waking flowers [open, hunting]

The last of the snow had finally melted, and the lasting chills were beginning to fade. Zinnia woke before the sun, and made her way to a field of flowers in the territory - they were budding already, springing back to the waking world as quickly as they'd left it. The wind was singing all around her, breezes that carried a beautiful sound, and she looked around to be sure she was alone before she added her voice to it.

The WindClan cats spoke of newleaf, and the name made some sort of sense - their traditions revolved around the leaves; newleaf and greenleaf and leaf-fall and leaf-bare. But Zinnia knew them by different names, rooted in different traditions. They spoke of newleaf with the same sort of longing she felt for the season of waking flowers, and now she found herself reveling in it, running through the field and calling out with sounds that weren't quite words. Flower-song, they called it back home, because that was what they used it for: waking the flowers at the end of the season of sleeping snows.

She was doing this now, just as the dawn broke over the horizon, so she could return to her warrior duties for the day. The revelry was meant to last all day, they were meant to run and speak in flower-song until their voices failed them, but she was a warrior as much as she was a Garden cat now. Compromises must be made, and while the beginning of the season of waking flowers was a time of revelry there was work to be done in the clans.

For now, her voice carried on the wind, and she wove through the plants in a way that was careful to avoid the budding stems. The way her mother taught her, once upon a time.

When she was done, she would see about some early hunting. She preferred not to come back to camp empty-pawed, for fear of seeming like she wasn't putting in enough effort; and she was pretty sure she'd spotted some mice on her way here - surely some cat would appreciate some extra-fresh prey.