Post by ROWANSTAR on Oct 16, 2016 22:59:43 GMT
Tigerfoot would be right in calling her a night owl of sorts; not that she ever usually was, mind you. But with the amount of times Rowanstar had been found under a starlight splashed half-moon, russet fur burned silver in wispy strokes of pallid white, this ThunderClan leader couldn't quite argue with the fact that, nowadays, she really had developed into quite the insomniac. Perhaps it was her fresh burdens of leadership, piled thick and heavy onto her shoulders; or maybe sleep was no longer an enveloping comfort, instead a painted landscape of bitter memories and wanton desires she still so selfishly craved.
...Regardless. Here she stood, yet again beneath the millions of eyes known as Silverpelt. Rowanstar had to admit, with the constant bustle and crowing of ThunderClan during sunhigh, there was a certain appreciation to be found within the shadows of a cold and lonely night. The ghostly whisper of an owl's tapering wail carried for miles across ThunderClan land, dying to a low ebb all too soon. And then there were the muffled snores of her clanmates, a soft background thrum that melded into a symphony, so familiar and homely and expected of their Camp. A heavy sigh escaped Rowanstar's lungs, flowed past her lips as her cranium dipped towards the earth, and back legs extended as she folded her form into a comfortable sitting position.
There were many things she ought to be doing, really. Sleeping, for one, or, if not that, then perhaps a night-time border patrol might be of some use. Honestly though, was that all a leader was? Work, work, and more work? For StarClan's sake, she needed some time to herself. A blanket of quiet to envelop her in its wispy mist, starlight spinning above in an endless, glimmering dance. Then again, it wasn't as if sitting still was hard-coded into her veins either; she needed to move, to shake out the bees buzzing in her paws, so to speak.
So it was that her energy won out against the dreary weight of responsibility. Anything was better than begging to cruel fingers of sleep to rob her of consciousness (which, with the state she was in as of late, was quite a laughable possibility.) And though a routinely border patrol wasn't at all what she was aiming for, it couldn't hurt to skirt about the territory somewhat, maybe check out Sunningrocks or the Thunderpath, all that petty jazz. Another sigh, then a flex of her muscles, as her forelegs shoved forward in the dirt and her back arched in one long, rippling stretch.
Yes. A walk, of sorts. Alone. It would do her some good.
Alone being the key point here.
Hear that, fate?
Alone.
...Regardless. Here she stood, yet again beneath the millions of eyes known as Silverpelt. Rowanstar had to admit, with the constant bustle and crowing of ThunderClan during sunhigh, there was a certain appreciation to be found within the shadows of a cold and lonely night. The ghostly whisper of an owl's tapering wail carried for miles across ThunderClan land, dying to a low ebb all too soon. And then there were the muffled snores of her clanmates, a soft background thrum that melded into a symphony, so familiar and homely and expected of their Camp. A heavy sigh escaped Rowanstar's lungs, flowed past her lips as her cranium dipped towards the earth, and back legs extended as she folded her form into a comfortable sitting position.
There were many things she ought to be doing, really. Sleeping, for one, or, if not that, then perhaps a night-time border patrol might be of some use. Honestly though, was that all a leader was? Work, work, and more work? For StarClan's sake, she needed some time to herself. A blanket of quiet to envelop her in its wispy mist, starlight spinning above in an endless, glimmering dance. Then again, it wasn't as if sitting still was hard-coded into her veins either; she needed to move, to shake out the bees buzzing in her paws, so to speak.
So it was that her energy won out against the dreary weight of responsibility. Anything was better than begging to cruel fingers of sleep to rob her of consciousness (which, with the state she was in as of late, was quite a laughable possibility.) And though a routinely border patrol wasn't at all what she was aiming for, it couldn't hurt to skirt about the territory somewhat, maybe check out Sunningrocks or the Thunderpath, all that petty jazz. Another sigh, then a flex of her muscles, as her forelegs shoved forward in the dirt and her back arched in one long, rippling stretch.
Yes. A walk, of sorts. Alone. It would do her some good.
Alone being the key point here.
Hear that, fate?
Alone.
words: 464 | tagged: open | ooc:
rowan's a bit salty tonight rip
rowan's a bit salty tonight rip
