Post by ashstrike on Jan 27, 2015 14:22:21 GMT
The sun peaked the distant hills of the territories, its fiery disk glinting as it broke the earthy barrier line on the horizon. Flickering lights of its colorful aura slowly spread across the sky like a shallow wave, creeping closer and closer as morning started and broke. The dawn came, and with it the precious warmth and light of the sun in a season of perpetual cold. This same light lit the frost tinted grass and scraggly, bare trees below, their thorny branches extended like the grasping claws of a desperate beast. The world was of ice and frost, so thick was the blanket of chill it hung like a physical, weighted presence. Its frigid weight caught and stole your breathe, and if one was not careful, it would steal the warmth of your very life to feed its endless hunger. Many of the creatures of the land had either gone into a deep sleep to wait out the season, slept forever when the cold started to come, or struggled to make ends meet until Spring came back once again. Despite the unsettling tests of Leafbare however, the sun always brought a small, comfortable respite in the clan cat territories... Save for one.
The pined forests of Shadowclan did not sleep like the other forests of Thunderclan and parts of Riverclan did. They chose the third option of waiting out the harsh seasons of leafbare. Their pined needles stood green and firm when the cold first came, and throughout the season they would stand just as strong. Although Spring and Summer made their trunks and needle-like leaves much more supple and healthy, they had no issue toughing out the endless cold. Because of this, the full branches interlocked and created a shielded ceiling from the sky. Even when the sun came bright and shining, Shadowclan would not feel it as much, their land locked in perpetual gray shadow. Warmth was slow to seep into this land, and where the heavy foliage of the pines would block light, the thin, rough branches and clumps of pointy foliage did nothing for the wind which blew and cut through Shadowclan like an ice-cold claw.
Darkened paws, the color of a shrouded Silverpelt disturbed the carpeting of dusty snow and dried, brown pine needles as the cat who bore them padded through his clan's territory. He was a tom... Of substantial build and toning. It was in his blood, his half clan heritage, but even more so, it was in the environment he lived and the life he led. In honed him. That was obvious in the trained muscle that would ripple beneath his medium length, ash-black pelt. It showed in the firm concentration present in gleaming eyes of an icy blue color. His face and flank were mildly scarred, and even with the slight thinness in his frame expected of the winter seasons, he bore a pride and strength expected of a Shadowclanner... Of a warrior cat.
His name was Ashstrike, and he was out hunting near the borders. The day was early, and the prey would be stirring between now and afternoon to scrounge for food before waiting out the cold again. They hungered as he and his clan hungered. Vole, mouse, rat, and bird. Pickings were scarce, and Shadowclan's prey count was smaller not only in warm blooded prey, but completely absent in frog, snake, and lizard that were present only in the warmer months.
The borders were the best place to hunt this time of year. Prey congregated near the territory of Thunderclan and Riverclan where the sun could be felt stronger and there was more breaks in the piney foliage above. The male warrior of course stayed on his side of the border, mouth slightly agape as his scent glands took in the aroma of pine, Shadowclan scent (It was faint near the borders, so he was here to renew the borders as well), stale prey scents, and the faint scents of their rivals Thunderclan and Riverclan as the wind carried their aromas... Strong musk for Thunderclan and a strong, potent, fishy tang for Riverclan. Ashstrike's muzzle would wrinkle somewhat, pondering... None of it seemed particularly strong, so he did not expect to see either clan on the other side of the border by the time he moved on.
Unfortunately, no prey scent was here either... So Ashstrike would simply renew the Shadowclan border, keeping his ears perked and his ice-blue eyes watchful for both prey and trouble before he would flick his long, slender tail... The laying down of borders on this part done as he silently followed his side of the territory. He would be walking for about a few minutes, being mindful of the wind and the direction it carried by the time a sudden, warm, catching aroma graced him. Upwind from his position, he smelled mouse. The tom would go rigid, ears scanning as he held his chilled breathe. All was silent... Save for the low wind as it disturbed his fur and the thudding of his own excited heart. His face did not betray his instinctive excitement, composed and rigid, as if carved from stone.
There. About 20 fox lengths to his right and ahead was the mouse... Scrounging around near the base of a rotting log as it attempted to pick at leftover seed lying dormant in the loose, sandy soil located there. Ahstrike would study it for a time, his brow furrowed before he would enter a low crouch... The slitted pupils of his eyes dilating until a blue ring surrounded his darkened moons. He would move with a predatory intent akin to his ancestors... Going in a wide arc around the mouse's position as it fed blissfully unaware, shoulders rolling as Ashstrike got closer to his prey. He closed distance... Using the log to further block the mouse's line of sight, as well as avoid the wind as it would likely carry the hunter's scent. By the time, he reached the log, Ashstrike crouched down, mindful of how much vibration his paws made. The mouse's head would jerk off, its small nose scenting the air as fear scent suddenly wafted from it. It was by this time Ashstrike realized the wind changed direction... So he pounced.
The kill was quick and expertly done. Before the mouse could escape, it was battered and flipped into the air by a paw, and before its cries could alert other prey creatures in the area, its head was grasped in the tom cat's jaws and viciously shook until its neck was broken. Blood seeped into Ashstrike's mouth... Warm, tangy blood that reminded him of the meat, still fresh that lie within. His stomach clenched slightly at this reminder, but Ashstrike would hold off, dropping the mouse on the ground as he scooped a pawful of dirt out and deposited it before covering it up... For retrieval later when the hunt and patrol was over. An easy hunt... Luckily easy, but scrawny and would have liked to bring more back.
