Post by heronstrike on Jun 16, 2015 19:39:13 GMT -5
Most of the camp was asleep now, given that it was still early morning. Heronstrike had been careful not to wake the rest of the warriors as he had carefully crawled from his nest and picked his way around his fellows. He'd stopped to look over a few that he knew were recovering from injuries or otherwise weren't in the best health - nose hovering just above their fur, a deep breath taken. Everyone seemed alright. He lingered beside the nest of one young warrior in particular, blue eyes focused on the sleeping form of the white and ginger tom that he knew as Honeyheart. It hadn't been long since Honeyheart had been an apprentice - and Honeyheart was why Heronstrike could not sleep at night.
Guilt was a funny thing. It sat deep in his heart and wrapped cruel claws around his heartstrings, pulled at them until he was little more than a furry puppet dancing to a tune that was entirely unlike him. He had never felt much in the way of guilt before in his life. It wasn't in his nature.
But oh, did he feel guilt the day Blizzardfang had left the clan.
He had at first thought he could solve it by finding the traitor and sinking his claws into his sorry hide. He thought he could fix it with running blood and screams - but the more he watched Honeyheart, the more his guilt grew. Blood would not fix his guilt. Blood would not fix Honeyheart. He had failed the young warrior, when it was his duty to defend apprentices and kits most of all.
He reached out with a paw and gently poked at the paler toms face. "Honeyheart." He hissed quietly, wary of waking his other clanmates. He really had nothing to worry about. It was early, but he had waken warriors earlier than this for patrols. There was nothing odd about Heronstrike rousing a warrior or two to go out on an early patrol. He would take Honeyheart out to hunt and patrol for an hour or two. Some private attention would do the insecure warrior some good. Maybe he would ask Honeyheart for help with Sleetpaw while he was at it - Honeyheart was good with younger cats. "Come on, wake up. "
Guilt was a funny thing. It sat deep in his heart and wrapped cruel claws around his heartstrings, pulled at them until he was little more than a furry puppet dancing to a tune that was entirely unlike him. He had never felt much in the way of guilt before in his life. It wasn't in his nature.
But oh, did he feel guilt the day Blizzardfang had left the clan.
He had at first thought he could solve it by finding the traitor and sinking his claws into his sorry hide. He thought he could fix it with running blood and screams - but the more he watched Honeyheart, the more his guilt grew. Blood would not fix his guilt. Blood would not fix Honeyheart. He had failed the young warrior, when it was his duty to defend apprentices and kits most of all.
He reached out with a paw and gently poked at the paler toms face. "Honeyheart." He hissed quietly, wary of waking his other clanmates. He really had nothing to worry about. It was early, but he had waken warriors earlier than this for patrols. There was nothing odd about Heronstrike rousing a warrior or two to go out on an early patrol. He would take Honeyheart out to hunt and patrol for an hour or two. Some private attention would do the insecure warrior some good. Maybe he would ask Honeyheart for help with Sleetpaw while he was at it - Honeyheart was good with younger cats. "Come on, wake up. "