Post by cosmic on Dec 4, 2023 11:03:21 GMT -6
#s://i~pinimg~com/564x/fa/77/b9/fa77b9edfebe3d372faa67bb868d398f~jpg
 | maplefrost |
A hiss filled the camp as the big brute limped his way from the entrance, a few miscellaneous herbs hanging from his mouth. For the most part, the camp was empty. With a recent large snowfall, many cats were eager to go out into the territory today. Mentors wanted to teach their apprentices new skills in the plush snow, young couples wanted to gallop in the terrain, and hunters found it easier to hunt with prey looking for warmer places to burrow.
The dark-orange brute made his way into his medicine den, which thankfully had been empty for a few sunrises now. No sickness, no worries. Regardless, despite the tom not having any patients in his care, he kept bust. Really busy. The same kind of busy when Redthorn and Thorngaze died. The same kind of busy when Shrikeberry died. And now, the same kind of busy when his mother, Littlestar, died. Emotionally distant, many elders and kits commented on how darker the tom's attitude was. He ignored it, sometimes giving a snarky remark. He was fine. Just fine.
After sitting the herbs down in a messy pile, Maplefrost lowered himself on his haunches at his nest. Carefully, he lifted his front left paw to see numerous thorn sticking out of his paw pads. It was a miracle that he hadn't somehow made them sink deeper into his paw.
While gazing at his injured paw, however, his eyes shifted upward to his ripped dewclaw, which had scarred over with no fur growing in its place. Memories of Shrikeberry tending to his wound for a couple of moons. Maplefrost looked up toward the stones that the herb supply was settled on, only for his imagination to see Shrikeberry sitting there organizing her herbs. He knew this wasn't something from StarClan, as there were no stars accompanying her pelt. A daydream, an escape from the reality of him feeling like he had lost everything. She looked to him and smiled, before his fantasies disappeared.
As he snapped back to reality, though, he did see that something had changed at the entrance. A pair of young eyes were staring right at him. Maplefrost huffed sharply, before looking directly into the eyes. "What are you doing here, kid? Don't you know it's rude to stare?"
The dark-orange brute made his way into his medicine den, which thankfully had been empty for a few sunrises now. No sickness, no worries. Regardless, despite the tom not having any patients in his care, he kept bust. Really busy. The same kind of busy when Redthorn and Thorngaze died. The same kind of busy when Shrikeberry died. And now, the same kind of busy when his mother, Littlestar, died. Emotionally distant, many elders and kits commented on how darker the tom's attitude was. He ignored it, sometimes giving a snarky remark. He was fine. Just fine.
After sitting the herbs down in a messy pile, Maplefrost lowered himself on his haunches at his nest. Carefully, he lifted his front left paw to see numerous thorn sticking out of his paw pads. It was a miracle that he hadn't somehow made them sink deeper into his paw.
While gazing at his injured paw, however, his eyes shifted upward to his ripped dewclaw, which had scarred over with no fur growing in its place. Memories of Shrikeberry tending to his wound for a couple of moons. Maplefrost looked up toward the stones that the herb supply was settled on, only for his imagination to see Shrikeberry sitting there organizing her herbs. He knew this wasn't something from StarClan, as there were no stars accompanying her pelt. A daydream, an escape from the reality of him feeling like he had lost everything. She looked to him and smiled, before his fantasies disappeared.
As he snapped back to reality, though, he did see that something had changed at the entrance. A pair of young eyes were staring right at him. Maplefrost huffed sharply, before looking directly into the eyes. "What are you doing here, kid? Don't you know it's rude to stare?"