Rabbit Never Dies [Open to WC]

It was too dark to even make out anything, the darkness without the moonlight swallowed the moors whole. In this unnatural darkness, it was here that a phantom-like movements of a heavy-set white tabby cutting through the thick, golden autumnal grass was vaguely visibly. His each step was haggard, as if his limbs weren't functioning properly, hampered by what appeared to be an injury. The faint scent of stale blood gave it away, the hastily licked wound still smelt faintly of old wounds.

Despite all this, Rabbitleaf was in high spirits. The sweet scent of wilting heather, thistle-flowers and brambles seemingly greeted him, the wind carrying the smells through his furs, washing away the stench of monsters and the unnaturalness of Twolegplaces. After long last, he was back, among his kin. The moor's wind seemed to almost caress him, though his kithood was moons past, he could almost imagine it was his mother's warm touch, greeting her long lost son.

When finally he came across another cat, one that smelt of familiar dirt of dug-out burrows and wind, he called out his greeting.

"Hel... Hi, does WindClan still rule over the moors?"

It was getting to the point of absolute darkness, nights setting in earlier and lingering around for longer as the clans were gradually re-introduced to the bite of winter; grass slowly painting itself a golden or more diluted colour as the air around turned colder and colder. Truthfully, the tom had no reason to be out, but he was finding himself more and more restless every night, despite the exhaustion dragging at his paws after each patrol and training session-- Buzzardpaw just felt an overwhelming urge for more; to explore without supervision dragging him back every three steps.

So here the apprentice was, traipsing through the moorland as the world darkened around him, dew settling on both the grass he walked upon and his fur. He still wasn't entirely sure if he was allowed out like this, but his parents were either in the medicine den or asleep, his siblings following suit to the point of barely noticing him slipping out of camp. He inhaled deeply, quickly being greeted by an incredibly unfamiliar scent, but unfortunately Buzzardpaw lacked the sense of alarm or danger that his clanmates would have in his situation.

Instead, he continued towards it, coming face-to-face with a voice. Does WindClan rule over the moors? He thought to himself, suddenly a little anxious, wondering if this was some weird test of his knowledge.

"Um... I think so. Well, we live here, I live here, I'm Buzzardpaw and WindClan is my clan, so yes, we do. I think," The apprentice was audibly confused, immediately divulging information that would be dangerous in the possession of an enemy. "Who are you? Are you in the clan? Have I met you before?" His voice was light and inquisitive, despite the questions thrown at the tom. "Oh, stars. I'm so sorry if we have met before and I forgot your name- I'm just bad with names," He was rambling a little now, lost in his own head, not noticing the way the other tom reeked of anything but WindClan.