Owlbark now avoids the borders. The leaders of the clans all knew his crime and how it turned into a bloodbath. They would know his face now and his voice now and see him as everyone else saw him: a rabid beast not fit for leadership. His own warriors even saw him that way. They looked at him as if he had killed one of their own instead of a complete stranger intruding on their territory. Even his Storm Guard had reservations of him now, if they didn't already before.
The tom prowled the woods on an average hunting patrol, but he felt as if every pair of eyes were on him. They were all waiting to see him snap again. The birds were quiet and the cicadas didn't hum their usual symphony. Not even the wind rustled the leaves around him. He had always considered himself a prolific hunter, able to flush even the most cunning of prey, but these past few days he had come up with very little prey at all. Pathetic.
Owlbark pushed past underbrush and sighed at the sight of Copperstorm. He had been one of the deputy's biggest vocal critics, and he had no energy to dispute his point of view anymore. "Copperstorm," he said, giving the Storm Guard member a polite nod. "Any luck?"
