afraid of the dark>>>wind_flame_sea_lightning

[Aяαsнï]

Gazing through the ice-blue eyes of Windpaw...

"Damn it. Damn the whole mousebrained thing. Who cares about the loss of a few simple pictures?"

-Windpaw

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Windpaw's eyes opened with a start. Another day, another brutal nightmare, but this one seemed to be particularly nasty. Damn it. Damn the whole mousebrained thing. Who cares about the loss of a few simple pictures? Images presented in front of him brought him no harm, anyway. He had the morning urge he always seemed to feel that made him lust for blood. He had the sensation he had felt many times before of feeling the blood pour from other cats onto his stainless fangs, having it be licked off by his tongue, having him spit it out onto the cat as he died, turning its fur crimson with the stuff...it made him envy those idiotic happy-go-lucky warriors that always seemed to get picked for battles and ambushes instead of him. What did they have that he didn't? Windpaw quickly snapped himself out of this daydream of relentlessly murdering those StarClan-loving twits. He was getting distracted from his own life, and that was something a murderer can never do. Distractions led to vulnerability. Vulnerability led to death.

Windpaw decided that nothing was going to happen today that would be particularly interesting, and decided that today would be a day where he made things interesting by himself. And Flamepaw, his murderous partner, of course. He was the brains of their mafia organization; without him, Windpaw would be fighting blind. And blindness was a useless tool made popular by legends lost long ago. Windpaw stretched out his claws and back, making sure none of his precious death-tools were cracked or broken, and padded over to Flamepaw. Windpaw didn't bother seeing if he was awake; Flamepaw was always up before he was. Windpaw didn't know why, he just lived by it in the way that he didn't live by the warrior code.

"Flamepaw, Windpaw meowed so that only Flamepaw would hear it, and not any prying cats. "We should go to the AspenClan border. I have heard rumors that they are invading our territory, and need to be, ah, driven out. By force, preferably, but negotiations are not my specialty, as you know." Of course, these rumors were nonexistent. Windpaw just needed an on-the-spot excuse in case any sharp-eared apprentice was spying on them. Windpaw turned toward the exit, flicking his brother with his tail impatiently.

Windpaw padded out of camp, not bothering with any warriors who told them otherwise. They did not command him. He commanded himself, and perhaps his brother from time to time. Flamepaw was the designated leader of the two, with his intelligence superiority, but Windpaw was stronger strengthwise...probably. He could slip in a command from time to time, though whether it was carried out was his brother's choice. Windpaw soon came across the river that led to Falling Water; and the border with it. Once he (and Flamepaw, if he chose to follow) had made their way into the thundering waterfall's surrounding area, he sat in a shadowy spot, and waited. Watch, and wait. AspenClan would regret a border patrol. Definitely. Now to wait for one to stroll by.

The trap was set. Now for the mouse.

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[evening]

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[atrb=width,400,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][bg=00000] Amber eyes flashed as he stared out into the icy darkness. It was morning, yet the thick pine trees that encrusted the dwelling darkness which he lay, coasted out any hope of even the smallest bit of sunshine. Even if the trees were gone, and the breezy air was open to them, curling around them easily with none to stop it's blow, it still would have been dark out, for as it was not nighttime, it was early morning, and much to early for the sun to rise, much less a cat to start hunting; but, alas, Flamepaw wasn't any ordinary cat, thus, he lifted his skinny pelt and trailed out into the cold night air, his thin pelt offering little protection against even the slightest breeze. As the cold air hit him, the orange tom, narrowed his eyes, and stood for a minute, getting used to the now stilled coldness, before continuing on out of camp. He didn't travel very far, tending to stick to the areas closest to Windpaw at the prior moment. As the sun grew brighter, rising higher into the now iridescent sky, blue, pinks, and purple hues dotting the sunrise with its morning signature, Flamepaw stalked back into camp, his jaw set on two very skinny, almost sickly looking rabbits. He set them down in the fresh-kill pile, wrinkling his nose at the sight. Prey this Leaf-bare was low, and everyday they got skinner and skinner and more scarce, until it came to a point where you could find a rabbit as skinny as a wood mouse. The prey pile was pitiful, besides his two poor prey rabbits, a fish and one bird lay hidden under a small pile of snow --he growled as he found some crowfood mixed in with the little food they had scavenged. Probably some stupid mousebrain who was too desperate to care if it were poisoned or not, he thought to himself, oh well, woe is them, it's not my fault that they were too stupid to check. And with that, he placed fur-matted rat down beside the rest of the so-called fresh kill pile. Eye glinting, he stalked back to the apprentice den, all apprentices still asleep, including his brother Windpaw, who seemed to be having some sort of unfit dream. Keh, what the heck did he have to be scared about? He turned his back to his brother, resting his powerful tail between his forepaws, staring silently, but condescendingly toward the outside world, and the sun slowly rising higher in the sky. He heard a gasp behind him, and stifled a snort as the grey tom woke with a start. Licking his lips, he began to plan out the course of events of the day. Nothing interesting was prone to happen on a day like this, and as he couldn't create one out of thin air, who said he couldn't create one at all? He could feel his brother's restlessness as he stood to talk to him. Flamepaw, we should go to the AspenClan border. I have heard rumors that they are invading our territory, and need to be, ah, driven out. By force, preferably, but negotiations are not my specialty, as you know. His villainous friend spoke in a hush, careful not to let straying ears overhear them. So he wanted to play with the AspenClan kittens, did he? Flamepaw considered the thought, and as it was a plain idea, much else was there to do at the moment, thus, he followed his brother's retreating figure out into the open air. Stony-eyed, he let his brother lead the way down to Falling Water, mindlessly swiping at bushes and branches that barred his way. Don't be stupid, Windpaw. I know you're itching to get your paws on some pathetic warrior, but we can't kill every single cat we meet. And as your tone of speech may not be your pride and great point, it is mine along with my claws, and preferably a 'good' cat, he snorted at that part, , knows when to use his abilities at the right moment. Of course, Windpaw surely already knew this, but the tom's excitement and murderous attitude would sometimes overcome his sense of 'justice' and more importantly, strategy. Strategy, that was the key to power and strength. He turned around as he saw Windpaw hiding in a crevice awaiting his prey. Today was not a time to be dawdling, he felt like he was being watched, and as Windpaw didn't mind the glory for himself, Flamepaw, liked to keep his secrets. Swiftly, he retreated to a nearby rock, looking as inconspicuous as possible. He would stick around for the amusement, but until that shadow was gone, he wouldn't attack quite at the moment until a provoked reason came up --which he left up the start from his burly brother. oh, let the fun begin. Flamepaw is killing mousebrains Flamepaw thinks your stupid "Flamepaw wants you to shut up"