alone, forgotten [witch] Aug 10, 2016 8:11:56 GMT
Post by alee on Aug 10, 2016 8:11:56 GMT
Where, oh where, will my paws lead me tonight? The thought echoed sharp and loud within the crevices of Nighthawk's mind, bringing with it a vast array of fluttering images flashing before his soul's eye. Muscles shifted beneath a pelt of ink black; paws practically brushed the earth as he strode through the thick of ShadowClan marshes, two pinpoints for eyes slicing through the penetrable gloom. Perhaps it was slightly ironic - that a tom named Nighthawk could also be considered quite the night owl.
But alas, there was something reassuringly different about the eerie quiet of twilight. Perhaps it was the rustle and hiss of creatures unseen, the squeak of rats as their shadows loomed high and large against the age old trunks of vying oak trees. Or maybe it was the mournful hoot of the owl, its deep and lyrical song echoing for miles around, its loneliness and frustration and despair all trapped within that one resonating cry.
Ah, he'd always been quite the old 'philosophical' soul. (If philosophical counted as rambling on about a bunch of nonsense that Nighthawk himself failed to understand.) But as the lean tomcat gingerly picked his way through the thick of his sticky, mud drenched homeland, with naught but the bustle of fleas and ticks upon his back for company, he was struck by a sudden sad and aching relation to that one lonely owl; what would it feel like for Foxswipe and Sparrowclaw to stand proudly at his side, to laugh and praise and bask in his company as he would to them?
"You should talk to Foxswipe," Sparrowclaw had said, his exasperated tone ringing loud in Nighthawk's head as if the words had merely been spoken yesterday. "Bridge the gap. It's time you stopped acting like such a child, Nighthawk, and - well - grew up. Just like the rest of us did."
They had grown up, he realized, a rare tinge of sadness weighing heavy down upon his chest. Nighthawk paused, one paw held aloft midair, his blood practically curdling to ice within his veins. Since when had they grown up? It seemed like only yesterday when they'd all been kittens, competitive rivals sworn to best the other in what had only felt like the friendliest of rivalries. Whenever had that...melted away?
Alas, brooding was certainly not Nighthawk's style. Quickly he gave himself a firm shake, a frustrated growl burbling up from the bottom of his maw, his paw slamming down in frustration and squelching deep in the mud below. Honestly, who needed his bratty excuses for brothers anyway? Last time he'd checked, they hadn't been the ones to halt a fox attack on the entirety of ShadowClan camp; they weren't as blessed with as awesome a name that he had! Maybe he was rather childish - but to hell with the others! He didn't need any of them!
And yet, the loneliness throbbed deep, like a raw, infected wound. And it couldn't be ignored, no matter how hard Nighthawk tried to shove it away.
There was a rumbling roar; a thin spray of dirt and grit, cutting Nighthawk square across the countenance - he scrambled back, blinking the mud and pebbles from his eyes, just as the roar of a monster died upon the horizon, its waning yellow rear lights fading into the haze of fog beyond. His upper lip curled back in disgust, as his two multicolored orbs fell upon a fine ribbon of tar weaving and bobbing its way into yonder. His gaze followed the Thunderpath's trail, until it curled and disappeared behind a bend in the forest.
Huh. Nighthawk hadn't even noticed the acrid presence of the Thunderpath - and his keen senses were technically his only pride and joy. A frustrated snort escaped his nostrils, stirring up a scrap of cold mist before his nose; honestly, it just wasn't his night, wasn't it?
His paws urged him back into the comforting darkness that stretched behind him - back into the safety of ShadowClan territory, back into the land he, somewhat begrudgingly, called his own. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't his happy place. But it was home. And yet something kept his pads sewn to the tarry earth below; one blue, one yellow eye fixed on what lay beyond the acrid path below his feet, and he peered into the thick underbrush of ThunderClan woods, his head tilting curiously to rest against the cusp of his shoulder.
Vaguely a pressing thought pushed against the edges of his mind. Would ShadowClan have noticed his disappearance right now? But then he realized how little a part he had to play in their unfolding story, and something akin to rebellion frothed up in his chest. No. Maybe a break from the marshes was exactly what he needed.
It was sheer recklessness that had him proudly stepping all four paws onto the sticky tar of the Thunderpath; a thick stench bubbled up from its surface, sour and reeking of toxic fumes, though he barely allowed it to distract himself. He pushed on, his front paws soon coming to rest on the mush softer, lush grass of ThunderClan land; blades of green, wet with mildew, folded gently beneath his paws, and a wild possum scurried past, its grey tail disappearing into the thick of the underbrush.
...What was he doing? This was trespassing; Nighthawk knew that, better than anyone in fact. But already the fresh and clean air soothed his tired lungs, and the stench of pine needles and rotten carrion drifted to nothing more than a memory. Just a mouse. I'll catch a mouse, and be on my way. Suddenly his eyes lit up, an idea brightening in his brain. Bringing back a ThunderClan mouse...Nighthawk's tail lifted proudly. How childish will I be then, Sparrowclaw?
ooc;; wιтcн ⛥