a storm is brewing [open]

Cold. She could feel it; the bitter night air pressing in on her skin, dragging down at her pelt and her mood, until it felt as though she were wadding through sludge. It wasn't unusual for this russet furred femme to be found lurking within the cool depths of twilight, a staunch ginger figure silhouetted against the inky backdrop of silverpelt. Alas, whilst she should've been tucked away in her den next to the comfortingly firm body of Tigerfoot, here she walked; tail dragging in the beaten dirt track behind her, head bowed in an unusual display of dejection.

Not many bore witness to Rowanstar's admittedly weaker moments. There was her mate of course, the cat she'd known practically since birth. Such a patient and wise cat, bless his soul - but something kept her from piling the burdens upon his shoulders, something had her tongue twisted into knots whenever the question of "what's wrong?" popped from his mouth. Because as if she could tell him. No. He'd already dealt with enough.

...Gosh, she really was sullen today, wasn't she? A frustrated snort escaped her nostrils, stirring up wispy tendrils of mist before her muzzle. This wouldn't do at all; nobody liked a sourpuss, excuse the pun, and her increasingly morbid mood was even starting to get on her own nerves, of all cats. She needed a distraction. Yes! Something to whip her mind away from past mistakes.

StarClan seemed to be watching over her, that night. Or perhaps it was sheer coincidence. Honestly, Rowanstar was much more willing to bet that it was the latter. Either way, just as she was returning from her roundabout excursion to Sunningrocks, it was the familiar scent of Rainfoot, carried just on the back of a passing breeze, that jolted Rowanstar from her reverie. Her head snapped up, just as she came to emerge into the moonlit clearing of Camp. A lone figure amid the center, practically melted into the darkness with his pelt of dappled tabby silver.

Sometimes she found it easy to forget that she lead these cats. Her rule was still in its baby stages, her nine lives still fresh and burning bright within her beating heart. Hard to believe that, mere moons ago, she'd slept in the warriors' den with such warm and familiar forms, curled at their side and listened to their gentle breathing in a cool and undisturbed night. It was a strange sensation, to say the least; almost as if each and every life now weighed heavy upon her shoulders, dragged down at her paws until she might sink into the dirt below.

Perhaps that was slightly pompous of her to think. Well, regardless. She didn't want to lose the closeness of being apart of a Clan; certainly didn't want to drift away from her Clanmates. And moping about long lost loves wasn't at all a very leaderly thing to do. With head held high, Rowanstar took a confident step forth, and mewled a warm greeting to the amiable Rainfoot.

"Nice night, huh?" Paws glided across the grass as she crossed the distance between her and the tom. Once by his side, she unfolded her limbs in a rippling stretch, plume of a tail swishing out to uncurl like a burst of flame out against the dark sky. Folding her paws beneath her bulky form, she rested her figure into a comfortable position, just facing the silver warrior. "Can't say it's the best for sleeping though...I dunno. Is it just me? Or is there something really stuffy in the air tonight? Kinda like...fleas. Or burrs. Burrs caught in your pelt." She threw the cat a teasing smile, eyes grazing across his thin furred form. "Though I guess that's a pain you get to live without, huh?"