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♢ 98 moons ♢ Female ♢ Fogclan Elder ♢ No crush ♢ Tags: None (open) ♢
x
Tail curled tightly around her aging body as the cold, crisp air nipped at the feline's shivering form, Fawnstep was eventually torn away from her dreamless slumber as a particularly violent shiver ran down her body. Her ginger and white head lifted as she scanned the den, pale green eyes narrowed in concentration; she couldn't see the blurred white and brown shape of her denmate, Sparrowfur, anywhere. She must already be awake Fawnstep thought idly as she slowly uncurled herself, a rush of cold coursing through her body as she moved. The elder's body wasn't exactly worn, nor did it look like it should belong to a cat of her age, nevertheless the old she-cat still felt groggy, her bones stiff, when she first woke up.
Fawnstep had never liked to admit that she was getting older, and that her many moons of life had exhausted her body, but she would instead reminisce about her days as a warrior, almost as though she were trying to relive those long gone days that lived as simple memories in her mind. It seemed that her body hadn't caught up with her many moons of life, as she had very few grey strands of fur around her muzzle, and the female still appeared to be full of life with the heart of a young warrior. She could be easily mistaken for a younger cat, so long as you didn't know about her failing eyesight, though she lacked the speed or finesse needed to become a warrior. A small part of her was glad to now have such a relaxing life, though dreams of hunting and running free still plagued her dreams as frequently as the mist that shrouded Fogclan's camp every evening during leaf-bare.
Clambering to her aching paws, Fawnstep's jaw parted into a yawn, stretching her legs out in turn as she blinked the sleep away from her eyes. It was a foggy morning, as it often was. Fawnstep rather liked the fog; it had little effect on her already failing eye sight, and she found the silver and snowy white colours merged together beautifully.
Emerging from the elders' den and pausing at the entrance, her eyes scanned the camp, picking out the familiar blurs of colour and slowly identifying her clanmates. For some of them who were similar in colour, she relied on listening to their voices, or waiting to get close enough to be able to pick up some more of their features. The Dawnclan cats were another matter: she didn't know their names, ranks, anything that required her to be able to get a good look at the cats. Fawnstep wasn't a warrior, however, nor was she an eager apprentice ready to jump into battle at any moment, but rather she was a calm, kind-hearted elder who would welcome anyone who needed help; she was weary, as any sensible cat would be, though she showed no hatred towards them.
Tail curled tightly around her aging body as the cold, crisp air nipped at the feline's shivering form, Fawnstep was eventually torn away from her dreamless slumber as a particularly violent shiver ran down her body. Her ginger and white head lifted as she scanned the den, pale green eyes narrowed in concentration; she couldn't see the blurred white and brown shape of her denmate, Sparrowfur, anywhere. She must already be awake Fawnstep thought idly as she slowly uncurled herself, a rush of cold coursing through her body as she moved. The elder's body wasn't exactly worn, nor did it look like it should belong to a cat of her age, nevertheless the old she-cat still felt groggy, her bones stiff, when she first woke up.
Fawnstep had never liked to admit that she was getting older, and that her many moons of life had exhausted her body, but she would instead reminisce about her days as a warrior, almost as though she were trying to relive those long gone days that lived as simple memories in her mind. It seemed that her body hadn't caught up with her many moons of life, as she had very few grey strands of fur around her muzzle, and the female still appeared to be full of life with the heart of a young warrior. She could be easily mistaken for a younger cat, so long as you didn't know about her failing eyesight, though she lacked the speed or finesse needed to become a warrior. A small part of her was glad to now have such a relaxing life, though dreams of hunting and running free still plagued her dreams as frequently as the mist that shrouded Fogclan's camp every evening during leaf-bare.
Clambering to her aching paws, Fawnstep's jaw parted into a yawn, stretching her legs out in turn as she blinked the sleep away from her eyes. It was a foggy morning, as it often was. Fawnstep rather liked the fog; it had little effect on her already failing eye sight, and she found the silver and snowy white colours merged together beautifully.
Emerging from the elders' den and pausing at the entrance, her eyes scanned the camp, picking out the familiar blurs of colour and slowly identifying her clanmates. For some of them who were similar in colour, she relied on listening to their voices, or waiting to get close enough to be able to pick up some more of their features. The Dawnclan cats were another matter: she didn't know their names, ranks, anything that required her to be able to get a good look at the cats. Fawnstep wasn't a warrior, however, nor was she an eager apprentice ready to jump into battle at any moment, but rather she was a calm, kind-hearted elder who would welcome anyone who needed help; she was weary, as any sensible cat would be, though she showed no hatred towards them.
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➶ 34 moons ➶ Male ➶ Fogclan Outsider ➶ No crush ➶ Tags: None (open) ➶
x
"You could've told me!" his eyes narrowed into slits, their amber depths flashing with anger and betrayal as he glared at the smaller cat in front of him. His mother. Despite being much younger than her, the brown and black furred male was much larger than the delicate looking female stood in front of him. His bristling fur only made him seem larger.
