This isn't for her.
The thought is instantaneous. The bird that now rests at her paws is pale in color - a dove, with hardly a few drops of blood to discern its cause of death. If it weren't for the oncoming gnawing hunger in her gut, Swarmswirl would've considered the pure white bird beautiful. Maybe she would've parted with some of the feathers secretly before bringing it away. But no. This downy bird has more purpose than to be some pretty thing decorating her nest, or some meal to fill a hollowing belly. It's a barter, a trade - a sense of finality. This dove, in all of its innocence, will be able to wrench that unknown feeling from her and throw it as far as it once flew.
She gathers it daintily still, tucking its wings to its sides and cupping it between sharp teeth but not puncturing it any further. Her conquest shouldn't be far - if she can recall the morning assignments properly, while they've been deigned separate patrols, they should be meandering around the same side of the territory. Swarmswirl begins her trek slowly at first, occasionally pausing to taste the air. Eventually the wind sweeps in her favor and she proceeds. Her steps aren't hurried, her expression isn't anxious. She almost seems at peace.
Yet when she sees Starlitpath, momentarily caught in a stray sunbeam, her paws cease up entirely. Her confidence burls in her gut, driving out any hunger but consuming the discomfort and causing it to double. She's leading her patrol, and thus isn't alone... and Swarmswirl would rather be shredded to ribbons than to be seen by others in this moment.
It takes a long soothing breath to urge herself forward. Her dove is placed by her paws slowly, and she looks to the warriors that accompany the pointed tom. "You each go on ahead," she orders, though something rattles in her voice. "Starlitpath and I have something to... settle," and with it not being uncommon for the duo to make bets or challenges, it seems that the rest of the patrol are at ease with leaving their head behind. Swarmswirl pays no mind to the lingering glances or snickers that trail them... in truth, she has no bandwidth to do so.
She looks back to Starlitpath, and recalls the morsels of time they've spent together since that afternoon. Patrols, mostly - encounters that've been sorted for them, rather than either of them making time for the other. Except for at night, when the chill grows to be too much, and the mollies find themselves in the same nest. Swarmswirl feels her ears warm up and her jaw tense when she remembers just a few nights ago, waking before the point did, and tucking in closer for the remainder of the night.
It's nothing. It will always be nothing.
The other warriors leave, and Swarmswirl picks up the perfect dove, placing it to the moggy's paws. "Will this be enough to get you out of my fur?" She mutters, as if her heart doesn't hammer in her chest. Payment, at best - a still distant thank you for the comfort the warrior afforded her when her sister was so gravely injured. Her lips press to a thin line, ears drawn to her crown, "I've got it in me to catch another. I'm just tired of you holding... that -" she vaguely gestures, "- over my head all the time." Yet Starlitpath has done nothing of the sort. No, the molly's only sin is being on the forefront of the tortoiseshell's mind even when she isn't near. And that's not something that can be paid away.
@starlitpath
The thought is instantaneous. The bird that now rests at her paws is pale in color - a dove, with hardly a few drops of blood to discern its cause of death. If it weren't for the oncoming gnawing hunger in her gut, Swarmswirl would've considered the pure white bird beautiful. Maybe she would've parted with some of the feathers secretly before bringing it away. But no. This downy bird has more purpose than to be some pretty thing decorating her nest, or some meal to fill a hollowing belly. It's a barter, a trade - a sense of finality. This dove, in all of its innocence, will be able to wrench that unknown feeling from her and throw it as far as it once flew.
She gathers it daintily still, tucking its wings to its sides and cupping it between sharp teeth but not puncturing it any further. Her conquest shouldn't be far - if she can recall the morning assignments properly, while they've been deigned separate patrols, they should be meandering around the same side of the territory. Swarmswirl begins her trek slowly at first, occasionally pausing to taste the air. Eventually the wind sweeps in her favor and she proceeds. Her steps aren't hurried, her expression isn't anxious. She almost seems at peace.
Yet when she sees Starlitpath, momentarily caught in a stray sunbeam, her paws cease up entirely. Her confidence burls in her gut, driving out any hunger but consuming the discomfort and causing it to double. She's leading her patrol, and thus isn't alone... and Swarmswirl would rather be shredded to ribbons than to be seen by others in this moment.
It takes a long soothing breath to urge herself forward. Her dove is placed by her paws slowly, and she looks to the warriors that accompany the pointed tom. "You each go on ahead," she orders, though something rattles in her voice. "Starlitpath and I have something to... settle," and with it not being uncommon for the duo to make bets or challenges, it seems that the rest of the patrol are at ease with leaving their head behind. Swarmswirl pays no mind to the lingering glances or snickers that trail them... in truth, she has no bandwidth to do so.
She looks back to Starlitpath, and recalls the morsels of time they've spent together since that afternoon. Patrols, mostly - encounters that've been sorted for them, rather than either of them making time for the other. Except for at night, when the chill grows to be too much, and the mollies find themselves in the same nest. Swarmswirl feels her ears warm up and her jaw tense when she remembers just a few nights ago, waking before the point did, and tucking in closer for the remainder of the night.
It's nothing. It will always be nothing.
The other warriors leave, and Swarmswirl picks up the perfect dove, placing it to the moggy's paws. "Will this be enough to get you out of my fur?" She mutters, as if her heart doesn't hammer in her chest. Payment, at best - a still distant thank you for the comfort the warrior afforded her when her sister was so gravely injured. Her lips press to a thin line, ears drawn to her crown, "I've got it in me to catch another. I'm just tired of you holding... that -" she vaguely gestures, "- over my head all the time." Yet Starlitpath has done nothing of the sort. No, the molly's only sin is being on the forefront of the tortoiseshell's mind even when she isn't near. And that's not something that can be paid away.
@starlitpath
