fleeting phantoms (open)

If he had been able to leave earlier, he would. Irritatingly thin, almost fragile paws carried Snakepaw just outside the gorse camp walls, steps silent and yet purposeful. He could sense a warrior begin to quietly follow him out into the moor; their presence like a wasp hovering just out of sight. Watching eyes felt unbearable after the moons he'd spent under the medicine cats' care. The feeling grew stronger with every step through the dusk-cast grasses. He wanted to slip away. By the time the warrior noticed, the ghostly white apprentice had already disappeared into the hills.

Enough rest. He needed to train. In the time he was ill, more of his siblings had earned their full names. He wasn't a competitive cat, far from it, but he had grown... impatient. As a warrior, he would have far more freedom and say in what he did, although the right to act covertly was far more important to him personally. Good information did not always come willingly. The young tom approached the place he was after - a half-rotten tree stump standing lonesome in their territory. He sat upon it, his wispy pelt seeming to glow in the faint light. Not unlike a covering of fog under the overcast sky. Something in his fur said there would be no rain tonight despite the heavy clouds. 'The territory has to have changed over time. New warrens and such. A field hungry for bruises and wrenched paws.' With a growing awareness that an owl could set upon him if he stayed in view any longer, Snakepaw descended from the stump and into the dry grass once more.

After a bit of surveying, he finally set upon his task. Training not to hunt or fight, but to run. Having remembered that the best warriors ran not just with their legs, he stretched his whole body, and steadied his breathing. After a few moments of going over the safe path once again in his mind, he shot off. Immediately he could feel how much weaker his muscles had become, how slow and tired he felt already. A good thing he had taken the initiative, then. He kept a regular pace despite the protests of his legs and chest, the impact of his paws hitting the ground indistinguishable from that of his heart pulsing through his entire being.

How short-lived it was. Up ahead the silhouette of a cat appeared to block his path. He knew he had been spotted. With an inward sigh he slowed his pace until he stood just over a fox-length away. His blood still rushed loudly in his ears as he meowed, not bothering to hide the blunt edge to his exertion-tinged voice, "Do you intend to stop me?"

Cloudjumper had been hunting as the sun drifted toward the horizon, burying a rabbit before pausing, green eyes sweeping over the familiar moorlands.

When movement caught her eye, she started forward on instinct, only belatedly realizing that the grasses swaying heralded a cat. A thin, scrawny cat, who still reeked of the medicine den. Cloudjumper skidded to a halt, eyes widening slightly in surprise.

The last thing she'd expected to see was her brother out of camp. She knew the den must have been driving him stir-crazy - it would have to her if she were in that unfortunate position. He'd snuck out, then.

Her suspicions were confirmed as Snakepaw spoke. "No." Cloudjumper answered simply. "You've been trapped in that den for long enough, haven't you? Surely Hemlockfox wouldn't mind it if you were out here with someone else... Right? Which you totally were, the entire time." She added dryly, whiskers twitching.

"It's good to see you up and about, Snakepaw. Stars, how long has it been?"