Post by mysteryfaith on Mar 12, 2012 18:14:36 GMT -5
Foxflower's jaws ached - this annoyed her a little, seeing as her jaws had never ached from carrying a tiny mouse before. Every joint seemed to pain her now, making her feel older than ever before. She hated feeling old, and every inch of her body screamed at her, told her to get back to camp and act grumpy just like she always was. At the camp, there would be warriors to pick her up if she fell and kits to comfort her if ever she needed cheering; out here, by the gnarled tree that had seen her grow and age, she was alone.
I should've gone out with a patrol, she lied inwardly; she knew that she would hold any patrol up with her slow limping and constant complaining, even though nobody else would admit it. She couldn't even admit that she was a labour to all who attempted to help her - she always ended up complicating situations or making them worse somehow. It was a painful trait that she had carried through life with her, though it had clung to her subtly until old age set in. Now, it made a daily appearance in every conversation that she could manage to keep up with.
"Come on, Foxflower!" she urged herself half-heartedly, her encouragement floating out into the chilly Newleaf air and helping nobody. She wanted so very desperately to reach the ancient tree that she had loved ever since her days as a kitten - with her mother's permission, of course, she would climb the thick branches and scratch lazily at the bark. She couldn't go very high, as fear eventually set in and she wailed to be rescued, but she could climb a lot higher than her brothers and couldn't help reminding them of that every time they tried to pick on her.
She missed those days of simplicity, when sibling rivalry was all a kitten had to worry about. Now, the scent of war was floating down the wind from a near territory, and Foxflower was convinced that she could occasionally hear the howling of a warrior recently injured. She wouldn't put it past her aged brain to fabricate such sounds, however - it did drag back sounds and images from the past sometimes, just to trick her into believing she was young again. She owned a cruel brain.
Now stumbling to the base of the tree, Foxflower smiled to herself and allowed her paws a slight rest. Just ten moons ago, she might have been able to reach the base of the tree without stopping once, hobbling straight from camp to the tree. Those days of relative athleticism were beyond her now - it had taken her some time just to reach the gnarled roots of the tree, and she had collapsed considerably heavily when she got there. It was as she lay on her side, staring up at the young leaves of the old tree, that a radical thought came into her head and refused to leave.
What if this was the end?
528.
I should've gone out with a patrol, she lied inwardly; she knew that she would hold any patrol up with her slow limping and constant complaining, even though nobody else would admit it. She couldn't even admit that she was a labour to all who attempted to help her - she always ended up complicating situations or making them worse somehow. It was a painful trait that she had carried through life with her, though it had clung to her subtly until old age set in. Now, it made a daily appearance in every conversation that she could manage to keep up with.
"Come on, Foxflower!" she urged herself half-heartedly, her encouragement floating out into the chilly Newleaf air and helping nobody. She wanted so very desperately to reach the ancient tree that she had loved ever since her days as a kitten - with her mother's permission, of course, she would climb the thick branches and scratch lazily at the bark. She couldn't go very high, as fear eventually set in and she wailed to be rescued, but she could climb a lot higher than her brothers and couldn't help reminding them of that every time they tried to pick on her.
She missed those days of simplicity, when sibling rivalry was all a kitten had to worry about. Now, the scent of war was floating down the wind from a near territory, and Foxflower was convinced that she could occasionally hear the howling of a warrior recently injured. She wouldn't put it past her aged brain to fabricate such sounds, however - it did drag back sounds and images from the past sometimes, just to trick her into believing she was young again. She owned a cruel brain.
Now stumbling to the base of the tree, Foxflower smiled to herself and allowed her paws a slight rest. Just ten moons ago, she might have been able to reach the base of the tree without stopping once, hobbling straight from camp to the tree. Those days of relative athleticism were beyond her now - it had taken her some time just to reach the gnarled roots of the tree, and she had collapsed considerably heavily when she got there. It was as she lay on her side, staring up at the young leaves of the old tree, that a radical thought came into her head and refused to leave.
What if this was the end?
528.
