and its like the fog has lifted [solo]

In the heart of the bustling camp, Foxtrot lounged against the base of a weathered tree trunk, his gaze drifting lazily over the flurry of activity around him. He had put in hours fixing up the nursery, dragging in dead sticks, clearing away the snow. He was tired!

WHile he rested warriors bustled about, either working on more repairs, setting up patrols, or playing in the snow. A body swished past him, her tail flicking him on the nose and Foxtrot jumped in surprise. The tom watched as the random SKyclanner sauntered away from him beckoning him to follow. The toms nose wrinkled, his reaction must not have been what she was expecting, she shrugged and disappeared into the crowd. A laugh bubbled out of his throat as he laid back down shaking his head. In that moment he couldn’t help but laugh as he reflected on his reaction.

He had always been a bit of a womanizer, his charm and wit not a shock to those around him. But lately…there was a shift within him, in the past couple moons he struggled to comprehend said change. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get her out of his head.
Mistflower.

Her image popped into his head at the most unexpected moments. He saw her in the fluffy grey fur of the squirrel he ate for breakfast, he saw her in the flowers his niece had woven into his nest. He saw her underneath the canopy of their forest, the vibrant green of the pines reflecting her eyes. He saw her in the quiet stillness of a mist-kissed morning, when the sun rises in a blaze of golden hues. He saw her image rippling and dancing in the current of the creek. But most of all he saw her in the stars. The twinkling stars mirrored the way her eyes danced when he said something funny.

Speaking of her eyes…he would pay indescribable things to be able to have the honor of seeing her eyes twinkle just for him.

Stop.

She doesn’t feel the same. The tom chastised himself as he let out a big sigh, his exhale forming a small cloud in air. Foxtrot watched it disappear as he contemplated his dilemma.

Emotional investment had never come easily to him. His mother, RIta, had abandoned him on the Skyclan borders as kit, leaving him to navigate the world alone. Then there was Dawnfeather, his adoptive mother, whose untimely death had left a gaping hole in his heart. It was no wonder that he had built walls around himself, shielding these emotions from the outside world.

Yet Mistflower had managed to breach these walls, he felt as though she had taken them down gently, brick by brick, her presence was welcome now, a soothing balm to his wounded soul. She was the light in his darkness, a beacon that guided him through the storm.

He sat there a moment longer before got to his paws. The time had come, no more of this wishy washy stuff! Dawnma taught him to be strong and honest with his feelings. He would be honest here too. In that moment he had decided he had to tell her. With each step he took toward the exit to Skyclan’s camp, his resolve solidified like steel.

He refused to let doubt hold him back any longer.