Owltalon slunk into camp far behind his clanmates, fur tinged with shame. Though it was a warm night, his paws felt cold and he tilted his head toward the ground, aqua eyes watching the rest of the cats' paws disappear into their nests, one by one. The new warrior shivered, huddling closer to himself, glancing quickly up to the night sky speckled with stars. There was no more trace of any clouds.
Does Starclan hate me now?
He found himself kneading his claws into the tough dirt below, scoring deep marks into the earth. He was young; about three-fourths the size of his mentor; shoulders broad and paws still a little big. His eyes, however, gave his immaturity and youth away. They were wide, now, the pupils slightly dilated, and his grey-russet fur appeared almost black in the darkness.
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❝do not go gentle into that goodnight; rage, rage, against the dying of the light.❞
dylan thomas
owltalon // mosspaw // puddlepaw
skyclan newly appointed warrior - riverclan apprentice - shadowclan medicine apprentice