Post by Shadow on Aug 22, 2013 4:28:52 GMT 1
It was those miserable birds that woke him up. Gulls, he thought sourly, ears twitching in irritation as he caught their raucous cries. The bleating and squawking and chittering never seemed to end along the coast, where the accursed things often flocked together solely for the purpose of mobbing vulnerable cats—or so it seemed to him. In camp, the cacophony was less pronounced and more sporadic, but still managed to disturb his sleep every now and then. With a disgruntled huff, Shadowstalker smoothly rose from his nest, taking care to not disturb his clanmates. Although largely used to the harsh shrieks and repetitive calls, the tom knew it was futile to attempt sleep again.
As he emerged from the den, the dark warrior gave a little shake, dislodging the grains of sand that inevitably found home in this thick fur. The particles tumbled down in a rush of pitter-patters, chimes of displeasure that fell on deaf ears. The pale fingers of dawn had just begun to seep across the sky in an ever-waging war between night and day, blues and oranges intermingling. And yet the tom paid no mind to the eternal struggle, for in the day before and the day after, he had seen and would see it again. Such events, beautiful or no, were little worth his time.
Instead, Shadowstalker began his morning grooming ritual, surveying the camp as he did so. The cool dawn air, light and playful, had the makings of a gorgeous day, promising blue skies and sunshine. His clanmates slumbered below, punctuating the morning silence with the occasional snore. Besides him, the river gurgled quietly, singing its ancient tune. It was perfect—an exquisite, crystalline perfect shattered by an ugly screech in the distance. Stopping mid-lick, the WaterClan warrior lifted his head to glare at the screaming birds in the sky, ears flattened with ire. Gulls—if he could eat every one of them, he would.
Although it would be absurd to eradicate the entire gull population, Shadowstalker contemplated a hunting trip as he returned to his grooming. Even at the height of newleaf, the clan could never say no to freshkill. With a swish of his bottle brush tail, the warrior was up, making his way to the camp entrance. He hadn’t gone more than four paces when something caught his eye: a breach in the camp walls. A meow of annoyance escaped him as he veered off his original path, heading instead to inspect the chasm.
One of the dunes had simply crumbled forward, spilling its contents into the WaterClan camp. The multitude of surrounding sand drifts had camouflaged the break, pale yellow on pale yellow. Through the hole, Shadowstalker could see the vast expanse of sand that constituted most of the territory, the ever-shifting dunes that eventually flattened into the ocean. Although no major structures had been disturbed, there was now a clear opening in the walls, low enough for a kit to easily wander out—or an enemy warrior to rush in.
Eyes narrowed, teeth gritted, Shadowstalker started clearing the mess. The sand was cool under his paws, sliding back easily as he pushed pile after pile away in swift, decisive movements. Mechanically, he labored, knowing the task would take him past sunhigh. It was monotony and fatigue and banal work, without the glamour of a border skirmish or the triumph of a large catch—but it was necessary. And for Shadowstalker, that was enough.
»notes. Yay first roleplay post! Anyone’s welcome to jump in - I’ll mostly play nice. ^.^ I wasn’t sure if seagulls existed in this setting, though they seem pretty ubiquitous, so I went with the generic “gulls” to hedge my bets. And I’m not exactly sure how that hole is going to be fixed, seeing as it’s pretty hard to push sand piles, but, eh, I’ll let Shadow figure that out for himself.
As he emerged from the den, the dark warrior gave a little shake, dislodging the grains of sand that inevitably found home in this thick fur. The particles tumbled down in a rush of pitter-patters, chimes of displeasure that fell on deaf ears. The pale fingers of dawn had just begun to seep across the sky in an ever-waging war between night and day, blues and oranges intermingling. And yet the tom paid no mind to the eternal struggle, for in the day before and the day after, he had seen and would see it again. Such events, beautiful or no, were little worth his time.
Instead, Shadowstalker began his morning grooming ritual, surveying the camp as he did so. The cool dawn air, light and playful, had the makings of a gorgeous day, promising blue skies and sunshine. His clanmates slumbered below, punctuating the morning silence with the occasional snore. Besides him, the river gurgled quietly, singing its ancient tune. It was perfect—an exquisite, crystalline perfect shattered by an ugly screech in the distance. Stopping mid-lick, the WaterClan warrior lifted his head to glare at the screaming birds in the sky, ears flattened with ire. Gulls—if he could eat every one of them, he would.
Although it would be absurd to eradicate the entire gull population, Shadowstalker contemplated a hunting trip as he returned to his grooming. Even at the height of newleaf, the clan could never say no to freshkill. With a swish of his bottle brush tail, the warrior was up, making his way to the camp entrance. He hadn’t gone more than four paces when something caught his eye: a breach in the camp walls. A meow of annoyance escaped him as he veered off his original path, heading instead to inspect the chasm.
One of the dunes had simply crumbled forward, spilling its contents into the WaterClan camp. The multitude of surrounding sand drifts had camouflaged the break, pale yellow on pale yellow. Through the hole, Shadowstalker could see the vast expanse of sand that constituted most of the territory, the ever-shifting dunes that eventually flattened into the ocean. Although no major structures had been disturbed, there was now a clear opening in the walls, low enough for a kit to easily wander out—or an enemy warrior to rush in.
Eyes narrowed, teeth gritted, Shadowstalker started clearing the mess. The sand was cool under his paws, sliding back easily as he pushed pile after pile away in swift, decisive movements. Mechanically, he labored, knowing the task would take him past sunhigh. It was monotony and fatigue and banal work, without the glamour of a border skirmish or the triumph of a large catch—but it was necessary. And for Shadowstalker, that was enough.
»notes. Yay first roleplay post! Anyone’s welcome to jump in - I’ll mostly play nice. ^.^ I wasn’t sure if seagulls existed in this setting, though they seem pretty ubiquitous, so I went with the generic “gulls” to hedge my bets. And I’m not exactly sure how that hole is going to be fixed, seeing as it’s pretty hard to push sand piles, but, eh, I’ll let Shadow figure that out for himself.