[♛ 𝔽𝕒𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟]

It was a beautiful midday. The air was just the right balance between warm and cool, a temperate and relieving breeze brushed across the moor. The midges were active today, buzzing around every ear and muzzle they could find, as though they really were trying to intentionally antagonise the cats as they rested for sunhigh. Birchspots felt antsy. As though ants crawled through his fur, marching persistently down his spine. The moon, when it finally made its appearance later tonight, would be cut in half. Kindleflare and Tigerpaw would be leaving tonight for the mysterious half-moon gathering the medicine cats were so hush-hush about, and even Birchspots felt a twinge of curiosity about what went on between medicine cats there. It was always so mysterious to him as a kit, and he imagined that perhaps the medicine cats would conjure up all the spirits of StarClan into the living world, perhaps to deliver some dire news of the future. He doubted now that was what actually happened. The imagination of a kit could be so wild. Birchspots picked a piece of prey from the fresh-kill pile, a small and tattered lapwing, and dragged it ruefully towards some secluded area of the camp. His brother Gorsebelly was out patrolling the new border, and he didn't want to sit through another sad lecture from Briartail about how he had to move on and rebuild his life within the Clan. No. Eating alone was the only way he'd get away from those wise, sympathetic green eyes. The spotted tabby heaved a great sigh and trotted across the clearing, his short fur ruffling in the wind. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice the shape cutting in front of him until they collided. The lapwing dropped from his mouth and landed in a small puff of dust on the ground, and Birchspots had to stumble to regain his balance. Alarmed, his wide amber eyes lifted up to the cat he had bumped into, not sure if he should apologize or be annoyed. The brown and white tabby, Quailfoot, stood in front of him, looking as surprised as he felt. "I'm so sorry." Birchspots flattened his ears awkwardly. "I was just- I wanted to-" He sucked in a breath. "I was in a hurry, and lost in my own head, I wasn't looking... I'm such a rabbit-brain..." He dusted the lapwing's feathers with a dainty silver paw, picking it up in his jaws. He could see Briartail across the clearing, and at any moment, she would see him and come bounding over the way she always did. She'd harp on about the handsome young toms in the Clan, noting which ones hadn't yet found a mate to settle down with. If there was anything his mother wasn't, it was subtle. He couldn't stand to hear it anymore, but he couldn't run off without apologising to Quailfoot first. That would be horribly rude, and out of character even for a quiet cat like Birchspots. WORDs: 492 / tags: Taxx BIRCHSPOTS

Greenleaf 11: The day is an ideal balance of warm and cool. A few short lived sun-showers occur throughout the day.

[Taxx]

The day had dawned cooler than the ones before, and Quailfoot had taken full advantage of it. The humidity often made his lungs ache, the heavy moisture in the air making each inhale uncomfortable, but today it was better. He woke full of energy and had decided to put it to good use, by helping the apprentices with their chores. He'd lined his nest with fresh grass before offering to help the queens with their own.

He was on one of his last trips- trying to ignore the shortness of breath from the constant activity and his reduced ability to breathe each time he packed his jaws with grass, but he wanted to get this done. Then he could relax. His gaze was fixed on the nursery, totally intent on it and not watching who else was about; the sudden impact of another body made him stagger sideways with a faint grunt, jaws reflexively opening and his mouthful of grass spilling onto the ground at his paws. Green eyes turned and blinked at Birchspots, whose own eyes were open wide, a flicker of shame crossing his face.

He was sputtering apologies before Quailfoot could draw breath, and the older tom managed a raspy purr before sucking a lungful of air in. "It's okay, it's all right," he replied, trying to quell the rush of words. "So was I, or I would have seen you. There's no harm done." He flicked his tail and glanced down at the stalks of grass, and then the nursery again, and then back at Birchspots. He turned to where Sleetpaw was sitting, calling to her to come take the grass to the nursery, and left her to it while he refocused on the younger warrior. "Is something troubling you? If you want to talk about it, I can listen. And maybe help."

Quailfoot

LightningClan Elder

right here is where I want to be

♛ 𝔽𝕒𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

[♛ 𝔽𝕒𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟]

Birchspots had been about to offer to help the other tom with his burden of grass, but then Quailfoot called out to Sleetpaw and the tortoiseshell point apprentice immediately set about carrying it off. Surprised, the silver tabby bent to pick up his bird, but was interrupted by Quailfoot's casual concern. He couldn't quite meet the other cat's gaze as he tried to conjure up an answer to his question. "I... I'm alright." He assured, rather unconvincingly. But despite the fact that Birchspots had declined his offer to talk, something told him he at least owed a piece of freshkill. "I- Would you like to share some lapwing?" He offered, something he hadn't offered to anyone for many moons. Perhaps it was the fact that he'd stopped to ask, perhaps Birchspots felt guilty for hindering whatever work Quailfoot had been doing before they had collided. He didn't know what made him offer, but once the words were out there was no way he could snatch them back out of thin air. It was the first friendly invitation he had given to another cat since everything changed, and even though anxiety churned in his stomach, Birchspots also felt that maybe if he spent awhile having a genuine conversation, the icy sting of loneliness would at least thaw somewhat. "Of course, if you're not hungry, or..." The silver tabby cursed himself for his own stumbling words, he could barely throw together a clunky, messy sentence when he was this nervous. "You'd be doing me a f-favour." He laughed. "If Briartail sees me alone, she'll come running over, and I'll never hear the end of her stories. Sometimes I th-think she doesn't stop to breathe." What was he doing? He should've just apologised, said he was okay, and marched off to eat his bird somewhere in private. Why the need for company all of a sudden? His eyes slowly searched Quailfoot's face, trying to figure out if he had overstepped a line. Had he? He hadn't spoken to Quailfoot much before, maybe he preferred to eat alone, too. Feeling stupid for even offering, Birchspots backed away a few mouselengths, not sure how to breach the sudden silence that had fallen between them. He couldn't tell if Quailfoot knew he was lying about there being nothing wrong. WORDs: 383 / tags: Taxx BIRCHSPOTS

Greenleaf 11: The day is an ideal balance of warm and cool. A few short lived sun-showers occur throughout the day.