Post by nimble on Jan 18, 2019 22:16:49 GMT -5
Anticipation clung to Featherstep's pelt like winter fog on frozen branches. It choked her into silence, leaving only the sound of her pawsteps falling softly on the snow. The air was chilled, but the wind was merely a whisper. It was nothing like the suffocating cold of the mountains. It seemed to cut through her thick fur as if it was nothing. If she turned into the wind, it felt as if it would steal her very breath. But here, in the valley where she was bred and born, the winters were more forgiving.
The bare, charred trunks of the Black Woods towered overhead, doing little to obscure the pastel sunrise that painted the sky. Her heartbeat was slightly quickened, and her belly seemed to be tying itself into knots. Featherstep had crossed over the scent border some time ago, and was feeling rather torn in two. She was gripped by dread, but still a flame of relief flickered deep within her. So many seasons had passed, yet she was, at last, returning. Though she made no attempts to conceal her presence, following the routine paths of any NightClan warrior, it did not escape her that she may be treated as an intruder. But, alas, this was home, and, just now, she could not shake the apathy from her bones.
The she-cat padded through the young growth, guided by old memories and intrinsic knowledge of the forest territory that was hers by blood. She was close, now, to the treeline. Just beyond, the maw to the cave NightClan had made their camp lay sheltered between boulders. Even as she felt hobbled by trepidation, she did not allow her steps to falter as she left the edge of the forest.
Pale green eyes found a black tom that stood sentinel at the camp's entrance. An ache spread through her heart even as he charged forward, alarm obvious in his pale blue eyes. Mending wounds lay scattered over his body, evidence that he'd been victim, too, to the foxes. Suddenly feeling very tired, she raised her paw as the tom leapt into her path, bristling. She laid it upon his forehead, mewing sternly, but not unkindly, “Step aside, Coyotekit.”
The gray she-cat strode past the bewildered warrior to enter the cavernous camp.
tags; poptart Fawntastic