[Deleted]

We come around, a circle meets; at last I feel I'm closer to the beginning...

Nettlefur marveled at how reflective the cavern walls could be. His green eyes moved over the dull gray stone that held NightClan in its shielding embrace. They were not mirrors in the visual sense, but mirrors to a deeper, more concealed degree of being. The bits of thoughtful valor, quiet benevolence, and lucid curiosity buoying in the pensive fluidity that manifest the collective veins of consciousness could surface to what was the equivalent of visibility in the soul, with these stone walls. With merits, rose faults. Harsh ambition, silent resentment, and stagnant fury tugged along at the same pace as the virtues, for the merciful stone was permissive, and did not dictate a cat's choice; simply gave it to them. It was a manifestation of the most hushed regions of inclination, and with the stone as a womb, a cat could choose which to cultivate, see the trickles of character that he did not know were real, and ponder all.

The stone was alive; neither flora nor fauna, but a life all its own. The living stone was placid, beautiful, and expressed the ultimate in strength. Nettlefur admired the stone; its solidity and its presence inspired his introspective musings. This must be a place, Nettlefur thought, from whence great thinkers were borne in leagues. He felt fortunate, and was turning his thoughts to those who had come before him and those who had yet to come – the latter a larger and more enigmatic affair – as he exited the caverns and entered the frozen territory.

His mottled tabby fur fluffed up against the frigid air, he walked through the snow. Now outside of the caverns, his mind turned to more somber thoughts. Specifically, the catastrophic prey shortage which NightClan was facing. He left now, the morning sun rising into the sky, to fight it the only way he could. He would hunt. The tom paused for a moment, scenting the air and finding it particularly lacking in the department of prey, decided to visit the muddy pools which so often had bounty to offer. His pawprints leaving a clean white trail behind him, the tom trekked deeper into the territory, his thoughts wobbling between the question of altruism and the prey he must catch in order to feed his precious clan.

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...A gentle word, a quiet heart; a soul that stirs another to start.

Character; Nettlefur
Words; 392
Notes; Oooooh I had muse! Had it in the palm of my hands! But then it died. x3 Sorry for the weak ending.

And good lord, just ignore my title. I am so bad at naming threads. xD

[Phoenix]

In the end, he had to blame Blackwolf, Dogfang and Hawkbone for his irritating habit of rising early. Warriors at heart, they seemed to enjoy rising early to go patrol or hunt or help the clan in some way; if it one cat did not want to rise early, the other two did, and the cycle repeated. Even at a young age, his companions seemed to have a certain drive that he lacked. Or perhaps he simply appreciated his warm nest too much. But the comfort of the den did little to prevent brown lids from snapping open, revealing green-yellow eyes beneath. Instantly alert, dark pupils flicked around the den as the tom stilled. Large ears registered the sound of steady breathing, and a dark envy filled him. If only it were that simple to roll over and rejoin the others in their slumber... It did not work like that for him. His mind began its work the instant he woke, analyzing and assessing every new piece of information. He could not simply go back to sleep.

Rising on long thin legs, the tom picked his way carefully out of the den, deftly avoiding any stray limbs or body parts. If he was quiet enough, careful enough, perhaps he could venture further into the maze that was NightClan's camp. He had learned at a young age how to take advantage of his dark colored fur and slink and slither through the shadows like a snake. If he could play his cards right, then chances were that the tom could avoid--

"Ratfur!"

Mentally wincing, he froze, turning slightly to face the speaker. He had played the game and lost today. Forcing a more open expression on his otherwise apathetic features, the tom listened to his marching orders. Dread began to fill him as he steeled himself to the prospect of having to venture out into the cold leaf-bare and brave frigid winds that cut through him as if he had no fur. For all the protection it gave, his fur might as well have been non-existent.

It did not take long to get pointed in the right direction; after all, all he had to do was ask a few questions and then let his natural ability take over. His only talents - tracking and stalking - were painfully underappreciated by most cats. This was a world were only fighting and hunting were valued. He had learned that lesson very quickly, particularly due to Blackwolf's snide comments that accompanied every consecutive failure of his. Perhaps the only good thing about leaf-bare, The wiry tom found himself musing as he made his way through NightClan's familiar territory, is that tracking is considerably easier. No one seemed to realize just how simiple it was to be followed, especially when there was a trail of pawprints in the snow leading the tracker straight toward his target.

