I'M NOT SICK BUT I'M NOT WELL [ tikker ] Mar 6, 2016 20:09:52 GMT
Post by lord wolfscream✰ on Mar 6, 2016 20:09:52 GMT
The trek back to camp seems much longer than normal, though that may have something to do with the way he has to hold his back leg from the ground with each step. A particularly unfortunate shift of his weight while moving in for a kill had sent a mind-blanking shockwave through the old injury. Even keeping it from touching the ground takes an arduous effort, but he steels himself rather well, being well-versed in pain. Despite this, he does clench the squirrel trapped between his jaws harder than normal, making its blood bead down his chin in a steady drip, drip.tikker ♪ ♫
Beside him, Stormstrike carries his own kill and walks on with ease. Cragback cannot help the prickling feeling of envy; able-bodied cats surely take their physical conditions for granted, no doubt, this much he believes to be certain. They had been chosen earlier that morning to go on a hunting patrol together and had split-up for the majority of it. It had been much to Cragback's internal despair that he had strained himself, doing such a simple task that he does nearly each sunrise. Consequently, the patrol had been cut short, and Cragback could practically feel the judgement coming off the other member of their hunting party in waves. Every cat; he thinks, they always judge. Though he always guesses this, he never makes an excuse, and why should he? It's not like he did this to himself.
Cragback tosses his squirrel on top of the fresh-kill pile, notably more bloodied than the rest. He curses under his breath, attempting to clean off the brine-like taste from his maw. He refuses to look at Stormstrike, mostly to avoid any comment on how his injury had affectively killed any hopes of further productivity from the senior warrior. I know what you're thinking, but, no, I don't belong in the Elder's Den. I provide more than my fair share for the Clan. If you want some cat to blame, blame our warrior ancestors for allowing this to happen.
When the dark tabby finally chances a glance of pale yellow in the younger's direction, he discovers him not to be looking at him or his elevated leg at all. In fact, he seems to be fixed rather sourly on an approaching cat. Cragback recognizes the medicine cat apprentice, Tigerpaw, easily distinguishable by her flowing, bright orange pelt. He can feel the straining protest of his hip region telling him, "sit!", but his largely stubborn persona makes him stay in place, head lifted up in a display as he forces himself to stay standing.
I am not weak, they will not view me as weak. The words sear his mind's eye.