Post by SMOKEHEART on Dec 13, 2016 2:17:42 GMT
take me higher
tag: @open // words: 597 // notes: n/a
more often than not, smokeheart preferred the solitude of hunting alone. being born with a large frame, and paws better suited for battle, he didn’t appear as if he would be a good hunter; the equation didn’t quite add up. but the tom refused to let his body define him as a hunter. if his brother could be a successful hunter, then so could he. the tom’s counterpart was larger than him, and more skilled in nearly every aspect, but it only drove the shadowclan warrior to try harder, to become better so that if he ever had to face his brother again, he wouldn’t wind up laying in his own blood.
hawkstrike. the warrior wasn’t sure if he still donned the name given to him by shadowclan; it had been several moons since that fateful night when his brother abandoned his clan for the life of a rogue. several moons since hawkstrike had mutilated his brother’s face, and left him with a reminder of the brother he couldn’t protect. smokeheart wanted to hate hawkstrike for what he did, but sadness was really the only thing he felt when he thought of him. not that anyone would know that that is what smokeheart felt. no, the tom was careful in how he presented himself to his clanmates. he was a proud warrior, boastful, and he made no apologies for that.
so in the heat of the morning sun, deep within the heart of shadowclan territory, he hunted. his paws falling soundlessly upon the ground, his tail poised so that he could make the kill at the first sign of movement. the morning air had been unusually still, save for the slight breeze that rustled the leaves of the few trees that bore them. smokeheart was determined to return to camp with enough fresh kill to feed the entire nursery, and he didn’t care how long it took to accomplish that single-handedly. sharing in the glory wasn’t high on his list of things to do, and he would make sure to tell any one of his clanmates the same thing if they decided to give him an earful about leaving the camp without a patrol.
what good was a patrol anyways? the tom darted to the side, ears pricking at the sound of a frog leaving the confines of the marsh. patrols were noisy, and generally had apprentices in them. apprentices that didn’t know their tail from a hole in the ground. he gathered his haunches and leapt at the frog that croaked lazily in the patch of sunlight. he had left before the morning patrol, so that he didn’t have to listen to the insufferable onyxfeather drone on and on about patrols. clamping his jaws together, smokeheart silenced the frog, letting it dangle from his jaws. he was probably the one that would give him an earful for leaving camp so early, as if it was a blasphemy. he would come back with freshkill, so why did it matter? dropping his prey at the base of a tree, he brushed dirt over it so that he could retrieve it later.
it wasn’t like onyxfeather was really anything special, or darkstar for that matter. they were glorified in the eyes of the clan, and smokeheart just couldn’t fathom it. darkstar was ‘special’ because he supposedly got nine lives from starclan, but how was that even feasible? it sounded like an elders tale to the tom. even if the rest of the clan hung on their every word, smokeheart couldn’t be bothered. no one ordered smokeheart around, no one.
hawkstrike. the warrior wasn’t sure if he still donned the name given to him by shadowclan; it had been several moons since that fateful night when his brother abandoned his clan for the life of a rogue. several moons since hawkstrike had mutilated his brother’s face, and left him with a reminder of the brother he couldn’t protect. smokeheart wanted to hate hawkstrike for what he did, but sadness was really the only thing he felt when he thought of him. not that anyone would know that that is what smokeheart felt. no, the tom was careful in how he presented himself to his clanmates. he was a proud warrior, boastful, and he made no apologies for that.
so in the heat of the morning sun, deep within the heart of shadowclan territory, he hunted. his paws falling soundlessly upon the ground, his tail poised so that he could make the kill at the first sign of movement. the morning air had been unusually still, save for the slight breeze that rustled the leaves of the few trees that bore them. smokeheart was determined to return to camp with enough fresh kill to feed the entire nursery, and he didn’t care how long it took to accomplish that single-handedly. sharing in the glory wasn’t high on his list of things to do, and he would make sure to tell any one of his clanmates the same thing if they decided to give him an earful about leaving the camp without a patrol.
what good was a patrol anyways? the tom darted to the side, ears pricking at the sound of a frog leaving the confines of the marsh. patrols were noisy, and generally had apprentices in them. apprentices that didn’t know their tail from a hole in the ground. he gathered his haunches and leapt at the frog that croaked lazily in the patch of sunlight. he had left before the morning patrol, so that he didn’t have to listen to the insufferable onyxfeather drone on and on about patrols. clamping his jaws together, smokeheart silenced the frog, letting it dangle from his jaws. he was probably the one that would give him an earful for leaving camp so early, as if it was a blasphemy. he would come back with freshkill, so why did it matter? dropping his prey at the base of a tree, he brushed dirt over it so that he could retrieve it later.
it wasn’t like onyxfeather was really anything special, or darkstar for that matter. they were glorified in the eyes of the clan, and smokeheart just couldn’t fathom it. darkstar was ‘special’ because he supposedly got nine lives from starclan, but how was that even feasible? it sounded like an elders tale to the tom. even if the rest of the clan hung on their every word, smokeheart couldn’t be bothered. no one ordered smokeheart around, no one.
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