Quote:
Originally Posted by goose
@ woly
he never knew he could fear for someone so much, until he'd realised.
the gathering. the patrol had mentioned bloodshed when they came back, and he’d never thought of it like that until moments ago.
lionroar. his love was at that gathering, and although it wouldn’t be that serious if he was there with the rest of windclan; that would be easy. too easy. see, his lover dwelled in thunderclan. what a fool he was, to let his heart swell from his chest every time he saw the handsome ginger tom, to want to be with him, hunt for him, raise his kits. mothcloud was blameless, though: how could he be? he enjoyed feeling for his mate, listening to his heartbeat as they sat there, in that clearing where their territories met. the brown tom lived for the giddy feeling he got when lionroar told him he loved him, purring softly together.
so here he was, seeking the light of his life. he was sure lion knew he’d be looking for him, anyway. dainty paws carried him through windclan’s territory, and beyond; where the moors gave way to the forests. it was a familiar sight, for he came here often. the combined scents of he and his lover assured him of that fact.
hesitantly, he called out, “l-lionroar? are you there?”
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the battle had been bloody.
lionsroar could still feel the claws in his fur, the screeching of battle all around him. it wasnt anything new, being on the battle field, of course. he had always been rather hot headed when it came to things. but there was one thing that kept him going--his love, mothcloud. he felt guilty clawing at windclan cats,seeing moths face in everyone of them. it sucked ass, this whole rivalry thing. it hadnt even been a full 24 hours after the battle and the first place he had come was here, a sacrate heaven. it was a place just for them, a place away from the real world with rules and expectations. a moment where they could be happy. he could feel his heart beat faster. walking, he let the grass grow thinner under his paws, going from thick plush grass to the skinny threads of the moor. deep orange eyes looked around, only dashing forward when hearing his name. called just for him. his body ached, herbs plastered to the sides of his body from seeing wheatfur, little nicks and tufts of fur ripped out in certain spots. but it was okay, he would survive. letting the cool moor air fill his nose he felt more at home then thunderclan had ever let him, seeing his familiar dainty lover, pouncing on him with a smile,¨love!¨