The smaller feline stood in front of the angered male was much smaller, her pelt a mixture of ginger and white fur. Her eyes were a pale green, soft and comforting like the warm sun on a Newleaf morning. A hunter more than a fighter, it seemed from her build, though there was no doubt that, should a fight occur, the female was more than capable of taking care of herself. Her son had taken his appearance from his father, Cedarfur, who was stood just behind the small ginger and white cat. In fact, the male was the spitting image of his father, the only difference seeming to be their personalities.
"Creekstorm-.." Cedarfur started, his voice having a slight rasp to it. He was cut off by the female, who waved her tail and stepped towards her son, "I didn't want you to have such grief and sorrow tugging at you heart like we have" the female's voice was much warmer, much gentler, much more inviting and calming to the ear. It did nothing to calm the angered male however, who rolled his eyes at the comment, "You shouldn't have lied to me, Fawnstep" he spat the words with such hatred that the female visibly recoiled, "The truth coming to light sooner or later was unavoidable, you knew that. How do you think it feels to only now find out I had a sister?" Silence. Silence stretched across the three cats, across the camp as all the present cats of Fogclan stopped and turned their heads, some tilting their heads questioningly, others simply staring at the agitated male with unreadable expressions. At the mention of her deceased daughter, Fawnstep took a step backwards, bumping into Cedarfur. Her ears were drawn back. It seemed the mention of the dead kit had brought back painful memories for the female, and Cedarfur too, as his eyes also held a deep sorrow for his lost daughter.
Hissing, Creekstorm had an icy glower painted on his face as he turned his back on his family, on his clan, on everything he had ever known. He padded away from the camp, looking back once more to give his parting words to Fogclan: "Don't expect me to be returning any time soon"
Creekstorm, now Creek, lifted his head from the stream, water droplets dripping from his mouth. Ears perked, the male's eyes were fixed on a rustling among some ferns, as something (a squirrel, judging by its scent) moved about, completely unaware of the cat lurking nearby. Taking advantage of the squirrel's carelessness, Creek dropped into a hunter's crouch and, using the skills he had learnt during his time in Fogclan, quickly caught the squirrel and snatched away its life with one, swift bite to the neck.
With his fresh kill dangling from his jaws, Creek settled down by the stream and began to eat. Perhaps it was wrong to steal prey from Fogclan, though guilt seemed to be a long forgotten emotion for the male. He ate his catch without any guilt weighing down on him, lifting a paw and washing the blood from his face once he had finished.
"You could've told me!" his eyes narrowed into slits, their amber depths flashing with anger and betrayal as he glared at the smaller cat in front of him. His mother. Despite being much younger than her, the brown and black furred male was much larger than the delicate looking female stood in front of him. His bristling fur only made him seem larger.
The smaller feline stood in front of the angered male was much smaller, her pelt a mixture of ginger and white fur. Her eyes were a pale green, soft and comforting like the warm sun on a Newleaf morning. A hunter more than a fighter, it seemed from her build, though there was no doubt that, should a fight occur, the female was more than capable of taking care of herself. Her son had taken his appearance from his father, Cedarfur, who was stood just behind the small ginger and white cat. In fact, the male was the spitting image of his father, the only difference seeming to be their personalities.
"Creekstorm-.." Cedarfur started, his voice having a slight rasp to it. He was cut off by the female, who waved her tail and stepped towards her son, "I didn't want you to have such grief and sorrow tugging at you heart like we have" the female's voice was much warmer, much gentler, much more inviting and calming to the ear. It did nothing to calm the angered male however, who rolled his eyes at the comment, "You shouldn't have lied to me, Fawnstep" he spat the words with such hatred that the female visibly recoiled, "The truth coming to light sooner or later was unavoidable, you knew that. How do you think it feels to only now find out I had a sister?" Silence. Silence stretched across the three cats, across the camp as all the present cats of Fogclan stopped and turned their heads, some tilting their heads questioningly, others simply staring at the agitated male with unreadable expressions. At the mention of her deceased daughter, Fawnstep took a step backwards, bumping into Cedarfur. Her ears were drawn back. It seemed the mention of the dead kit had brought back painful memories for the female, and Cedarfur too, as his eyes also held a deep sorrow for his lost daughter.
Hissing, Creekstorm had an icy glower painted on his face as he turned his back on his family, on his clan, on everything he had ever known. He padded away from the camp, looking back once more to give his parting words to Fogclan: "Don't expect me to be returning any time soon"
Creekstorm, now Creek, lifted his head from the stream, water droplets dripping from his mouth. Ears perked, the male's eyes were fixed on a rustling among some ferns, as something (a squirrel, judging by its scent) moved about, completely unaware of the cat lurking nearby. Taking advantage of the squirrel's carelessness, Creek dropped into a hunter's crouch and, using the skills he had learnt during his time in Fogclan, quickly caught the squirrel and snatched away its life with one, swift bite to the neck.
With his fresh kill dangling from his jaws, Creek settled down by the stream and began to eat. Perhaps it was wrong to steal prey from Fogclan, though guilt seemed to be a long forgotten emotion for the male. He ate his catch without any guilt weighing down on him, lifting a paw and washing the blood from his face once he had finished.
