Cygnetscratch shakes out her pelt. While that good-for-nothing brat landed plenty of hits on her, she supposed she can thank StarClan that he hadn't stolen anything vital. She still has her two eyes, her tongue, her ears... Her ankle is killing her, though, the molly favoring it on her slow walk home. She brandished some other injuries, too, but they're noticeably older, scabbed over already. Is this karma? An odd play on retribution, where it truly never ends? She acted in favor of her dead brother, and yet she still got the short end of the stick.
The white furred molly stops in her path, eyebrows pinching together. She wonders if StarClan is even listening anymore... They've invited rogues into the so-called Clans, and abandoned them with their lawless ways, haven't they?
Her gaze flicks up last second, and Cygnetscratch catches sight of her silent-pawed friend. Her jaw tenses, lips pursing as she anticipates the other's eventual jabs. No matter how friendly they are with one another, Orchidbite is always sure to remind her how fragile their bond truly is. Whether purposeful or accidental. And in a way... the blood-streaked warrior appreciates it. She doesn't want to be comfortable. She wants the thorns in her fur to drag against her skin again and again - to feel alive.
"Go on," she mutters, sitting herself in the plush nettles underfoot, "I want to hear what you can come up with this time."
@orchidbite