpaw and Smokefur's guidance, Hazeheart had managed to get his condition under some semblance of control; his training had been slowly but surely completed, and with this final achievement, Hazeheart's self-esteem had gradually begun to reach healthy levels. The young warrior was now found in the Pineneedle Clearing, stalking a mouse nosing around in the flattened nest of rain-sodden needles, the air thick with moisture. His heart-rate was not a frantic staccato in his chest, but peaceful, tranquil, and his sleep-disorder remained thankfully dormant. The herbs NightClan's healers had been giving him were exactly what he needed, though he had to be careful not to consume too much, or else he'd go a whole day without sleeping, and even for a tom like Hazeheart, that wouldn't be the safest course of action.
The tortoiseshell tom's haunches trembled, then he launched himself forward on skinny but sturdy back legs, killing the mouse with a carefully-delivered swipe of his paw. Yes! The initial build-up to the kill was calm and collected (he had worked very hard to make it so), but the victory usually saw Hazeheart basking in the warm glow of celebration; his heart rate would increase, and he would feel the edges of drowsiness try to take him over, but the herbs in his system were enough to keep unconsciousness at bay. With a bit of enthusiastic hope, Hazeheart glanced around shyly, hoping someone had been there to witness his successful kill. He was getting good at this, it wasn't as if his siblings hadn't seen him hunt for the Clan before, but there was no stopping him from getting that burst of pride and relief each time it happened.
I'll come back for this and keep hunting. Hazeheart picked up the mouse, accepting that he didn't have any spectators, and promptly buried it under some wet nettles and moss where he could recover it again on the way back.
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Word Count: 419 Words
Tags: Phoenix