release [open]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,false][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,469,true]

Some resort to violence, others slip into solitude, and Runningthorn ran. The she-cat trotted readily along the thunderpath. She could feel the cold air slide through her lungs, chilling her chest. It was refreshing - it was her release. When the world felt too heavy; when stress piled on her skin, pressing her down, she turned to exertion. There was something calming about running. It drove every screaming thought from your mind and you could feel yourself breathe. Everything became clear, easy. With her paws thudding effortlessly into the pavement, Runningthorn could feel the pressures of society slipping away. She tried to go for a run every morning. She liked to wake up as the dawn patrol left and she'd choose a route opposite of their destination. It wasn't like she was trying to hide her obsession; she just wanted it for herself. Runningthorn was a sociable cat. She genuinely enjoyed her denmates and liked being around them. But sometimes she needed to be alone. And running gave her that freedom. This morning the dawn patrol started toward the carrion place - that left her running out to the thunderpath. It wasn't her favorite route, she wasn't fond of being anywhere near Thunderclan, but it was worth the clarity she'd receive in return. Runningthorn pursed her lips in determination, the road reeked of monsters, and her joints ached from running on the pavement. She looked forward to turning around so she could run through the peaty marshland and back home. There was something just downright giddy about running through the bogs. The earth squished through your toes, and she liked the challenge the landscape provided her. Soaring over rotting limbs and murky puddles left heartbeats in her ears. It was exhilarating. Suddenly the she-cat drew to a stop. She could see someone up ahead, someone slinking through the shadows. Runningthorn furrowed her brows, a pant heavy on her breath. Running usually didn't tire her out, but unnecessary stops caught her off guard. The she-cat pressed onward, her trot slowed to a stroll. She figured it was only a stray clanmate - but it was better to be safe than sorry. "What are you doing out here?" The words left her mouth before she could stop them. [bg=a68251]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,false][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,464,true]

The black tom slowly crept forward in the thick bog his toes silently sinking into the mud and gunk that most cats would find disgusting. Maybe that's why other cats hated Shadowclan, they didn't mind getting their paws dirty if they had to. In his mind the other clans were weak and useless if they wouldn't do anything possible to help their clan. Whiteclaw really had no reason to be out this early. He hadn't been assigned to a dawn patrol, but he had been awake anyway. His ear twitched as he remembered the mocking snarl in his head that had kept him awake most of the night. Moon had passed since he had ended his father's life near this very spot, but sometimes those memories never went away. So he hunted. He felt like nothing could stop him. Finally spotting a lizard near by he paused and readied his muscles to launch at the small creature when a voice called out startling him and the lizard which darted off. He let out an aggravated growl and slowly lifted his head into view, his eyes narrowed into angry slits. "Runningthorn, i figured you'd have enough sense not to run around here like a blubbering kit," he growled even though he wasn't really mad at her. That's just the way his voice sounded all the time now, a deep dark growl. He had seen the she-cat leave this morning but she had slipped away before he saw which direction she had gone. However, now that she had spoken up it seemed as if all the prey that had been around was now hidden in the muck. He sighed and slowly came over. "Why aren't you in bed like all the other lazy warriors we have?" he asked flicking some mud off his only white paw, the curse behind his name. She would probably ask him the same thing. It was odd that he went out on his own anymore without being asked. Word Count: 327 ((i'm getting better!!!)) Tagged: Runningthorn [bg=131313]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,false][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,469,true]

