Post by deersprint on Oct 18, 2012 23:15:40 GMT -5
there'll be peace when you are done
Deersprint was alone. His shoulders hunched, a near snarl on his lips. He prowled through the undergrowth, his tail lashing against his legs. He was alone, separated from Moosefoot, a prospect which agitated him greatly. But for here and there, the brothers were inseperable. But Deersprint had risen that morning to find his brother gone, the scent in the neighboring nest stale. Upon asking around, he’d learned that Moosefoot had volunteered for the dawn patrol – volunteered without him. He growled, low, under his breath. Agitation clawed at his stomach, cold and slicing. So many things could happen, did happen every day. Perhaps a hostile patrol, an aggressive loner, poisoned carrion – in short, there were too many ways to die out here. He knew it, Moosefoot knew it, and yet he wandered off anyways. He slipped the watchful eye of his older brother. But that was just like Moosefoot, to need his “alone time”. His claws silently unsheathed, sinking deep into the soft dirt. By the time he’d awoken, straightened everything out, it had been far too late to catch up to the patrol. So he’d slunk out of camp, lurked in the surrounding bushes and trees. He would have liked to lurk in a tree – but he was no Thunderclanner.
He lowered himself to the ground, their stubbed grass raking at his belly. But he didn’t care. He wanted to lose himself in anything, even an enemy that didn’t exist. His ears flicked, lost in thought. Memories rose unbidden, and certainly undesired. It was just him and Rowanclaw. He’d just become a warrior. But Moosefoot – Moosepaw then – all he cared about was his precious she-cat. So Deersprint was left to tag along with Rowanclaw, to watch his brother pretend to be happy. But he wasn’t, not really. They both knew it. He couldn’t be – couldn’t be happy without their mother, and certainly couldn’t be happy without him. He kneaded the ground, his claws sinking in and out, in and out. He’d waited outside the camp, only long enough to see him return, safe and sound. Then he’d set out. He’d let Moosefoot know what it was to worry, what it was to wake up without that warmth at his side. He’d determinedly set out into the marsh, away from Moosefoot, away from his sad eyes. A part of him tugged, urged him to turn back. But he didn’t, he just kept walking.
He froze, quite suddenly. He’d reached the area of the marsh where the ground began to squelch, sucking at his paws. But on the rancid breeze of the swamp, was another scent. He breathed in deeply, a smile tugging at his lips as he recognized the scent. He moved towards it, stalking his way stealthily through the undergrowth. It wasn’t easy, with the mud and mire determined to coat his pelt. But it would be worth it. He drew closer, close enough so he could see a distinctly feminine pelt. He smiled to himself. The figure was clear now, the sounds of her teeth ripping at the skin of a freshly killed frog. He lifted a paw, making a loud squelching sound. He cursed inwardly, then quickly pushed his way through the fronds as she turned her face towards him. He grinned, raising a brow and eying the juice dribbling down her chin. He shook his head slightly. “That’s no way for a lady to eat,” He was an utter charmer, his deep voice deep but somehow alluring. He flashed her another winning smile, looking her frankly up and down. Each time they met, he toyed with her. And each time she turned him down. But he was determined, one of these times he would be victorious.