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Post by Emberstorm on Nov 25, 2018 18:40:29 GMT -6
Emberstorm frowned, lost in thought. It was all so strange to him to see the state of the clans. He thought all the time away from the others would further enlighten him. Instead, he had learned isolation and now pain. He could survive on his own, but he was getting old. He needed to comforts that an organized society afforded. He needed a clan. He was confused as to why Crowwwing did not follow him, but he noticed that the old Tom was lost in thought. The haggle of cats before him was no clan was it was certainly better than nothing.
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Post by Dreamwing on Dec 25, 2018 19:15:28 GMT -6
(trust me i know this is a really dead thread, i mean the whole site is dead, but like i wanna roleplay so bad so shootin my shot)
The sun had already sunk behind the edge of the world and the full moon was slowly rising to it's apex. The stars were twinkling against the dark, ebony night almost winking in delight. What delight, the silver she-cat wondered, gazing up at them with longing in her heart. It had been rough lately, it seemed all of her clan had vanished; just got up and left everything behind. She was making the journey to the clearing, despite the hurt beating through her old bones with each step she took. She wondered hopefully if any other cat, much like herself, had felt the need to gather just as she had.
With each step further away from the abandoned camp and closer to the clearing, hope flared up like a balloon in her chest until she was one step away from it either helping her soar over the mountains or deflate her spirit for good. She took a deep breath and with the help of the wind took that leap of faith. As she emerged into the clearing, her hope soared like an owl over the forests. There were cats! She wasn't the only one after all. She looked around for any familiar faces and scents and almost leapt with joy at the sight of a russet-orange pelt. Emberstorm. Last encounter they had he was confused and unsure of the old cat, seeming to forget his old friend Dreamwing.
With somewhat shaky legs, from either her excitement or newfound anxiety, the silver she-cat padded over to where the orange tom stood talking to a small group of what seemed to be the last of the clans. She recognized the scent of Crowwing from border patrols and gave him a warm smile. "Good evening, Crowwing," she said kindly, dipping her head in greeting to the black tom. She then turned to her old friend and with the same warm smile acknowledged him. "Hello Emberstorm." She hoped and prayed to Starclan that he would recognize her this time.
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