Post by ROWANSTAR on Oct 21, 2016 8:12:22 GMT
She missed it - the sheen surface of stone beneath her paws, firm and drenched white hot from a sun baked morning. Indeed, as Rowanstar crept about the newly established border of Sunningrocks, it would be a blatant lie on her part to say that the sight of RiverClan's latest addition to its swelling land didn't somewhat curdle at her blood. How could it not? A mere two moons ago, and that had been one of ThunderClan's most prized landmarks. Now, the reeking scent of salt and trout wafted up from its grey facet, a permeating stench both so comforting and disturbing.
It wasn't exactly smart of her, she supposed - and even that in itself was difficult for Rowanstar to admit, seeing as her sly and analytical cunning was what she often prided herself most in. But even the sharpened intelligence of a thirty-eight moon old leader, rounded out by the foolish desires of her youth, certainly didn't change the fact that this was still a fae of selfish value. Maybe it was just the lulling lap and froth of the river that drew her close, lured her petite paws out onto rock as smooth as ice, or perhaps it was the tiny shred of hope in seeing him again - however small, however much she might hope so desperately against that being the case.
Well, it was her fourth time haunting Sunningrocks in the absence of her RiverClan rivals. One last, fifth time couldn't hurt - right?
It was ultimately this foolishness that had Rowanstar slowly pulling her form up to the jutting point of Sunningrocks; it wasn't as if she moved without care, or with reckless abandon, no, definitely not. Perhaps Salmonstripe could flaunt about with naught a worry or burden in the world, but, contrary to popular belief, leaders weren't exactly supposed to go about gallivanting with the enemy. Not that she had for a while now, but - ah, there was no law in the Warrior Code against a dream or two every now and then.
Anyone could see her. She knew that, and it sent a fiery course of adrenaline pounding through her veins. Rookfeather, certainly, she wouldn't wish to witness such a flippant disregard of borders. And of course Tigerfoot was a whole other trouble; an ear twinged back against her skull at the thought, and quickly the she-cat gave a rough shake of her fur, hoping to rid the memory of his tortoiseshell spattered countenance along with it.
There was a brief moment of peace, as Rowanstar stood there, mind cleared free of her mate and deputy and all responsibility - just a single fragment of time when, as the she-cat stood tall and proud, frame silhouetted against the hazy backdrop of a golden sun, she felt relinquished of the shackles that bound her claws back to ThunderClan. Just a brief moment, a fleeting emotion of absolute freedom. For that precious second Rowanstar was once again Rowanflame, warrior of ThunderClan, and Whitestar hadn't yet crumbled to whitecough, and Stonetalon was alive and well, and Tigerfoot was her best friend, the best of friends, but nothing more -
That all too brief moment was more liberating than any hunt she'd ever taken part of in her life.
And so abruptly did time resume, and did it finally come to a jarring end.
It was a crackle in the underbrush that snagged at her attention; muscles twisted, tail whipped as Rowanstar spun on her heels, hackles lifting as the rose bush gave a noisy rustle. Grey fur emerged, tiny paws pattered, and a mouse skittered out from beneath; the loud exhale Rowanstar allowed to escape was nothing short of relieved. Yes, this was enough; she had toyed with fate and come out alive far too much in her short lifetime.
Sooner or later, and she had no doubt it would lunge back to bite her in the rump.
The ThunderClan leader landed with a small huff in the grass, and quickly she crossed the border back into all too familiar territory. The shadows swallowed her fur in a warm embrace, and birdsong welcomed her back into their depths with a cheery melody.
...And still. Already she missed the lapping and lulling of the river, the raucous caw of geese and ducks on the horizon. One last look over her shoulder, one last glimpse of a ribbon of blue, of a horizon so tempting and sweet that it took all her self control not to go running towards its embrace.
She really was the Queen of bad decisions, wasn't she?
It wasn't exactly smart of her, she supposed - and even that in itself was difficult for Rowanstar to admit, seeing as her sly and analytical cunning was what she often prided herself most in. But even the sharpened intelligence of a thirty-eight moon old leader, rounded out by the foolish desires of her youth, certainly didn't change the fact that this was still a fae of selfish value. Maybe it was just the lulling lap and froth of the river that drew her close, lured her petite paws out onto rock as smooth as ice, or perhaps it was the tiny shred of hope in seeing him again - however small, however much she might hope so desperately against that being the case.
Well, it was her fourth time haunting Sunningrocks in the absence of her RiverClan rivals. One last, fifth time couldn't hurt - right?
It was ultimately this foolishness that had Rowanstar slowly pulling her form up to the jutting point of Sunningrocks; it wasn't as if she moved without care, or with reckless abandon, no, definitely not. Perhaps Salmonstripe could flaunt about with naught a worry or burden in the world, but, contrary to popular belief, leaders weren't exactly supposed to go about gallivanting with the enemy. Not that she had for a while now, but - ah, there was no law in the Warrior Code against a dream or two every now and then.
Anyone could see her. She knew that, and it sent a fiery course of adrenaline pounding through her veins. Rookfeather, certainly, she wouldn't wish to witness such a flippant disregard of borders. And of course Tigerfoot was a whole other trouble; an ear twinged back against her skull at the thought, and quickly the she-cat gave a rough shake of her fur, hoping to rid the memory of his tortoiseshell spattered countenance along with it.
There was a brief moment of peace, as Rowanstar stood there, mind cleared free of her mate and deputy and all responsibility - just a single fragment of time when, as the she-cat stood tall and proud, frame silhouetted against the hazy backdrop of a golden sun, she felt relinquished of the shackles that bound her claws back to ThunderClan. Just a brief moment, a fleeting emotion of absolute freedom. For that precious second Rowanstar was once again Rowanflame, warrior of ThunderClan, and Whitestar hadn't yet crumbled to whitecough, and Stonetalon was alive and well, and Tigerfoot was her best friend, the best of friends, but nothing more -
That all too brief moment was more liberating than any hunt she'd ever taken part of in her life.
And so abruptly did time resume, and did it finally come to a jarring end.
It was a crackle in the underbrush that snagged at her attention; muscles twisted, tail whipped as Rowanstar spun on her heels, hackles lifting as the rose bush gave a noisy rustle. Grey fur emerged, tiny paws pattered, and a mouse skittered out from beneath; the loud exhale Rowanstar allowed to escape was nothing short of relieved. Yes, this was enough; she had toyed with fate and come out alive far too much in her short lifetime.
Sooner or later, and she had no doubt it would lunge back to bite her in the rump.
The ThunderClan leader landed with a small huff in the grass, and quickly she crossed the border back into all too familiar territory. The shadows swallowed her fur in a warm embrace, and birdsong welcomed her back into their depths with a cheery melody.
...And still. Already she missed the lapping and lulling of the river, the raucous caw of geese and ducks on the horizon. One last look over her shoulder, one last glimpse of a ribbon of blue, of a horizon so tempting and sweet that it took all her self control not to go running towards its embrace.
She really was the Queen of bad decisions, wasn't she?
