{$title} (takes place a few days after the gathering) two unfamiliar apprentices have a run-in at the fourtrees
—————————————————— Rocked by an endless motion ✦
He hadn't been able to stop thinking about the gathering. Seeing so many cats in one place was exciting, sure, but the real interest lay in the events of the night. The words that were exchanged were far less interesting than the blood that was spilled, though Galepaw was escorted away before he could get too close. But not now, now with the Fourtrees laying vacant. It knew itself well, and thus it knew that he had to satiate the curiosity growing in his chest. It twisted through his veins, curling knotted fingers around his neck, ensnaring his mind with the simple desperation of wanting to understand. To know is to be known, and Gale was more than happy to expose himself to whatever cruel eyes might still be watching in the bloodied no-man's-land of their gathering place.
Of course, they weren't entirely alone. As always, fluttering movement followed him from high above, beady little eyes watching his every movement in curiosity. A confused song followed his footsteps, asking him a dizzying amount of questions—but it was clear that the birds were focused on him only. While he appreciated the warnings the little things often brought him, such excitement and utter noise often made his mind spin in loops. The lynxpoint cooed something low back as it treaded the well-trodden path into the clearing, the old trees parting in a familiar manner. "Oh, hush-" Gale sang in an unfamiliar language, and a near deafening silence followed suit. He certainly didn't control the birds by any means, but it could certainly shock the loudest offenders into submission whenever he cawed in their same tongue. Galepaw hardly had the time to focus on their words anyway—what he was here for was dark, stained clear as day in the dusty ground.
Pikestar had not died a clean death, that much was evident from the deep brown stain still present in the ground. The tom had supposed that such blood being spilled would taint the earth for many, many moons to come... but he wanted to be able to see it for himself, see it as clean and clear as the day it was spilled, not diluted and washed every which way by the coming rains. A gentle white paw was set in the midst of the dark bloodstain, intense blue eyes tracing how the blood had spread. It had an odd shape, a desperate shape, not unlike the marks left in the snow by an owl finding its mark. Yes, yes he could see it—the wings spread out wide, the thin rivulets tracing flurries of movement, and the darkest stain right where his paw lay. It was not unlike a mouse Pikestar died, desperate and writhing and begging against something he could not stop. And just like that mouse caught by a great swooping owl, the winds and the rain would come in time. With time, his death would trickle away and be forgotten. So it goes.
His brows furrowed, a gentle sigh of discontent coming from his pale nose. That is how it was meant to end, at least. His leader was never meant to breathe again, and yet he did. And yet the mouse scurried away, unharmed. Pale claws sunk into the dirt absentmindedly, deep into the lifeblood of someone who was running on borrowed time. Perhaps there would be answers here... perhaps there was something the apprentice was missing...
- @WHISPERPAW
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Galepaw
✦—Riverclan Apprentice | 9 Moons
✦—He/They/It
✦—"SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
✦—A fluffy high white lynx point with curled ears and deep blue eyes
#87878E #BAB2AC
