SPRUCECLAW
- Green eyes peered drowsily through the holes in the wall of the warrior's den. Spruceclaw was nestled up against the scrubby bush that served as their den, his faced mashed up against the prickly wall as he shifted uncomfortably, trying to stand up without trodding on any of the cats near him. His burly figure and large paws didn't make it any easier on him, but he eventually managed to stumble his way past the heaps of sleeping cats, sighing in relief as he stepped out into the open. Warm, salty sea air assaulted his face, a brisk breeze ruffling his pelt -- it was an improvement over the stuffy den any day.
It was early morning, the sun hardly yet risen, but Spruceclaw didn't mind. He liked rising early -- it made him feel more alert, more on top of things. He wasn't scheduled for any morning patrols today, so he stretched pleasurably, relishing the feel of early sunlight on his back. Mornings were also very pleasant for Spruceclaw; compared to the heat that would rise to stifling heights later on in the day, the morning always brought cool temperatures and good weather. The calm before the storm.
Spruceclaw found himself wandering over to the fresh-kill pile, a heap of prey near the elder's den. He nosed disinterestedly through the pile, not hungry but seeking something to satisfy his growing bordem. Most cats didn't appreciate their fellows tromping around the camp hours before they had to wake up and Spruceclaw was trying his hardest to remain quiet -- of course, sometimes, that didn't work out. There had been incidents when he'd woken the entire nursery or apprentice den or even the whole camp, incidents he certainly wasn't proud of. Spruceclaw tried to stay silent as he snagged a dead seagull with one claw, pulling it out of the pile. Settling down beside the pile, Spruceclaw bit into the bird and started his meal.
BLUESTRIKE
- Bluestrike was wide awake, and much earlier than she should have been. Her paws scuffed the ground as she dragged her feet forward, her pads rubbed raw from walking all night. Though she'd tried to sleep and had managed to catch a few fitful hours of slumber, the evidence of an unsatisfying night was all around; her eyes were bloodshot, her fur rubbed all the wrong way. Bluestrike's jaws parted in a wide yawn as she walked, her tongue worming around her teeth as she tried to jolt herself awake.
Last night, Bluestrike couldn't fall asleep for the life of her. For hours she'd thrashed around in the warriors den, her eyes wide open and unwilling to shut. Finally, after disturbing several of her fellows, Bluestrike had just gotten up and left. The warrior guarding the entrance to the camp hadn't been paying attention -- he himself was half asleep -- so Bluestrike had slipped by without further protest. She'd found her own feet leading her to the cliffs at the edge of the territory. Bluestrike had always enjoyed spending time on the cliffs and observing the sights around it; below was the ocean, churning and thrashing like some big animal, the very ocean that her clan relied on for everyday life.
Needless to say, Bluestrike could barely sleep the entire night. It had been dangerous, wandering the cliffs in total darkness, but cautious thoughts hadn't stopped Bluestrike. She'd just walked and walked and walked until her paws finally gave out; then, she'd collapsed on a mossy ledge. She'd managed to catch a few hours of sleep, but the slowly rising sun had been her alarm. Now, she was heading back to camp. Bluestrike didn't know how far she'd followed the cliffs or how long she'd walked, but she could still smell the same familiar scent of nearby cats, so she knew camp couldn't be that far away.
