Post by Fireflake on Aug 18, 2019 7:41:01 GMT
Today was a good day. That is to say, it wasn’t as stressful of a disaster as it had been yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that... Pebbleshade had been spending most of his time outside of camp since MothClan and RootClan had found shelter in MistClan. He always returned before the sun went down and never left before it came up, but otherwise he was generally hunting, or marking the borders, in case the others tried to say they’d forgotten where they went.
Today was different. It was a good day, which meant that Pebbleshade didn’t worry too much about what would happen when he ran into another clan’s warrior. Since he had been trying to accept that he couldn’t just ignore them out of his home, and since the increased numbers had left the cave floor in a worse condition than usual, the grey warrior had decided to spend his morning tidying. Tidying wasn’t very difficult. Maybe that was a mistake. All of that time, as he went around moving twigs out of the way and picking up stray mossballs, his feelings began to visibly creep up on him.
Long grey fur prickled along his spine. Pebbleshade took a deep breath, but soon gritted his teeth at the scent of RootClan clinging to one of the mossballs. He took another deep breath. Pebbleshade was no stranger to negative emotions. He had felt sad before. He'd felt lonely, and unhappy, and scared. But it only seemed to be the Tribe, 'RootClan', that got him genuinely angry. It felt, to him, as if they were creeping closer and closer into the places he wanted to consider safe. If things carried on like this, soon he'd find one in his nest. Pebbleshade lashed his tail at the thought.
So there he was, feeling his fur rise and his tail lash in his own camp, and the grey warrior decided it was time to carry all of the clutter outside. He did this often, so it didn’t trip anyone up. Now it had the added perk of being away from his clanmates and those strangers. Pebbleshade picked up the stray mossballs, along with a few other things, and carried them to the other side of the waterfall, pausing to take a deep breath once he was outside of the cave. A yawn split his jaws and forced yet another breath. Pebbleshade turned his face to the warmth of the sun and reminded himself that this was a good day.
Picking up his moss, Pebbleshade padded back to camp and his paws instinctively fell along the path to the fresh-kill pile. He had almost dropped the mossball onto the prey before he realized what his distracted brain was telling him to do. Groaning quietly, he straightened up again and headed to the warrior's den, still carrying the mossball. He'd only look crazy if he took it back outside now. He wasn't crazy. He just couldn't focus with all of these unfamiliar cats around. Maybe the warrior’s den was the right place to be going after all. A quick nap wouldn’t hurt anyone. He needed to relax anyway, if he wanted to be of any use to his clan. Pebbleshade nodded to himself and carried the mossball toward the den, toward his nest.
Today was different. It was a good day, which meant that Pebbleshade didn’t worry too much about what would happen when he ran into another clan’s warrior. Since he had been trying to accept that he couldn’t just ignore them out of his home, and since the increased numbers had left the cave floor in a worse condition than usual, the grey warrior had decided to spend his morning tidying. Tidying wasn’t very difficult. Maybe that was a mistake. All of that time, as he went around moving twigs out of the way and picking up stray mossballs, his feelings began to visibly creep up on him.
Long grey fur prickled along his spine. Pebbleshade took a deep breath, but soon gritted his teeth at the scent of RootClan clinging to one of the mossballs. He took another deep breath. Pebbleshade was no stranger to negative emotions. He had felt sad before. He'd felt lonely, and unhappy, and scared. But it only seemed to be the Tribe, 'RootClan', that got him genuinely angry. It felt, to him, as if they were creeping closer and closer into the places he wanted to consider safe. If things carried on like this, soon he'd find one in his nest. Pebbleshade lashed his tail at the thought.
So there he was, feeling his fur rise and his tail lash in his own camp, and the grey warrior decided it was time to carry all of the clutter outside. He did this often, so it didn’t trip anyone up. Now it had the added perk of being away from his clanmates and those strangers. Pebbleshade picked up the stray mossballs, along with a few other things, and carried them to the other side of the waterfall, pausing to take a deep breath once he was outside of the cave. A yawn split his jaws and forced yet another breath. Pebbleshade turned his face to the warmth of the sun and reminded himself that this was a good day.
Picking up his moss, Pebbleshade padded back to camp and his paws instinctively fell along the path to the fresh-kill pile. He had almost dropped the mossball onto the prey before he realized what his distracted brain was telling him to do. Groaning quietly, he straightened up again and headed to the warrior's den, still carrying the mossball. He'd only look crazy if he took it back outside now. He wasn't crazy. He just couldn't focus with all of these unfamiliar cats around. Maybe the warrior’s den was the right place to be going after all. A quick nap wouldn’t hurt anyone. He needed to relax anyway, if he wanted to be of any use to his clan. Pebbleshade nodded to himself and carried the mossball toward the den, toward his nest.