Post by Deleted on Oct 7, 2014 21:13:51 GMT -5
OOC: Goodbye, my beloved Thunderstar. The thread will be open to anyone to find him after he is dead and the loners/rogues have left, but I will announce when this will happen in post so that I can get my last interaction in between Thunderstar. @echo Ambrose Sand Deku @mysterymagic234 @tink
The cold wind swept through the territory and howled as it roughly brushed back the endless waves of brown and yellow meadow grass. The flowers of the fields had withered long ago and died in shrivels, and most rabbits had already turned to hide in their burrows until new leaf. The air was crisp and empty as small flurries of snow were carried and whipped with its force. Walking silently and approaching the edge of Whisperclan's territory was the large, gray form of a tom with his head down, long fur fluffed up against the wind and gait struggling uneven and wavered by a heavy limp caused by a badly twisted hind leg. Thunderfang was alone and left to his thoughts as he took it on himself to slowly patrol the territory.
Patrol, as if that were the word for it. Thunderfang hadn't been on a patrol ever since he had been Thunderstar, as his injury had caused him to step down from leadership at a fairly young age. He had been an elder for only a couple of moons, but it had been the hardest, most defeated moons of his nine lives. Everything he had ever had and had ever wanted had been completely stripped away from him upon returning from his journey to lead the dogs away from the camp. Who would have thought that with one sweep, an entire world could come crashing down, even on this strong young tom's shoulders. He had lost his title, he had lost his respect and authority, he had lost the ability to make Whisperclan the strong clan he had wanted them to be and to help with their activities, and had been condemned to sit as an elder, watching another leader in his place. He had watched cats die, knowing that he could no longer avenge them, and worst of all; he had lost his future mate, only the day before he had returned. Everything he had, was now gone.
Cats had said that he was too young to be made an elder, that he had his whole life ahead of him, but what life was that? What life could he give? He tried taking part in clan life again, but he felt like a ghost who was out of place, with no role or real impact, just a shadow of the powerful figure that he had once been. Seeing the cats reminded him that he had let them down, by not being able to serve them anymore, and seeing the kits and apprentices only reminded him of the time in his leadership when Leafclan had invaded, and Silverstar had taken the lives of all of those kits. He hadn't been able to do anything, and still he had done nothing, because he could physically do nothing anymore. Silverstar was dead now, yes, but what had Thunderfang done? What had Thunderstar done, to protect the clan from her? All of those kits… all of the bodies lined up in a row… he had always felt personally to blame for not being able to give up all of his lives to save them; that it had only taken one to knock him out for the rest of the battle.
but why could he not stop thinking about this? This was the past, but it still heavily hung on the tom's mind as a constant reminder. Maybe if he could further help his clan as he could, by hunting or doing patrols, he would feel as if he were actually doing something to help them, to revive them, to make them strong and less of a target. That was partly the reason he was out here now; he was not recommended to go on patrols with other cats, knowing his injury, and he couldn't face their inquisitions of whether or not he was fairing well anyhow, as if he certainly were a weaker cat. This time, he was on a patrol alone, if only for the comfort of his own mind and remembrance that he had once been useful, and had a purpose. The silvery-gray tom stopped as his paws reached the scent line, and he tilted his head in as he breathed in the mixture of scents passing through the air, scenting for anything unusual, anything out of the ordinary. It had been so long since he had done so.
The cold wind swept through the territory and howled as it roughly brushed back the endless waves of brown and yellow meadow grass. The flowers of the fields had withered long ago and died in shrivels, and most rabbits had already turned to hide in their burrows until new leaf. The air was crisp and empty as small flurries of snow were carried and whipped with its force. Walking silently and approaching the edge of Whisperclan's territory was the large, gray form of a tom with his head down, long fur fluffed up against the wind and gait struggling uneven and wavered by a heavy limp caused by a badly twisted hind leg. Thunderfang was alone and left to his thoughts as he took it on himself to slowly patrol the territory.
Patrol, as if that were the word for it. Thunderfang hadn't been on a patrol ever since he had been Thunderstar, as his injury had caused him to step down from leadership at a fairly young age. He had been an elder for only a couple of moons, but it had been the hardest, most defeated moons of his nine lives. Everything he had ever had and had ever wanted had been completely stripped away from him upon returning from his journey to lead the dogs away from the camp. Who would have thought that with one sweep, an entire world could come crashing down, even on this strong young tom's shoulders. He had lost his title, he had lost his respect and authority, he had lost the ability to make Whisperclan the strong clan he had wanted them to be and to help with their activities, and had been condemned to sit as an elder, watching another leader in his place. He had watched cats die, knowing that he could no longer avenge them, and worst of all; he had lost his future mate, only the day before he had returned. Everything he had, was now gone.
Cats had said that he was too young to be made an elder, that he had his whole life ahead of him, but what life was that? What life could he give? He tried taking part in clan life again, but he felt like a ghost who was out of place, with no role or real impact, just a shadow of the powerful figure that he had once been. Seeing the cats reminded him that he had let them down, by not being able to serve them anymore, and seeing the kits and apprentices only reminded him of the time in his leadership when Leafclan had invaded, and Silverstar had taken the lives of all of those kits. He hadn't been able to do anything, and still he had done nothing, because he could physically do nothing anymore. Silverstar was dead now, yes, but what had Thunderfang done? What had Thunderstar done, to protect the clan from her? All of those kits… all of the bodies lined up in a row… he had always felt personally to blame for not being able to give up all of his lives to save them; that it had only taken one to knock him out for the rest of the battle.
but why could he not stop thinking about this? This was the past, but it still heavily hung on the tom's mind as a constant reminder. Maybe if he could further help his clan as he could, by hunting or doing patrols, he would feel as if he were actually doing something to help them, to revive them, to make them strong and less of a target. That was partly the reason he was out here now; he was not recommended to go on patrols with other cats, knowing his injury, and he couldn't face their inquisitions of whether or not he was fairing well anyhow, as if he certainly were a weaker cat. This time, he was on a patrol alone, if only for the comfort of his own mind and remembrance that he had once been useful, and had a purpose. The silvery-gray tom stopped as his paws reached the scent line, and he tilted his head in as he breathed in the mixture of scents passing through the air, scenting for anything unusual, anything out of the ordinary. It had been so long since he had done so.