However, it was by this time that Ashstrike suddenly scented cat and heard their paw steps. Of whose clan, and from what direction he was quickly honing in on, both notched ears and slanted, ice-blue eyes scanning the area around him.
The pined forests of Shadowclan did not sleep like the other forests of Thunderclan and parts of Riverclan did. They chose the third option of waiting out the harsh seasons of leafbare. Their pined needles stood green and firm when the cold first came, and throughout the season they would stand just as strong. Although Spring and Summer made their trunks and needle-like leaves much more supple and healthy, they had no issue toughing out the endless cold. Because of this, the full branches interlocked and created a shielded ceiling from the sky. Even when the sun came bright and shining, Shadowclan would not feel it as much, their land locked in perpetual gray shadow. Warmth was slow to seep into this land, and where the heavy foliage of the pines would block light, the thin, rough branches and clumps of pointy foliage did nothing for the wind which blew and cut through Shadowclan like an ice-cold claw.
Darkened paws, the color of a shrouded Silverpelt disturbed the carpeting of dusty snow and dried, brown pine needles as the cat who bore them padded through his clan's territory. He was a tom... Of substantial build and toning. It was in his blood, his half clan heritage, but even more so, it was in the environment he lived and the life he led. In honed him. That was obvious in the trained muscle that would ripple beneath his medium length, ash-black pelt. It showed in the firm concentration present in gleaming eyes of an icy blue color. His face and flank were mildly scarred, and even with the slight thinness in his frame expected of the winter seasons, he bore a pride and strength expected of a Shadowclanner... Of a warrior cat.
His name was Ashstrike, and he was out hunting near the borders. The day was early, and the prey would be stirring between now and afternoon to scrounge for food before waiting out the cold again. They hungered as he and his clan hungered. Vole, mouse, rat, and bird. Pickings were scarce, and Shadowclan's prey count was smaller not only in warm blooded prey, but completely absent in frog, snake, and lizard that were present only in the warmer months.
The borders were the best place to hunt this time of year. Prey congregated near the territory of Thunderclan and Riverclan where the sun could be felt stronger and there was more breaks in the piney foliage above. The male warrior of course stayed on his side of the border, mouth slightly agape as his scent glands took in the aroma of pine, Shadowclan scent (It was faint near the borders, so he was here to renew the borders as well), stale prey scents, and the faint scents of their rivals Thunderclan and Riverclan as the wind carried their aromas... Strong musk for Thunderclan and a strong, potent, fishy tang for Riverclan. Ashstrike's muzzle would wrinkle somewhat, pondering... None of it seemed particularly strong, so he did not expect to see either clan on the other side of the border by the time he moved on.
Unfortunately, no prey scent was here either... So Ashstrike would simply renew the Shadowclan border, keeping his ears perked and his ice-blue eyes watchful for both prey and trouble before he would flick his long, slender tail... The laying down of borders on this part done as he silently followed his side of the territory. He would be walking for about a few minutes, being mindful of the wind and the direction it carried by the time a sudden, warm, catching aroma graced him. Upwind from his position, he smelled mouse. The tom would go rigid, ears scanning as he held his chilled breathe. All was silent... Save for the low wind as it disturbed his fur and the thudding of his own excited heart. His face did not betray his instinctive excitement, composed and rigid, as if carved from stone.
There. About 20 fox lengths to his right and ahead was the mouse... Scrounging around near the base of a rotting log as it attempted to pick at leftover seed lying dormant in the loose, sandy soil located there. Ahstrike would study it for a time, his brow furrowed before he would enter a low crouch... The slitted pupils of his eyes dilating until a blue ring surrounded his darkened moons. He would move with a predatory intent akin to his ancestors... Going in a wide arc around the mouse's position as it fed blissfully unaware, shoulders rolling as Ashstrike got closer to his prey. He closed distance... Using the log to further block the mouse's line of sight, as well as avoid the wind as it would likely carry the hunter's scent. By the time, he reached the log, Ashstrike crouched down, mindful of how much vibration his paws made. The mouse's head would jerk off, its small nose scenting the air as fear scent suddenly wafted from it. It was by this time Ashstrike realized the wind changed direction... So he pounced.
The kill was quick and expertly done. Before the mouse could escape, it was battered and flipped into the air by a paw, and before its cries could alert other prey creatures in the area, its head was grasped in the tom cat's jaws and viciously shook until its neck was broken. Blood seeped into Ashstrike's mouth... Warm, tangy blood that reminded him of the meat, still fresh that lie within. His stomach clenched slightly at this reminder, but Ashstrike would hold off, dropping the mouse on the ground as he scooped a pawful of dirt out and deposited it before covering it up... For retrieval later when the hunt and patrol was over. An easy hunt... Luckily easy, but scrawny and would have liked to bring more back.
However, it was by this time that Ashstrike suddenly scented cat and heard their paw steps. Of whose clan, and from what direction he was quickly honing in on, both notched ears and slanted, ice-blue eyes scanning the area around him.
