Winter's Chill [Closed]

An awful, bitter chill gripped the camp in its icy claws. Despite the fur that coated thinly-veiled flesh on each of the warriors that huddled within the sanctums of the dens, it still seemed to creep through and shake the bones of even the most thickly coated cats. The walls had been cobbled together by the shaking paws of apprentices who fought to make brittle scraps of long-dead foliage tangle together in order to keep the icicle breeze away. Beartooth had taken shelter after the final patrol. His paws were caked with clinging scraps of ice and sleet which scattered as his heavy footfalls lead him to a nest in the far corner of the warrior's den. In scattered nests, cats huddled together, shivering lightly. The bulky warrior barely spared them a glance. His siblings weren't among them. Perhaps one of the only cats who might have cared about his entrance was Bushfang, and he still could not bring himself to believe that such a beautiful she-cat would ever care for a monster like himself.

He barely thought over that as he allowed himself to fall into the sparse, dried moss nest. His head fell onto his forelegs, the very ones that lead to those brutish paws that he had found a special disdain for in recent nights. Sometimes he would stare at them and just allow himself to feel the disgust and disdain that was ignored during the day in favor of getting what he had to do done. Beartooth was a merely a husk of his normal self. Most likely only saw the warrior of few words, who fought his battles valiantly. The neutral mask of his expression read just as plainly as before. Few would even notice the change in his demeanor. A soft breath escaped from his nostrils, creating a frosted haze and he watched it drift upwards. By the time his eyes focused, the tabby realized someone was standing above him and he raised his head with a single word, "Harefoot."

The young tom stared down at Beartooth, having hesitated in what he had prepared to say. Would it be too uncomfortable for the stoic warrior? Harefoot didn't respond immediately. His short fur was not well suited to leafbare, and he had become certain that he would not survive the cold season if he did not stay moving or share warmth with others. He was mostly fur and bones at this point, long and lanky with very lean muscles and absolutely no fat on his small frame. Harefoot could only turn to others in search of the warmth he couldn't produce for himself. Awkward as he was, he was reluctant to approach Flamerose for such a request and instead decided to disturb Beartooth's rest.

"Beartooth, I... thought I might ask you..." He desperately hoped he wasn't breaking any boundaries with his request, and he found himself avoiding eye contact with his oldest, dearest friend. "It's just that my fur is very thin, and it's very cold... and we're friends, so I was hoping maybe we could share a nest for the night?" His head tilted sideways, a silent plead for the bigger, furrier warrior to accept. Besides, although they saw each other every day, Harefoot missed Beartooth anyway. They didn't talk. Or just sit and share a meal. And Beartooth seemed.. different. And Harefoot wasn't feeling that great himself, anyway, so why not take advantage of their time to rest and spend it together? The scrawny warrior flicked his tail in the direction of his own moss nest. "I can bring mine over and we can combine them...?" He meowed, uncertainty twisting his suggestion into a question.

Beartooth almost seemed to study the younger tom for a moment but his eyes were simply glazed over, not scrutinizing him. It took a second for him to process the request being made mostly due to the fog of his own thoughts but also the hesitation of the words. As he looked over Harefoot, something softened within him, underneath the layers of self-hatred and creeping numbness that swept through the fiber of his very being. The tabby's whiskers twitched ever so slightly. And he managed the weakest of smiles to his old friend. Since the younger cat had been a kit, he and Harefoot had developed a close bond. It was similar in a way to that of his adopted siblings but something that had forged its own unique place within his surprising big, albeit tucked away, heart. The thought was appealing, in a way, a comfort. And it did not bother him in the slightest. After only a brief pause he nodded stiffly but not due to hesitation.

"Of course you can join me." He finally meowed in a gravelly, yet soft tone. Beartooth raised himself up onto his paws and slowly padded the short distance to Harefoot's nest. Gently, he took the tendrils of moss between his teeth and carried it over on behalf of the other warrior. His massive paws were inept at any attempt to truly combine and soften out the clumps of dried greenery. With somewhat of a helpless look in his gaze, the tom glanced at his friend. The smaller tom's paws would be much better at smoothing out their shared nest. Once it was settled, the bulky tom laid on his side and with a tilt of his chin gestured for Harefoot to join him. The cold that wracked his companion's limbs was obvious and Beartooth wrapped himself around the smaller frame, making every attempt to cover as much of the other warrior's pelt as he could. His head rested on the crevice between Harefoot's neck and shoulder.

When they were finally settled, his breathing slowed back to a more restful pace. Although there was a slight hitch in the rhythm as he realized how close his left paw was to his friend's soft fur. A certain level of panic seized him and Beartooth shifted to stretch his paws further away from the other tom. They were sheathed, of course, but his growing hatred of their monster nature was something that had wriggled its way into the pit of his stomach and recesses of his mind. All the while it had poisoned his mind with obsessive thoughts of what a distasteful creature he had been born to be. While Pricklepaw had spurred it on, he thought little of the medicine cat, other than mournful feelings of their shattered relationship, one that he had come to see as purely of his own doing. There was a moment where the bulky tabby realized he had stopped breathing and sucked in a sharp intake of air. He remembered Harefoot and let it out.

"Is that better?"