PEONYPAW
He's not entirely sure why he had agreed to this, but if Peonypaw thinks about it for a moment too long, he realizes he doesn't actually know if he had much of a choice to begin with. That is often the case with him; he gets dragged into things seemingly against his will, blinking awake too late for him to realistically get out of. Maybe this is just Clan life and the past few moons had not been enough for him to get accustomed to. He pads along—drags himself along—some of the other apprentices like there is an invisible leash connecting him to the herd.
The case is simple: Peonypaw had been whisked away by many sets of four legs, so now here he is, in the middle of the moor. Someone wiser might try to tell him that it's something of a subconscious decision because there is no way he could statistically be caught amidst "unwelcome" company this many times- thankfully, there is nobody wiser here, just the chatter of 'paws who are happy to get some freedom from their older peers.
Peonypaw supposes he can sympathize with that.
Newleaf-strengthened tussocks graze at his pawpads as he traverses the territory. Something brushes against him, his whiskers, and he gives them a twitch to ease off an incoming sneeze. When it happens again, his slit gaze drags to the side until it lands on little puffs of white. Cat fur?
And when it happens yet again, Peonypaw can't help the indignant snort.
The case is simple: Peonypaw had been whisked away by many sets of four legs, so now here he is, in the middle of the moor. Someone wiser might try to tell him that it's something of a subconscious decision because there is no way he could statistically be caught amidst "unwelcome" company this many times- thankfully, there is nobody wiser here, just the chatter of 'paws who are happy to get some freedom from their older peers.
Peonypaw supposes he can sympathize with that.
Newleaf-strengthened tussocks graze at his pawpads as he traverses the territory. Something brushes against him, his whiskers, and he gives them a twitch to ease off an incoming sneeze. When it happens again, his slit gaze drags to the side until it lands on little puffs of white. Cat fur?
And when it happens yet again, Peonypaw can't help the indignant snort.
"Okay, seriously?"
He whips around to see if someone is playing with him, since that is entirely a possibility with Icepaw present, but the only thing that has been trailing him is the endless expanse of the horizon. Well, that, and an unnerving amount of flowy stuff coming towards them. Thanks to the breeze that picks up very conveniently (or rather inconveniently), the flowy stuff is coming towards them at an alarming rate, too. "Why is-"
Peonypaw cannot finish the question, for his open jaws get blocked with something soft, something that sticks to the roof of his mouth. "Bleh."
The reality of what they're dealing with hits him only after he spits it out: rabbit fur. Is it shedding season? Apprentice-only thread! No need to wait for:
