within the shadows || november patrol Nov 7, 2019 14:42:01 GMT -6
Post by wish on Nov 7, 2019 14:42:01 GMT -6
Yewthorn slid into formation behind the older red she-cat, as their patrol left camp and headed toward the northern border in a shared silence. Besides him, Cederflame, another older she-cat, matched him in stride, and the asocial Darkpaw trailed behind like a despondent shadow. Hawktail had been ordered to lead another band to remark their territory and to look for any rogues who had strayed too far into the Thistleclan forest. Yewthorn had not been particularly thrilled about the assignment, since he had already spent the afternoon on an exhaustive hunt, and his company was less than ideal. The brown tom rarely interacted with Hawktail, or Cederflame for that matter, so an electric reticence ached in the air between them. He was usually a sociable tom, unafraid to make connections, but both of the she-cats were notorious for their bite. He decided that in order to avoid any retorts or taunts, he would simply focus on the task at hand and make as little conversation as possible. That seemed doable -- didn't it? He heavily exhaled and concentrated on his stride.
In the west, the sun sunk leisurely into the earth and the sky radiated with brilliant reds and blues. Above the stars flickered faintly, and if Yewthorn concentrated, he could see the delicate moon climbing in the distance. He flicked his ear. The full moon was a mere week away. While Thistleclan was not currently involved in the conflict between Redwoodclan and Lichenclan, it did not take long for the whispers to reach the white pine forest.. An official war had been declared between the two clans, and he wondered if they would be inevitably dragged into it. He hoped not. The unsettling scent of rogues and loners had been far too prevalent lately, which was unusual for the island. When the colds winds from the north blew over the lake, the outsiders merely retreated back to the outlands for warmth -- but this was not the case this leaf-bare. Instead, their vile scents had been marked in various locations across their land.
The brown warrior drew in a slow breath then, his senses alert for any peculiar scents. Their trek had carried the silent patrol close to the northern cliffs, and in the air he could taste the frigid water. He breathed out. The border was a bit ahead, and if the land remained unbothered, then the party could return home without injury. As much as Yewthorn wanted to shred his claws into an unlucky cat, he also wanted to curl into his den and close his eyes for the day. He was tired and knew he would have to be up early tomorrow morn to take his apprentice out for another hunt. This entire search almost seemed like a waste of time. While he understood the need for increased border patrols, and worried about their safety, he also knew that the border had already been marked hours before. Their leader had become a bit obsessive over the mere threat.
Ahead the meek waves collided into the rocky shoreline, and the sky darkened above. The band moved toward the border, marked it, and then turned to retreat into the familial woodland. Yewthorn inhaled once more, his nose attuned to the usual forest scents, when a sudden chill struck his veins. He cast an anxious look toward Hawktail -- sure the other she-cat had scented the same horrid odor -- and motioned for the other cats to slow. Another cat lurked within the shadows, and Yewthorn could taste his bitter scent in his mouth. He broke his silence then. "Stay behind us," he ordered the black and white apprentice. The brown warrior then took a few defensive strides forward and flicked a tail toward Hawktail. "What do you want to do?" he asked.