Welcome to the Greatest Show Unearthed! Feb 25, 2013 23:29:57 GMT -5
Post by Fawntastic on Feb 25, 2013 23:29:57 GMT -5
→ROOKFROST←Medicine Cat of LightningClan
Dangerous hours call for dangerous men, or so the saying went. On the eve of battle, here the monsters assembled, a ghastly platoon of war, death, famine and pestilence wearing cloaks of fur – he himself the bringer of death and deliverer of life both. The macabre orange and red sunset streaked with violet was like a forewarning of what was to come tomorrow, of the blood that would be spilled and of those who would not be coming home with them. Though the possibility of losing should have been on the forefront of the healer's mind, being a Medicine Cat and likely to witness more carnage than most cats in his lifetime ever had the misfortune to see, it wasn't.
This was not the first time Rookfrost had been conscious of the idea of so many cats being in pain stirring nothing within him; was it wrong to feel so empty at the concept of Clan cats going for each other's throats, orphaning, widowmaking and some even outright prone to murder? If it was, there was nothing he intended to do about it. This was his nature, and whether his nature was in direct, unforgiving contrast with the nature of every soft-hearted StarClan loving cat in this forest, then so be it.
If the price he paid for being different was emptiness, then let him be a void. He had ways of satisfying the burning curiosity and that ever-present thirst for knowledge, and it was that cold, scientific lack of remorse that allowed him to act in his best interests and his alone.
Something shifted out of the corners of his eyes, and Rookfrost flicked an ear to the left, picking up the light treading sound of a LightningClan cat – Cherrypool, by the stark flash of white painted orange by the sunset – approaching, the slight turning of his head in so fluid a movement almost owl-like, with a little more of a disturbing air to it. Their eyes meeting, the albino with the red oculars and pale skin that burned oh so easily in the sun made a faint dip of the head, that brief but profitable alliance they had made a few moons ago still hanging over the she-cat like a Damocles Sword, ready to pierce her straight through should he ever act upon the debt in need of paying.
Something like a clearing of the throat was made by Cherrypool, but he ignored this, holding no such curiosity over her purpose for being here – so long as she didn't start rambling or suddenly decide to have a pre-battle breakdown, she could stay here. Shifting his gaze back to the sunlight, the fiery orange and red hues danced in icy eyes like hellfire, a precursor to what they would both be seeing tomorrow.
The approach of other cats – some RainClan and a few other Clanmates of theirs – did not break the revere of the black-cloaked Medicine Cat, though the alabaster warrior with the short coat but the long history of mistrust seemed to be eying them wearily. Rookfrost had no need for social graces or polite conversations with cats who did not even share the same Clan as he – not that that was the standard by which he measured who was worthy of conversing with or not – there was much to think about.
So many things tomorrow would bring – victory, in the sense of battle, and satisfaction for the cat whose curiosity killed whatever he saw fit.
OOC: I will add a more in-depth Cherrypool part in next post! But Whiteshade, Razorfang, Nightpaw and anyone else for StormClan can feel free to jump in!