Finally he found his target. The tabby fur stood out against the white of the snow - not that mine blends in any more than his. Forcing a non-existent happiness into his voice, which he did every day in response to oblivious felines, he called out quietly, "Hey Nettlefur!" Small paws carried his wiry frame closer to the other tom. "We're to go patrol the RainClan border. I'm sure that can wait, though, if you're in the middle of a hunt." Blink. Look surprised. As if you've only just realized you might have interrupted something. It was all part of the act. It was always part of the act.

Words: 613
Notes: Muse blast! Ratfur stinks at hunting, and I figured Nettlefur might not want to have him scaring all the prey away instead of catching it.

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[Deleted]

You'll never know, dear, how much you breathe...

The sky yawned above Nettlefur, an unfathomable expanse. There was something permissively feral about the sky, its essence far beyond the minds of the creatures that wandered below its omnipotent breadth. The empyrean was a spirit of its own, touching cats only with the wind it whispered to the earth's surface. He preferred the stone that lay beneath the loam, the immaculate depths beneath the terra firma he tread on now. It felt more close, more substantial than the arcane wind above him.

The stars, he believed, were not in the sky, but above it, beyond it; separate from its airy swathe. Outside of this azure in a transcendent, depthless forever. Ah, how they burned in the eyes and in the heart of a stone-dweller like him.

The mottled tabby was not so immersed in thought that he did not hear another cat approaching, and he turned to his clanmate, his ears flicking in greeting. It was Ratfur, a dark brown tom that he didn't know very well. Forcing himself out of his pensive state, Nettlefur nodded to the other tom. There was something hollow about him, and it wasn't the gaunt figure that all of NightClan shared this season. Ratfur's words were somehow pyrrhic; his emotions all seemed ingenuine. It all struck Nettlefur as very feigned. Vacant.

But Nettlefur nonetheless politely nodded to the tom, no sign of his doubts in his expression or words. "No, we can go now," he said, friendly and candid. "I can hunt later."

... Strength and courage into me.

Character; Nettlefur
Word count; 261
Notes; Murr.

[Deleted]

The cold, dampened humid air of the morning stuck to the young tomcat's fur. His soft, pale grey fur blended smoothly against the white, icy snow that lay blanketed on the ground. It helped his stealth, although there was barely any prey out at this time. Out of his peripheral vision he spotted a blackbird; a good find during the harsh leaf-bare weather. Strong muscles were hidden beneath his soft fur; his strong paw pads helped when it came to climbing the large rocks of his territory. He caught the bird with grace, killing it swiftly and without hesitation. He hurried off into the direction of the camp. He was cold, and he really wanted to visit Pyrelight and her kits. She was his only friend so far, not being open to other cats, unfortunately. Two cats appeared in his blurry vision caused by the snow. He recognized them as Ratfur and Nettlefur, two respected warriors of his clan.

[Phoenix]

It had become as easy as breathing, and just as natural, wearing this second skin of his. After all, concealing his thoughts with a nearly flawless performance was the only defense he had; the consequences of any failure to perfect it were less than appealing to him. Like any actor, he allowed part of himself to show through, for it made it easier for him to relate and complete his goal. His general habit of slinking around, for example, and his tendency to sink into the shadows were two very real parts of himself. But he hid his secret ambition and mastermind plots with practiced ease, and in the end, those were the things that mattered.

"Well if you're sure," Ratfur hesitated for a moment, giving Nettlefur another chance to back out. If he had his facts straight, RainClan had little motivation to attack them; it was toward TreeClan that NightClan had directed their animosity. Guarding that border more heavily seemed to be the wiser choice, but he did not make a habit of questioning the orders that he was given. Instead, he merely listened, forever downplaying his own intelligence and only allowing others to see the obedient, pathetic Ratfur.

Tail flicking, he brushed away his thoughts, which had begun to run on the familiar track once more. Those did not matter now, and once he finished this patrol, he could return to camp, hide away, and brood as much as he wanted. Just as the tom was about to turn and direct his wiry frame toward the frozen marshland that was RainClan's border, something caught his eye. A squirrel, perhaps? Another cat? Instinct caused Ratfur to freeze and peer at the place where he had seen the gray for a moment. "Something's out there," He muttered to his companion. However, his keen eyes saw nothing out of the ordinary even as he warned the other tom. If it was an enemy, he figured that the cat would have attacked earlier; if it was him, he most certainly would not attack now, since his prey was on guard and aware of his existence. A squirrel, then, he reassured himself, casting a glance back at Nettlefur. "Shall we continue?"