[lone]

Originally Posted by goose

@lonestar23

She was huddled, practically shrinking into herself in an attempt to hide from the cold. However much Milkweed tried to deny the fact that she was anything but pure Thunderclan blood flowing through her veins, she was rather forcefully reminded that her pelt was just way too thin to help shield her from the cold. The bicoloured molly shivered bitterly.

Milkweed turned her eyes to the sky, face beginning to squash into a squinting sort of grimace as she braced her eyes against the sun’s bright light.

It was no longer a warming, mother-like comfort, and more of a dour reminder that greenleaf was only too far away. She was sick of it; sick of cold prey, sick of lakes frozen over. They only served as funny a of clock, except nobody was laughing. The waters were perhaps the worst thing, though. Perchpaw’s spirit could’ve been submerged in any of those lakes now.

The memory of him was hazy, at best. For all she knew, he could have never existed. The details of his face had foregone her mind, only the fact that he was dead and a dirty, cowardly Windclanner had watched on at the border. His favourite prey was vole, his eyes were the brightest blue. All she remembered about his voice was how it sounded as the inlet’s claws dragged him down into its gaping maw. She didn’t like to think about it, if that wasn’t obvious enough.

Despite all of that, her suppressed memories and the feelings that came with them leaked into the grey, wet day. Head between her paws, Milkweed sighed. Again. She would go insane if there was yet another sunhigh like this tomorrow.

A multicolored feline padded into the clearing, her amber eyes bright and alert. Amberflame was often alert at this time of the day - more so then in the afternoons, when everyone was up and more vigilant. In early morning, there were less cats up and the cats who were up needed to be on guard. Amberflame did not take being a warrior lightly - her responsibilities were always her first priority. The cold didn't bother her - a downy, soft pelt was her protection against it and so she was able to do more things more efficiently during the colder moons. Such as now. Leaf-bare was the worst season, to her, and it wasn't just the prey shortage or the snow, but how unwilling some of the other cats seemed. Greenleaf and leaf-fall were good times of year, when the weather wasn't scorching hot or bitter cold.

Spotting Milkweed in another corner of the clearing, Amberflame's expression changed. What was this cat doing? Padding over briskly, her eyes fell on the other cat and she settled down nearby, her tail wrapped around her paws. "Good morning." She mewed in a low, careful voice, although her expression was partly angry. It wasn't anything personal - that was just how the she cat normally looked. Angry and irritated at the world around her, her tail twitching with that anger at times. "Have you been hunting this morning?" She asked in an attempt to not only make conversation, but get a glimpse of what this feline was like.

For Amberflame there were two types of cats: those who were productive, got up early and did their duties, and those who lounged around, spreading their duties throughout the day or not doing them at all. Amberflame was the first of these cats. An icy wind blew through her coat - she shivered, but otherwise, her expression did not change. Milkweed's own pelt was quite thin and looked like it wouldn't protect her against anything - let alone the cold winds of leafbare.