Come Down to the River (open)

Minkstar watched the sunlight glitter off the water of the river, the sound of it rushing by as he sat at its edge. Familiar sounds, comforting sounds. Sort of. A flicker of movement caught his eye, and he glanced up to see a pair of ducks shoot past overhead, the whistling of their wings ringing out over the marsh across the current before they disappeared into it.

A rustle from behind caught his ear, and he glanced around, the scent of Clanmates wafting to him from the bushes. A patrol? He couldn't remember if one of the hunting parties had been sent over here, but it stood to reason. Some time ago, the thought of being discovered contemplating the waters would have made his fur prickle. Now, though, he simply stayed seated, waiting.

Stoatfur padded up behind the leader, not bothering to sneak stealthily up on his own clanmate, especially Minkstar. Admittedly, he had paused for a moment to watch the scene. It was strange to witness a glimpse of a moment where Minkstar was not standing dutifully before the clan and taking up the full mantle of the title that had been bestowed on him moons ago. This scene reminded him of the fact that the ginger-pelted tom had been born on the other side of the river.

"Minkstar." He meowed in greeting, instinctively dipping his head whether or not it was seen. Their familiarity had grown since he'd been an apprentice and despite the more formal nature of their relationship as warrior and leader, Stoatfur found himself feeling a particular kinship with his relative. Flicking his tail, the brown and white tom settled down at the side of the elder cat. It was strange, the way that his pelt crawled in response to even the most basic of intimacy. He'd never longed to be close with another, staying several tail-lengths away metaphorically. Minkstar had prodded that buried part of Stoatfur in an unforgivable way. And yet... the warrior respected no cat more.

"Are you planning on catching anything or just admiring the water?"