wash away [falconstar / open]

They're all around me,
Circling like vultures
They wanna break me and wash away my colors
Wash away my colors

Deputy. The word didn’t feel right on her tongue, didn’t feel right in her ears when others addressed her. She certainly didn’t feel any different when she woke up in the mornings, in the same nest she usually slept in, amongst the same warriors she had always known. Was she supposed to? Others did, or at least Hazelclaw thought they did. They listened to her when she assigned patrols for the day, at the very least (a task that she still felt a little weird about, and often had to consider carefully, but no one had raised any issues so far). And her father, well, she could tell he was proud, even if he didn’t say so with words.

But thoughts of her father brought thoughts of her mother, and of Diana. Shellfoot- Shell, she corrected herself- would likely be indifferent. Diana would despise her for it- as if she didn’t already! Hazelclaw huffed to herself at the notion as she padded across the territory, intent on getting some of her own hunting done while the patrols were out. Besides, camp was growing suffocating; she needed to do something productive with herself.

Hazelclaw made a mental note to be back before the sundown patrol left- she wanted to make sure things were running as smoothly as possible. But that wouldn’t be for a while, and she let her paws carry her across the territory without a thought about where she was going.

Surprisingly, she arrived at the Great Sycamore, on the opposite side of the territory from the border by Twolegplace where she often patrolled on her own. This brought her some relief, and her posture relaxed some as she padded around the ancient tree’s gnarled roots. Some hunting would do her some good. A bird would be a good challenge…

As if on cue, the she-cat spotted a thrush just on the other side of the tree. She froze, pressing her pelt against the trunk of the sycamore, hardly daring to breathe in case the flighty creature spotted her. Luck was on her side; it did not, instead it turned around to peck at the ground, effectively presenting its back to her. Hazelclaw was swift about her next move, the pounce, the capture, the killing blow. If only hunting were always this easy, ThunderClan would never have to worry. The deputy chose to take it as a good sign for the coming newleaf season.

The scent of ThunderClan grew stronger in the air and Hazelclaw straightened. Alone time was over; at least she had something to show for it. She pricked her ears attentively, waiting for whomever had appeared to make themselves known.