[ti]Private[/ti]Heart It Races Alone

[LupTacco]

And we're slow to acknowledge the knots in the laces

Heart it races

-     Autumn leaves drifted down from the trees, catching the breeze for only a second before drifting down and collecting around the roots. It was pleasantly cool and dry out, though late season pollen and new-sporing fungus weighed in the air. Patchfrost prowled beneath them, carrying a small dove in his jaws. The tom's winter coat had grown in early this year, dense and heavy- if he were a more superstitious cat, he might've taken it as a sign of a harsh Leaf-Bare to come. The old warrior shrugged the very idea off; he didn't believe in those kinds of premonitions, and even if he did, he had seen himself through worse- a blaze, a blizzard, you name it. At this point, he was sure he'd seen just about everything. But, there was one thing he never thought he'd see again.

-     IvyClan's camp was the same as it had always been, aside from a few stray boulders. The same, and yet so different. Owlstar was no longer alive, and he didn't recognize many of the faces in camp anymore. So many of the cats left had been so young when he joined MothClan's founders, and the old were mostly long-gone. Sure, Twistedbranch and Cloverdapple were still around, though retired now. But he'd been away too long. Patchfrost knew that there would always be cats here that could never accept him as a clanmate again, and why should they? He chose to leave with Mothmaw, on his own accord. Perhaps, once MothClan realized how deep it was digging itself into the ground, he would return there.

-     Prowling to the fresh-kill pile, he checked that it was decently stocked and looked up to confirm the sun's position. Looked like that dove was his after all. Laying near the back of the camp, he set to work plucking the feathers from the dove's breast, too keenly focused on his meal to notice the sound of pawsteps passing by.

[M'Lady]

And we go back to where we moved out to the places
Heart it races


-    He wasn't quite sure why he did it. Spoke out for him. Vouched for him. Claimed to know him. Did he even know him? 

-    The ground was a bit chill under his paws as Firechaser strode back into camp, a vole clutched in his jaws. He was a good hunter in this season of Leaf fall, with brightly colored fur that melted into the background. He shook a few stray leaves from his pelt, raising his gaze towards the freshkill pile as he noticed a very familiar tom picking at some kind of bird. He would've frowned, had he not been holding something. For once, a flicker of doubt coursed through him as he watched the warrior for a moment. When he wasn't a competitive force on the other side of the border, Firechaser wasn't quite sure how to address him. How do you talk to an old clanmate that was forced to come back? Yellow eyes drifted down to his paws, and he strode forward, pointedly not looking at him, to drop the vole onto the pile. He was prepared to walk away the same, but found himself hesitating. Did Patchfrost known anyone here, other than him? Did anyone know him as something other than a vicious Mothclan warrior? Other than Twistedbranch and Cloverdapple, there were few older than himself, those younger were likely too young to remember him, let alone really know him. There were some other Mothclan cats that sought refuge here, but it didn't seem like Patchfrost really knew them either. Firechaser was a stern tom, he demanded respect from his clanmates, and trained apprentices with a proud sort of fury. Why did he even care? 

-    He must, though. Instead of retreating to the warriors den as he planned, he sat a tail length or so away from the tom, curling his tail so it rested softly atop his paws. It took him a moment to find words, as there were no quick retorts or biting remarks that rose up on his tongue. How did cats do this? Was there even a precedent for this sort of situation? When your clanmate becomes your enemy, and then your enemy becomes... Whatever this was. He suddenly wished that they were back in the old forest. Maybe it would've been easier there, in territory they both knew, in territory where they once could've been friends. 

"It's strange, isn't it?" 

-    The calm tone of his voice felt foreign in his mouth, he couldn't quite remember the last time he'd spoken to someone outside the clan without any ferocity. He tried to think of some sort of conversation, but only questions left him instead. Why did he give a mouse tail? Why did it even matter? 

"Being here. Did... Did you ever think you'd be here?"