With a sigh, Creekpelt slowly lay down in the dusty clearing, careful not to disturb his fresh wounds.
(open)
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"We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets…we will never surrender."-Winston Churchill
For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, so that whoever believes in Him may not perish, but have eternal life.-John 3:16
Owltalon sat in the far edge of the clearing, picking bird feathers out of her teeth. Her recent days here had been quite uneventful as of late. Not that Owltalon was the kind of cat to actively seek drama, but she wasn't dead set on being completely alone either. Or bored. She hated bored.
Allowing her one good eye to scan across the clearing, her gaze landed on Creekpelt, a very very badly beaten up warrior. He seemed to move as if he were made of porcelain, like he could break if he even breathed too hard.
I know that feeling, kid. Owltalon frowned at the tom, her eyes glazed with sympathy. I know it far too well.
"Hey!" Owltalon raspily yowled over to them. "Feeling alright, Creek? You must've fought very hard. I'm sure the clans appreciative."
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❝Whatever will be, will be. Don't care what anyone else thinks.❞
-When You Grow Up, Your Heat Dies
✮Nightpaw✮He/Him✮ 23 Moons✮Bi ✮Apprentince Leaving the medicine den, Nightpaw sat down, try to relax from the commotion with Birchpaw. His fur was perked up. Was Cobweb going to be ok? How about everyone else? Did he anger anyone by stepping in? Millions of thoughts ran through his head as he laid there in the clearing.
Sycamorepelt gracefully entered the clearing, extending her limbs after a satisfying nap. Observing the neatly stacked fresh-kill pile, she murmured to herself, "No need to go hunting today." As she scanned the area, cats mingled with each other, leaving Sycamorepelt with a sense of exclusion from the clan once again. Pondering her next move, she settled down and started grooming herself.