Post by Deleted on Jul 6, 2014 14:20:05 GMT -5
Sandstrike
Grief is possibly the most painful wound that can be inflicted on a cat. More lasting and destroying than even the most fatal physical wound. It was a terrible thing. Experiencing grief was dreadful, but seeing someone you love and care for in grief was very nearly as destroying. The sickness that had claimed so many lives during the cold season hadn’t spared TreeClan, many joining StarClan at the paws of the disease. Sandstrike had lost several acquaintances to the dreaded sickness and had even come down with it himself, but he’d survived, he was well and moving on from these hard moons. He couldn’t quite say the same about Lionsong, his mate.
Yes, the golden tabby she-cat had also outsmarted the disease, but she’d lost one of the cats who was nearest and dearest to her, her sister, Cougarflight. The sandy-coloured tom couldn’t even imagine the pain she must be going through, he was lucky enough to never have experienced the loss of someone close to him, but how it tore him apart to see the one he loved so distraught. For the past couple of days, he’d been giving his mate a little space, some time to grieve and to be simply alone. He knew that’s what he would want if he were in the same situation, he wouldn’t want to be crowded or bombarded with pity. Although, in all honesty, part of the reason he’d left her some time for herself was because he simply wasn’t sure what he could say to her after such a loss. How in StarClan’s name could he comfort her in such a state? But now, he knew, he had to. She’d need someone there for her, a shoulder to cry on. He’d promised he’d be that cat and now he was going to keep that promise. He was going to find her and try to talk to her, offer her a little comfort, a small light in the seemingly endless shadows of grief.
And so he rose to his paws from his comfortable position in the pale sunlight. Dawn light had just broken the darkness of the early morning sky and the earth was just beginning to grow warm, the dew that clung to the grasses and foliage at last starting to evaporate like the mist. Sandstrike had awoken just before dawn, but had chosen to stay in the nest he shared with Lionsong for a little while longer before he actually got up. He’d been sitting in the sun for only a little while now, but he decided that perhaps a good idea would be to go hunting. Lionsong loved mice, he knew that, he’d catch her some mice, the largest and fattest mice he could find.
Letting a small yawn depart from widely parted jaws, the pale ginger tom crossed the clearing to the camp entrance. Entering the forest, he didn’t hesitate in tasting the air, drinking in the many scents that the dawn forest had to offer, trying to pick out the familiar scent of mice. When he detected the scent, the TreeClanner couldn’t help but smile quietly to himself and quickly slipped into a hunting frame of mind, walking with pawsteps light as clouds and carrying himself low, close to the earthy forest floor.
It was pure luck that took no more than a short walk to reach where the scent of mice had come from and the warrior was pleasantly surprised to find that he’d discovered nothing less than a nest of mice. Young, plump mice. He swiped his tongue around his jaws in anticipation of the kill. By his judging, the mice were nestled in a tangle of roots belonging to an ancient oak tree. He instantaneously dropped into a Hunter’s Crouch, piercing blue orbs narrowing to slits and his heart rate quickening as he drew himself closer to his prey.
Moments later, the sandy-furred tom was padding back to camp, the limp bodies of three young mice hanging from his jaws by their tails, swaying with his pawsteps. It’d been a rather easy kill, in all honesty; the mice hadn’t been at all prepared and he’d managed to kill them before they even realised what was going on. After a tough leaf-bare, Sandstrike was thankful that prey was so plentiful, StarClan knows what would happen if prey shortages occurred. TreeClan was already weak after the sickness.
Entering camp, the sandy-furred tom’s gaze immediately searched the clearing for any sign of the pretty golden tabby she-cat. Lionsong, oh where are you? He just hoped she was in camp, the mice were still warm and if he had to search the forest for her, then they’d go cold. He wanted only the best for the she-cat he loved. It only hit him then that the sandy-furred warrior had absolutely no idea what he was going to say. He had no idea how Lionsong was coping with it all. He just hoped he could make her feel a little better, even if it was only the tiniest bit.
Yes, the golden tabby she-cat had also outsmarted the disease, but she’d lost one of the cats who was nearest and dearest to her, her sister, Cougarflight. The sandy-coloured tom couldn’t even imagine the pain she must be going through, he was lucky enough to never have experienced the loss of someone close to him, but how it tore him apart to see the one he loved so distraught. For the past couple of days, he’d been giving his mate a little space, some time to grieve and to be simply alone. He knew that’s what he would want if he were in the same situation, he wouldn’t want to be crowded or bombarded with pity. Although, in all honesty, part of the reason he’d left her some time for herself was because he simply wasn’t sure what he could say to her after such a loss. How in StarClan’s name could he comfort her in such a state? But now, he knew, he had to. She’d need someone there for her, a shoulder to cry on. He’d promised he’d be that cat and now he was going to keep that promise. He was going to find her and try to talk to her, offer her a little comfort, a small light in the seemingly endless shadows of grief.
And so he rose to his paws from his comfortable position in the pale sunlight. Dawn light had just broken the darkness of the early morning sky and the earth was just beginning to grow warm, the dew that clung to the grasses and foliage at last starting to evaporate like the mist. Sandstrike had awoken just before dawn, but had chosen to stay in the nest he shared with Lionsong for a little while longer before he actually got up. He’d been sitting in the sun for only a little while now, but he decided that perhaps a good idea would be to go hunting. Lionsong loved mice, he knew that, he’d catch her some mice, the largest and fattest mice he could find.
Letting a small yawn depart from widely parted jaws, the pale ginger tom crossed the clearing to the camp entrance. Entering the forest, he didn’t hesitate in tasting the air, drinking in the many scents that the dawn forest had to offer, trying to pick out the familiar scent of mice. When he detected the scent, the TreeClanner couldn’t help but smile quietly to himself and quickly slipped into a hunting frame of mind, walking with pawsteps light as clouds and carrying himself low, close to the earthy forest floor.
It was pure luck that took no more than a short walk to reach where the scent of mice had come from and the warrior was pleasantly surprised to find that he’d discovered nothing less than a nest of mice. Young, plump mice. He swiped his tongue around his jaws in anticipation of the kill. By his judging, the mice were nestled in a tangle of roots belonging to an ancient oak tree. He instantaneously dropped into a Hunter’s Crouch, piercing blue orbs narrowing to slits and his heart rate quickening as he drew himself closer to his prey.
Moments later, the sandy-furred tom was padding back to camp, the limp bodies of three young mice hanging from his jaws by their tails, swaying with his pawsteps. It’d been a rather easy kill, in all honesty; the mice hadn’t been at all prepared and he’d managed to kill them before they even realised what was going on. After a tough leaf-bare, Sandstrike was thankful that prey was so plentiful, StarClan knows what would happen if prey shortages occurred. TreeClan was already weak after the sickness.
Entering camp, the sandy-furred tom’s gaze immediately searched the clearing for any sign of the pretty golden tabby she-cat. Lionsong, oh where are you? He just hoped she was in camp, the mice were still warm and if he had to search the forest for her, then they’d go cold. He wanted only the best for the she-cat he loved. It only hit him then that the sandy-furred warrior had absolutely no idea what he was going to say. He had no idea how Lionsong was coping with it all. He just hoped he could make her feel a little better, even if it was only the tiniest bit.
Tag: Hellion
Notes: Gah, I’m so sorry this is so bad! Still getting back into the swing of things!
Words: 889
