Wrath and Pride [Poisonleaf!] Feb 12, 2013 18:50:10 GMT -5
Post by Fawntastic on Feb 12, 2013 18:50:10 GMT -5
♠BLACKWOLF♠ of NightClanI am the Sin Called Wrath.
Today was not a good day to be a frog. With the camp flooded and relocated to the Pine Needle Clearing, the apprentices had been instructed to start building structures and places to sleep for the queens and the elders. With both Grimpaw and Applepaw occupied, their arrogant ebony mentor had made use of himself elsewhere, choosing not to sit around bending semi-thawed brambles around into some sort of den, preferring to employ his claws to something a little more meaningful.
Sure, sure, shelters were important, but that was...apprenticework.
Spitting another frog onto the muddied ground, Blackwolf made a halfhearted shaking toss of his coat, as though he might somehow dislodge some of the mud and dirt that had been caked onto it. The flooding had made the marshlands that much marshier, and he was having an unpleasant time in terms of keeping his coat clean, and had pretty much abandoned any hope, instead he crept through the mud and the water-logged plants with all the willingness of his namesake, amber and blue eyes gleaming, brawny shoulders tensing, body naturally sliding into a hunter's crouch as he spotted a grackle stopping to take a drink.
With the experienced finesse that came with doing this a hundred times over, Blackwolf's haunches wriggled, and he launched himself out of the mud, sending up a light spray of mud-water in his wake, spattering his coat once more as he descended upon the unknowing bird. The grackle barely got out a squawk of surprise, wings mid-unfold when he delivered a swift killing bite to the back of it's neck. The prey had started to return after the flooding, the bigger birds of prey going after the frogs and toads and snails that had come out when the weather warmed up, and Blackwolf was wholeheartedly taking advantage of this recent stroke of luck.
Sure the camp was moved and he hadn't had a dry place to sleep in a few days, but at least their bellies would be full, and anyone who had felt the hunger pangs this winter more than ever before would concede that this was a blessing indeed.
Wiping grim off his whiskers with a hasty paw swipe, the muscular black tom turned around with a muddy squelch, noting a familiar dappled pelt standing out amongst the still semi-barren landscape. "Oh it's you," he mewed upon recognition, shaking a back paw free of a dirty puddle. "What's happening back at camp, anything worth reporting?" Said the leader of the posse, having carried the grackle back to where he'd stashed the frog (having by now created a small cache of assorted fresh kill) and addressed Poisonleaf after he'd set it down.The scourge and the anger.