He was just licking himself from waking up until he heard
a little squeal. He looked up and realized it was cottonkit,
she always came to visit him, which always made his day.
He quit licking his paw and yawned, and then he got up.
He went over to cottonkit, He loved this kit to death. "Hey honey. What brings you in here this early
in the morning?" he said as he was licking cottonkit's
forehead.
"I'm guessing you want me to play with you?" he
said sweetly.
COTTONKIT a white, fluffy kit with light brown 'freckles'
The feeling of her fathers raspy tongue against her forehead made her nub of a tail wriggle. She attempted to pull away, her paws battering against the ground in protest. "Yesss!! That's why I came in here!! Can we play tag, pleasepleaseplease?"
"You be the runner, I'll be the chaser, OK? I'll catch you! So don't go slow!
The greeting was loud. Boisterous. Over the top. Just as Sprucejumper had learned to love when it came from The Boulder. Other cats? Perhaps not so much, but they hadn't been there for him his entire life. Not like they had. Plus no matter how much he refused to show it, there was a certain... fun to be had whenever he was around his former mentor. Things were never boring around them, even if they were just sitting down for a talk.
At the question, the former kittypet nodded as he settled comfortably into the nest, wrapping his tail around his body. Of course something amazing had happened today! Chatty the Usurper was not here. Right now... not like... gone forever. He wasn't so callous as to wish for her death. She made the mountainous feline happy, and no matter how much he hated her for forcing herself between him and them, he wouldn't actively pray for her demise as long as she made them smile. Besides, he wasn't the praying type. He left that bit to the star worshipers, thank you very much.
"Hunting," he replied, puffing his chest out proudly as he spoke.
So perhaps the tom hadn't been going out and about doing much when it came to socializing or shedding blood for the clan. That simply wasn't his style. It was too much trouble to get close to others. They expected him to... like... talk back and stuff. What'd he look like, a housefolk talking box? If they wanted to talk, they could do so like the three legged cat besides him did. If not... well, they clearly were expecting too much from him.
Hunting, though? That came to him easy. He wasn't sure if it was all the training he'd done, being beat up by every last piece of prey in this forest until he had understood what it take to hunt them. If maybe The Boulder was simply a genius at teaching - this part was very likely, and paired up with his own genius, excellence was inevitable - or if maybe he had settled well into his role within the clan. True, his loyalty wasn't as blind as some of the others. He would rather run away than die on command. He was dreadful at fighting as well. But as long as he hunted? As long as he kept the prey pile filled? He couldn't see even Angry having a problem with that.
Re: ThunderClan Warriors' Den
