Post by Grim on Sept 15, 2010 2:02:15 GMT -5
Although certainly not a genius, Lightpool was a reasonably bright young cat. So, when Hawkclaw tripped over their leader’s name, she was quick to leech on to his hesitance. She contemplated his reluctance, but otherwise showed no outward interest in his little mishap. She nodded slowly, her wide gaze still on the dead cat. The subject was clearly a matter that the tom had an issue with, but it was so painfully obvious that he would rather fight an army of badgers than actually share his feelings like a healthy cat. However, although Lightpool had few skeletons in her closet, she knew that she would have hoarded them away in a similar fashion. It would have been hypocritical for her to judge him or call him on it. On the other hand, she kept the slip-up tucked neatly in her recollections, just waiting in the wings.
When Hawkclaw shifted to gather the prey it startled the she-cat out of her strange reverie. She turned her attention on to the brown tabby and watched him for a moment. She stared after him when he strode past, a troubled frown in her round jade eyes. Had she done something, once again, to offend the tom? Perhaps he was plainly glad to have a reason to finally shed her company? After all, she wasn’t much of a companion, anyway. Lightpool suddenly shook her head gently, clearing away the self-deprecating thoughts clouding her otherwise rational mind. Whether or not the bitter tom minded her company was not something little Lightpool was willing to desecrate her thoughts on. If she made a habit of caring what other cats thought of her, nothing would ever be done.
Slowly, Lightpool lowered her head and gathered her birds once more. When she straightened again, fully intending on heading into camp, a glimmer nearby attracted her wandering attention. The pool of blood around the body was small, but it reflected the sunlight in its dampness and drew her attention. She grimaced around her load, but her gaze continued swallowing the gruesome scene. His eyes had begun to lose the sheen of life, becoming glassy and jaded in death. His blue pelt was filthy and splattered with his own blood. Beneath his grime, though, Lightpool could almost see a handsome tom. Behind the ghastly snarl locked on his face, he could have been noticeably attractive. Without her realizing it, her haunches had folded beneath her and she sat, staring at the carcass and lost in her unfathomable thoughts.
What made a good cat turn bad? If only this tom had seen sense, Lightpool was certain that he would be alive still. A death would have been avoided. This wasn’t a victory, not in Lightpool’s eyes. What twist of fate could turn a respectable cat’s paws down the wrong path? Where would this cat find peace? Certainly not among StarClan’s ranks. The young warrior breathed a sigh of dismay out of her nose, but her attention stayed fixed on the battered rogue for a while.