The she-cat felt her mouth twist into a scowl - it was only Whiteclaw. Runningthorn approached the tom reluctantly. She was never rude enough to completely ignore someone, but she wasn't exactly thrilled to leave her run for him. Whiteclaw wasn't preferred company. He was usually very grumpy and would rather be on his own than in the presence of others. Still, she was obligated to respond to his snide comments. She wasn't one to abandon a good argument - even if it was just playful. Runningthorn was fond of games. The she-cat narrowed her eyes, a smile tucked in the corners of her lips. "Runningthorn, I figured you'd have enough sense not to run around here like a blubbering kit." She snorted in response, but before answering she decided to keep quiet. She eyed the tom slyly, her paws bringing her around him in circles. "And I figured you'd have enough skill to hunt regardless of the circumstances." Her voice was deep and slick with sarcasm. It was almost second nature to her - she was a sociable, friendly she-cat, but her vocabulary consisted of pessimistic remarks and dark comments. The she-cat stopped circling the tom and chose to attack him from higher ground. Toms hated it when she got the upper hand. With quick feet she hopped up onto a fallen branch and tucked herself into a sit. Holding her chin high she glanced down at the tom - she enjoyed being in control. Whiteclaw looked pleasantly annoyed. With a sigh he came closer, a smile spread across her face. "Why aren't you in bed like all the other lazy warriors we have?" The words left his mouth gruff and monotone. It was easy to see he was struggling not to just up and leave her. Runningthorn scrunched her brow in response, why was he trying to make conversation? The she-cat gave herself a quick shake, why was she complaining? She loved good conversation. "I don't like staying cooped up," She found herself saying, "If I don't go for a run I get restless." The words weren't scathing or pressed with snide. They were matter of fact, genuine. Runningthron lowered her head, her eyes narrowed, "What about you? Don't you have some kits to terrorize or something?" [bg=a68251]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,false][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,464,true]

Whiteclaw watched as the she-cat paced around him quietly. He knew this game. All the she-cats he knew seemed to have the feeling to do this. roam around him, look him over like prey, and then find a way to look down on him. For Runningthorn it was hopping into a near by fallen tree branch. He hoped it collapsed under her weight. At the comment of him terrorizing kits his muscles tensed some but he chuckled some looking at her, his eyes still narrow yellow slits. "I don't terrorize kits, Runningthorn," he said calmly, "If i did, just think. You'd have younger cats like me to deal with." He sat down and flicked his tail as he saw the wheels turning in her head. All the cats in the clan knew how he was, and to have little hims running around would cause the clan to fall to chaos. He'd find it amusing, but after a while it would get annoying as well. "don't worry though, i don't plan on taking over the clan quite yet," he mewed a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He had to be careful though, especially since many of the cats still remembered who his father was. That was the reason Whiteclaw had killed him, his ambition had gotten the best of him. Whiteclaw wanted to be a good warrior, but nothing like his father had been. He swore to that. [bg=131313]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,false][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,469,true]

The she-cat snorted, her eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head. Just ridiculous - She silently mused. "If i did, just think. You'd have younger cats like me to deal with." Runningthorn opened her mouth mockingly, her eyebrows arched deviously, "You're kidding me right?" The words left her mouth light and airy, "You're more or less the last cat any kit would want to become." The she-cat nimbly leaped from the tree and graced the ground with careful steps. She approached the tom, a laughing glint in her gaze, "So, get off your high horse and accept the truth." "You're what keeps the kits up at night pissing and whining for their mommy. You're the nightmare beneath their nest." Runningthorn curled into a sit, her chin held high and her eyes caught on him like a thorn, digging into his pelt. She loved a good conversation - argument. And Whiteclaw was a formidable foe. There was something about him that rubbed the clan the wrong way. He never personally did anything to her, but she couldn't help but feel nothing but contempt for the tom. He was his father's son after all. And perhaps it was silly of her, basing a tom on mere rumors and spiteful comments - but spoken word sometimes stuck, regardless of how unfortunate it seemed to be. "Don't worry though, i don't plan on taking over the clan quite yet," Another snort left her mouth, "Should I warn Stormstar or are you going to tell him yourself?" The she-cat meowed inquisitively, the mockery evident in the sarcasm dripping from her jowls. Runningthorn ran her tongue over her bottom lip, an involuntary habit accustomed from her father. It was something he did in moments of amusements. After admiring someone for so long, you began to pick up on their mannerisms. The she-cat didn't notice the gesture however. She was too invested in her consultation. "So what's the plan? How are you going to take control of Shadowclan?" "Poison the leader? Impregnate the deputy? Declare yourself Starclan and preach us into shambles." [bg=a68251]