vox vestrum sequitur [closed]

happening parallel to the march 2022 gathering.

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Faint rivulets of silvery moonlight fringed the winter-deadened foliage that loosely veined the sparsity of SkyClan's lapsing territory; creeping undergrowth gradually thinning into further and further sheered expanses as one made to venture further and further towards the death-made-physical in the form of an old warred upon border. Despite the wan hour of evening, the entire stipend earth was alive with the symphony of knowing life, an invisible pulse of anticipation humming softly through all those who happened to find themselves awake for the routine niceties prompted by the Clan's monthly meeting. One such facet of nightly awareness was young Elkpaw, who despite her absence from this moon's Gathering, had been struck hard with a particularly acute case of restlessness; the faintest recollection of a now gone voice rattling within the perpetually aching confines of her skull as sleep made to evade her, sullen mood prompting her to rise from the shared confines of her home and instead flee into the awaiting darkness of the forest.

It felt entirely strange to find herself flouncing about without the constriction of supervision, felt as though she was walking through the remnants of a dream gone by. Where her best friend had once taken her out strolling within the forest at a terribly late hour in search of something spectacular, entirely without the supervision of all those who were meant to keep them from ending their lives short through superficial goals. It felt just like yesterday when Crickethop had made to carry her about throughout the forest, yet it felt like eons since he had died. Time was strange like that, though the headache constantly brewing within her temples might contribute to Elkpaw's lasting confusion.

So consumed with chasing ghosts, Elkpaw hardly even noticed the sudden shifting of the late night sky; the reddened moon partially obscured by the thick branches webbing out across the darkening sky high above.

However, the faintest snapping of steps was a more immediate attention grabber for the young molly, attention prickling to a point. Pale gaze fixing upon the wreathing of shadows where the movement seemed to be billowing, there was a careful dusting of concern bathing the scruffy features of the young Apprentice's round features. The frigid lashing of a newfound gale made it all the more difficult to catch any semblance of a proper scent, an odd chill lashing deep and low within the now thoroughly ruffled expanse of Elkpaw's pale coat. It was unlikely to be an intruder of any caliber, seeing as the Gathering oft bound the entire forest to a lasting promise of peace, though the rife conditions made it verging upon impossible for her to see anything proper.

"..Crickethop?" Elkpaw tentatively called out after a few heartbeats of silence from her newfound companion, the heralding sticky upon her tongue. It wasn't as though any cat had found themselves unused to her seeking out her old friend's presence in moments of silence, but it often felt embarrassing nonetheless. How could one be made to miss another so terribly?