Post by Heron on May 10, 2015 18:21:40 GMT -5
The weather had just began to lighten up; the thundering storm had passed, leaving light drizzling rain and a sunshine sky. The gray clouds were beginning to fade, and for one warrior cat it was the perfect time to return home from his visit to Skyfield. He had been sent out alone to search for one of the warriors that hadn't returned from their visit to the sacred place. Some of Stormclan had agreed that the warrior was likely out paying respects on their own time, but Stagrunner had been instructed to check up on them or see if they were on their way home. Coming up blank, the young warrior himself had began to wonder what he was going to say to the clan when he came back empty pawed. Well, maybe she already started heading back. He thought bitterly, despite having known that if the warrior had been on her way back to camp he surely would have crossed paths with her.
Wide alert, the ginger tom kept his eyes and ears open for anything unusual. Out of the clan's territory, he was vulnerable to being attacked-- especially by rogues. Clan cats wouldn't likely attack him on sacred ground. but rogues and loners did not abide by the warrior code, and Stagrunner felt like he could be the perfect victim. Not in the way he was not a fighter, but in the way that he was a newly made StormClan warrior. It was obvious he had little to none experience; his pelt was a perfect ginger color, with a white belly and white tail tip. He was completed by dark ginger tabby stripes, each limb and curve of his bodice completely clean from deep scarring or battle wounds. That was one of the first things you notice as a warrior-- you could easily tell how experienced your opponent was by their lack of scarring.
His dark paws were sticking to the wet, muddy ground. He turned to head away from the Skyfield, sticking closer to the river that ran along the area and eventually led him back to StormClan territory. The sun overhead was warming up his pelt, and the tom gave a little shudder to relieve himself of falling dewdrops. Senses alert, he stalked low to the ground, sniffing cautiously for any sense of another cat nearby. He came up stale, except for the salty and sticky scent of the river. His stomach began to rumble, and Stagrunner figured that it wouldn't do him well to go back to camp hungry or without prey. Figuring he would catch an easy mouse to return home with, why not try for his own fish? He leaped off the bank onto the large, round boulders that kept himself propped up out of the water and looked down into the clear liquid below. His tail twitched in appreciation. The river was filled with fish! The storm seemed to have brought them out of the ocean and into the riverbank, which made him purr in delight. Carefully, he waited for the opportune moment, and dug a sharp claw into the water. Living up to his Stormclan name, his catch was easy. The fumbling bluegill flopped onto the rock and Stagrunner stepped on it to keep it still, where he began to rip and tear its flesh with sharp canines. Still perched onto the large rocks, the sun lit up his ginger pelt like a shining star surrounded by rushing water.
Roselocke Still up for this?
