Post by Phoenix on Oct 19, 2015 0:04:32 GMT -5
WE'RE ALL OK UNTIL THE DAY WE'RE NOT
As a kit, he was never one to sit still for extended periods of time, and it had been rare to see him settled down on the side of camp as he currently was. Though it had lessened ever so slightly with age, a constantly racing mind and equally restless paws continued to frequently demand that he keep busy. But the cool leaf-fall afternoon had caught him in a somewhat calmer mood. His morning hunt had been successful (more successful than Blazefang’s, of course, though he was not exactly sure if his brother had even been sent out to hunt that morning), so he was content to have a rabbit to himself. With the change of season, the smaller mammals were no longer as plump as they had been at the height of green-leaf, but he found himself hoping that perhaps the shortages of prey that inevitably followed the first snowfall would hold off for a while yet.
An odd sort of peace had fallen across the valley, and he found the nature of it somewhat intriguing. The possession of the Open Woods between LightningClan and TreeClan had remained uncontested for quite some time, and no fights had broken out between them and StoneClan, who he imagined currently trusted them no more than they had – perhaps rightfully so – since the historic Stormclan battle, an event of which he had only heard tales. Perhaps still too young to completely shed the rose-tinted lenses through which he regarded battle, the young warrior still imagined a glorious and noble fight more than the more realistic horror of an actual battlefield. It was not as though he was unfamiliar with death – he knew its merciless claws far more than he ever wanted to – but he longed to have a chance to really prove himself. Fighting in a war, he imagined, would be the fastest and easiest way to do so.
But he was hardly about to start a border skirmish simply to give himself that opportunity; the young tom could already hear Mudpelt shouting – emphatically saying? Mudpelt never really shouted – at him in his head about what a bad idea that was. He wasn’t mouse-brained like his brother, Blazefang.
Gustclaw squinted up at the sun, noting how high it still hung in the sky. He had yet to finish his rabbit, slim though it was, but perhaps there would be time later to return to the open moors for another hunt. Or perhaps Firesky would send him on a patrol. He thought he might appreciate the chance to stretch his legs and investigate LightningClan’s borders. But he could decide that later. Giving his chest fur a quick lick, the silver tabby tom took another bite of his meal, wondering idly if anyone would decide to join him. He would not mind the company.
An odd sort of peace had fallen across the valley, and he found the nature of it somewhat intriguing. The possession of the Open Woods between LightningClan and TreeClan had remained uncontested for quite some time, and no fights had broken out between them and StoneClan, who he imagined currently trusted them no more than they had – perhaps rightfully so – since the historic Stormclan battle, an event of which he had only heard tales. Perhaps still too young to completely shed the rose-tinted lenses through which he regarded battle, the young warrior still imagined a glorious and noble fight more than the more realistic horror of an actual battlefield. It was not as though he was unfamiliar with death – he knew its merciless claws far more than he ever wanted to – but he longed to have a chance to really prove himself. Fighting in a war, he imagined, would be the fastest and easiest way to do so.
But he was hardly about to start a border skirmish simply to give himself that opportunity; the young tom could already hear Mudpelt shouting – emphatically saying? Mudpelt never really shouted – at him in his head about what a bad idea that was. He wasn’t mouse-brained like his brother, Blazefang.
Gustclaw squinted up at the sun, noting how high it still hung in the sky. He had yet to finish his rabbit, slim though it was, but perhaps there would be time later to return to the open moors for another hunt. Or perhaps Firesky would send him on a patrol. He thought he might appreciate the chance to stretch his legs and investigate LightningClan’s borders. But he could decide that later. Giving his chest fur a quick lick, the silver tabby tom took another bite of his meal, wondering idly if anyone would decide to join him. He would not mind the company.
Gustclaw | LightningClan | Warrior | Audience of One - Rise Against
THE SURFACE SHINES WHILE THE INSIDE ROTS
@poptart
