Post by Fireflake on Dec 1, 2019 7:09:34 GMT
Vulture stretched out, hiding a wince as he did so. Aches followed him with every movement now, and it was getting harder not to look weak in front of the others. Unfortunately for him, efforts to hide the effects of the illness were mostly futile now, as he'd had to move to the medicine cat's den full-time over a moon ago. Now he was just trying his best to make his eyes focus like usual, so he could see what everyone else was doing. This wasn't to fit in so much as it was to glean some insight on what they were talking about, to see if he could get any information on what they planned to do with him, though understanding their ways would certainly have been a sensible idea as well. He'd been given a new name, Vultureswoop, and a brief explanation on the warrior code a bit later, but beyond that he was still no more a MothClan warrior than the pigeon on top of the fresh-kill pile.
Vultureswoop stared at the bird hungrily for a few moments. With one last stretch, he prowled out of the den and began to circle the clearing. His sky-blue eyes darted from side to side as he stumbled slightly. Once he had determined that nobody else was looking at him, he continued to stalk around. He stayed out of everyone's way, as usual, and eventually padded over to the fresh-kill pile. In the back of his mind, Vultureswoop was aware that the name fresh-kill pile could pose an issue for him if he did end up living, and staying in MothClan for any length of time afterwards. He'd been a hunter back in the rogue group, but his prey had commonly been scraps and other unidentifiable dead things he'd come across. In the more conscious part of his mind, which was the only part not currently covered in a fog of mild disorientation, he was far more concerned with grabbing that pigeon. The tom sat by the fresh-kill pile, hooked the bird toward himself, pinned it between his paws, and started to lick the thing, feathers and all, while watching out diligently for anyone that might like to challenge him about it.
Vultureswoop stared at the bird hungrily for a few moments. With one last stretch, he prowled out of the den and began to circle the clearing. His sky-blue eyes darted from side to side as he stumbled slightly. Once he had determined that nobody else was looking at him, he continued to stalk around. He stayed out of everyone's way, as usual, and eventually padded over to the fresh-kill pile. In the back of his mind, Vultureswoop was aware that the name fresh-kill pile could pose an issue for him if he did end up living, and staying in MothClan for any length of time afterwards. He'd been a hunter back in the rogue group, but his prey had commonly been scraps and other unidentifiable dead things he'd come across. In the more conscious part of his mind, which was the only part not currently covered in a fog of mild disorientation, he was far more concerned with grabbing that pigeon. The tom sat by the fresh-kill pile, hooked the bird toward himself, pinned it between his paws, and started to lick the thing, feathers and all, while watching out diligently for anyone that might like to challenge him about it.