[Fawn]

Russethawk
Tom || 30 Moons || RainClan || Warrior
Ready to rumble.

There couldn't have been a patrol in the history of patrols that Russethawk wanted to be apart of less. In addition to it being headed by Violetclaw, who had made no efforts to hide her disdain for the direction the Clan had gone in (the nursery especially), Cobragaze and a grizzled old warrior by the name of Perchfoot had been assigned as well, and Russethawk felt his spirits dampened more so by the former than the latter. It was true that he and Cobragaze had never quite seen eye to eye; though they'd been apprentices around the same time, the cold, analytical tom had made for a fast enemy rather than a fast friend. They were just too different—even after having won over Razorfang's respect and begrudging acceptance, Cobragaze had remained icy and detached, though Russethawk, admittedly, hadn't made any great leaps to befriend him.

Yes, he was one of the nicest cats in the Clan, but you didn't see him trying to befriend Violetclaw or Ivywing; he at least had the good sense to tell when he was talking to someone who did not like him. It had been a hard lesson learned in his youth, but one he'd learned well and held onto, perhaps for situations just like this. At Violetclaw's curt dismissal, Russethawk turned and plunged back towards the sparse woodlands on RainClan's territory, intending to uncover one of two pieces of freshkill caught during the dawn patrol—the other belonged to Cobragaze. Trotting eagerly, the terrain underpaw changed as he went along, the comfortable wetlands solidifying into soil and rock suitable to sustaining the tiny slivers of forest their territory actually possessed. Aware that the pale-eyed tom wouldn't be far behind, Russethawk made no attempts to outrun him; he wasn't a coward, and he didn't avoid others, it just wasn't something anyone could accuse him of doing, that was for sure.

Did he want confrontation? No. Alright, sometimes yes, but right now was not one of those times; all he wanted to do was collect the grackle he'd caught and take it back to camp with hardly a word said between them. Not even he believed they could simply pass by one another without some sort of glare-down, and the ruddy warrior was already bracing himself for conflict. Let's get this over with, then. If that tom wanted to have an attitude like a pike with a toothache, let him.

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Word Count: 403 Words
Tags: @moons