x
He's not the biggest musclehead in RiverClan, and he doubts he'd ever rise to that status. Normally he'd have turned down the invitation to join the Clan at large to a spar, to show the youth battle moves and to hone his own skills; but this was the perfect time to show off his skills on the battlefield, to prove he was capable of passing on his expertise to an apprentice ( his siblings come to mind, then — had that foolish tom of a leader already chosen their mentors? If he tries hard enough, perhaps one will be bestowed upon him ).
Though he's hardly paying attention to who's sparring who until his own name is called. He lifts his chin as he walks forward, but his steps staggers when he sees who joins him in the ring. The growl that threatens to rumble in his chest at the sight of none other than Pikestar is quickly silenced before Rushingtide draws all the eyes towards himself for such a clear showcase of hostility. He exhales through his nose, golden gaze sharpening as if he were facing an actual enemy rather than his own Clan leader ( albeit, to him, Pikestar is an enemy. . . the one who tore his family apart ). But he should be thankful for this opportunity: to attack the silver tom without repercussions.To hurt him as much as his actions hurt Rushingtide.
A cream-tipped tail lashes as the young warrior arches his back with a threatening hiss. Keep your claws to yourself. His mind reminds him before they slip out on instinct, before he digs his own grave. The tom lunges towards the leader, his golden eyes ablaze as his own body betrays him by baring his teeth. He barrels into the silver tabby without uttering a single word ( there is nothing to be exchanged between them ) pinning the older tom to the ground, a paw pressed too close to his throat. He could do it. If he uses a bit more force, he could suffocate Pikestar in front of everyone. To kill him just like Adder had. And the bastard would rise from the dead again. . . it felt almost mocking.
As he peers down into Pikestar's green gaze, he wonders if the tom will simply give up without a proper fight.
Though he's hardly paying attention to who's sparring who until his own name is called. He lifts his chin as he walks forward, but his steps staggers when he sees who joins him in the ring. The growl that threatens to rumble in his chest at the sight of none other than Pikestar is quickly silenced before Rushingtide draws all the eyes towards himself for such a clear showcase of hostility. He exhales through his nose, golden gaze sharpening as if he were facing an actual enemy rather than his own Clan leader ( albeit, to him, Pikestar is an enemy. . . the one who tore his family apart ). But he should be thankful for this opportunity: to attack the silver tom without repercussions.
A cream-tipped tail lashes as the young warrior arches his back with a threatening hiss. Keep your claws to yourself. His mind reminds him before they slip out on instinct, before he digs his own grave. The tom lunges towards the leader, his golden eyes ablaze as his own body betrays him by baring his teeth. He barrels into the silver tabby without uttering a single word ( there is nothing to be exchanged between them ) pinning the older tom to the ground, a paw pressed too close to his throat. He could do it. If he uses a bit more force, he could suffocate Pikestar in front of everyone. To kill him just like Adder had. And the bastard would rise from the dead again. . . it felt almost mocking.
As he peers down into Pikestar's green gaze, he wonders if the tom will simply give up without a proper fight.
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WARRIOR OF RIVERCLAN
he / him, cismale
17 moons old, ages on the 14th.
adder x wavesong, littermate to crescentmoon
older brother of salmonkit, otterkit, foamkit, piranhakit, troutkit andshellkit
"SPEECH" // THOUGHTS // INTERACTIONpenned by nocthymia
