Fernear!
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Fernstar %7C 8 lives[M:0]
Posts: 1,112
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Post by Fernear! on Nov 14, 2009 19:12:35 GMT -5
In the heart of an elegant season, the tempestuous sky reigned over what would have, could have, been a beautiful autumn afternoon. The moor was starting to show its fading colours; the patches of heather were falling to a grey-scale pallet while their homes continued to drown in the cold rain. There had been one day, one crisp day, where the rain did not fall and the sun pushed through the frail clouds. It was a nice break from what was being called "The Great Storm". The name for the string of storms was used by the boisterous, grey she-cat of my writings. Swallowleaf's well-known attitude faltered for almost a fortnight but had recently flipped. Why mirror the gloomy environment when you could bring the beams of light the sun had once given us? Swallowleaf thought to herself each morning the rain fell. The fresh kill pile dwindled on most days but she still trotted over to it gaily to pick out some morsels for herself and the elders, for the nursery was now vacant and it was unnecessary to delivery meals to the empty den.
Life in the WindClan camp was dreary, and many cats had succumbed to hostility or aggressive habits now that the storm seemed to show no light at the end of its tunnel. Although tension grew high, the lithe cats adapted and moved on to their new routines. Swallowleaf hunted each afternoon, which would bring us back to the present. As usual, no prey came easy to the hunters of the lake in such conditions. A water vole ran close to the lake and onto the shore of one of the deeper pools of water gathering in some of the small gullies dotted throughout the moor. With her pelt plastered to her body, her ribs had become prominent despite her patterned appearance making her blend in with the darkened grasses and shrubs.
She stalked along the tall shrubs lining the eastern border. Swallowleaf had caught some evidence of rodent presence and pursued their paths. Her heightened senses led her to a broken down rabbit burrow with remains strewn at the entrance. Someone had been her before her whose scent she had not detected. Flicking her ears she turned around and trotted back onto the open grassland. Sighing she thought about what would happen to the clans. Her leader, and friend, Rustlestar had left to deliver a message to the others at least a sun ago and she now wished she had left with him. Swallowleaf let her mind wander for as long as it wanted while her eyes and ears stayed open to any hunting opportunities.
Returning back to the she-cat an hour later in the day, we see her sitting atop a tall hillock viewing the happenings of the lake and the surrounding territories with her successful catches lying at her paws. She had thought about burying them but dismissed the act because she would have no need to seeing that she's just standing beside them. What Swallowleaf didn't think of was their sweet scent being mixed with the musty scent of the land. It was quite obvious she had something worth fighting for. Luckily for the foolish warrior, no enemy challenged her for the few morsels of mouse and vole.
Without the normal weight of her duties, Swallowleaf had more time to confide in the things she enjoys, no matter how odd she may look like while doing them. One of those things was talking to herself, or so it seemed like it was so. Since most of her closest friends in camp were nowhere to be seen, she had taken to talking about "the good old days" or about "the bright future without rain every second of the day". She was doing that now.
"I can see it now... The sunrise throwing beams of colourful light across the lake's calm shores and onto the moor. The breeze blows warm southern winds through our pelts and sweet scents of blooming flowers and herbs. I can see a hunting patrol bringing plump creatures back to smiling kits... I can see their parents smiling to themselves, too, speaking in only a language they can understand. I can scent no bloodshed and feel no unrest in the ranks. I can feel peace..." she sighed again and then continued to paint herself a picture of the perfect morning. [/blockquote]
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