Frog Legs | (Tagged) Apr 21, 2020 22:55:16 GMT -6
Post by bombora on Apr 21, 2020 22:55:16 GMT -6
Defeat was an object of scorn in ThistleClan. Their warriors prized individual strength and self-sufficiency above all else. Those who couldn't keep up with the others died. Graygaze certainly suspected Mistflower would be dead by now after her many defeats. The cloudy gray tom had thought she was much too soft for their brutal clan and would not survive her apprenticeship. She proved him wrong. Graygaze cheered her warrior name when it was announced - and Graygaze never cheered. To encounter a dangerous rogue as an apprentice and come back alive was quite the feat. The bovine tom knew he wouldn't have come back if he was caught up in that mess. He was pleased overall when he was asked to accompany the white she-cat on a hunt in the Poisonous Bog. She was careful. Graygaze liked careful.
Nobody cut her any slack after her newly acquired limp. She was a warrior now and warriors had to have the grit to work through the pain. All Mistflower had to do was focus on not re-injuring her leg and catching prey where she could. Graygaze kept his expectations low as he trekked through the poisonous bog on a very early morning. His paws staggered on the mud and grime that seemed to ooze out of the earth itself. The grey tom's whiskers twitched. Why did their hunting grounds have to be so miserable? Couldn't prey just come into their camp like one time? Graygaze yowled at the canopy above.
The tom considered turning around and walking home but forgot that he had company right behind him. Company who had just heard his immature outburst. Well, whatever. It did suck. Who actually enjoys mud?
"Let's wrap this up quick so we can go home. I don't want to be here any longer than I need to be. I've got to get some shut-eye." It was still the beginning of the day, the sun had barely risen. "So, young blood, what're we in the mood for? Frog? Bird? I'm too tired to think about what I want to eat."
credit to nat of adoxography.