lock the door && throw away the key.

[♪ -- s k y ε ™]

Snow had fallen heavily already, and yet more fell still, blanketing the lands below in the cold, white army of frozen droplets. Gray clouds obscured the blue sky, blocked the weak leaf-bare sun from the inhabitants of the earth below, who were hopeful for the slight warmth of the sun, hopeful for an end to nights of starvation, sickness, and painstaking weakening work - but their hope was in vain, as was usual in the winter moons. It was a premature darkness, premature night - but the night is darkest before the dawn, and that was certainly true. When new-leaf came all would be right again, the prey would flourish, and kits would be born. There would be enough food for all, and no harsh winds would cut through fur, chilling them to the bone. Sickness would be rare - all would be right and of that he - who, you ask? The blurred, albeit slender, figure beneath the trees, of course! - was positive as he trudged the land, smoldering green eyes sweeping across the sullen land as it suffered.


He paused, then and pressed his paw deeply into the snow, flexing his claws. It was suffering now, perhaps more than the clan was -- more than he had, or rather still was, for the past twelve moons of his life. Snow packed hard against the grassy, rocky ground that usually was all that could be seen underpaw of the clan cats, sheltering creatures who lay deep underneath from the clans of the hungry clans. Even in the darkness of the night, where small puffs of air could be vaugley caught where he released long, tired breaths, it was hard to believe - or at least, to him it was - that this iced landscape had melted in so easily with the formally striking colors (as if it was already the middle of leaf-bare, rather than the start of it, as it was) and he sighed quietly, almost thoughtful as he observed it. The small, flickering flakes of ice that drifted down to the ground below barely lasted a second before being camouflaged into the ground's soft, frosted pillows of white.

Then, suddenly breaking out of his reverie as if such a thing hadn't occurred, the figure moved lightly abound the snow, the harsh wind whipping his pelt in whatever direction it wished, barely impacting his golden-amber fur, a laughable and almost shocking contrast to the winter wonderland around him even in the darkness. He skidded against the snow again, sharply breathing in the cold air as the the cool, frosty winds stinging his already-flushed cheeks, the billowy breeze making him shudder.

He stared, soundlessly, ahead -- as if it wasn't just nothing and as if there were some strange creature, the remenents of hatred burning beneath closed eyelids and against his cool, electric-green gaze. The tom clutched the snow and flung it, hissing quietly in some hidden emotion, in an unseen direction before whipping around to continue his motions once more. He almost appeared to be dancing in the snow - leaping and skidding in it, more like it - but he wasn't. Just running. Nothing special.

But beautiful, little Riddlepaw couldn't help but look special doing it.

and the world falls in all around him.

[/font][/center]
[/blockquote][/size][/color]

[♪ -- s k y ε ™]

[ anyone? ]

[River]

Curse it all. Just... damn it all, that was all there was to say about that. Trudged out here to do some last-minute border checking (what he was thinking, he'd never know), eventually got turned around by that blasted wind and the flurries of snow it picked, and he'd been out here in his old bones and shaggy coat for the Stars know how long. Kah! They probably hadn't even noticed the old cat had gone, for all they knew he was out frozen to death in some place. Kah!

He would've opened his mouth and spit, but he was quite sure his saliva would instantly freeze and leave him with a rather nasty case of icemouth. His mother had died of icemouth, after all. It was a terrible, terrible, dreadful imaginary affliction.

The tom's hilariously tiny, rounded ears were flattened against his oddly flat, squashed face. A masculine, short square muzzle was wrinkled in the feline version of the most hateful frown ever to see existence. His large rounded eyes were narrowed into tiny black-rimmed slits, flicking from side to side as he swung his head in front of him, trying not to lose his bearings as soon as he'd gotten them.

Stocky, thick-boned legs pushed aside the snow with ease, as he wasn't light or quick enough to stay even remotely on top of the deeper drifts. His body seemed to be simultaneously out of place and perfectly built for the snow: his body was like a snowplow in the most blunt sense, but his spotted pelt wasn't something that marked him as something that came from frigid regions. Oh well though.

Almost home, hopefully, if Riverclaw was where he thought he was. Almost home and back to some sheltered place he could curl up in and safely glare at the world outside for being crazy enough to be outside. Maybe he'd scrape together some extra leaf litter to make it a bit warmer, and catch a little shut-eye as well; rest and warm these bones before they decide to go on strike or some such non- Oi!

His lips curled up in a snarl and he found himself shaking snow off his face. And it wasn't the kind of dusting one got from a snow-blown flurry either, that little gift for his face was thrown, his grumpy old man senses told him so. He blinked clumps away from his eyes, angrily swinging his thickset head and neck around until he caught sight of a bounding figure.

Riverclaw had to stop for a moment, bemused by the movements and having to make sure his eyes weren't tricking him and making the wind take on a feline form. The snarl loosened as he puzzled over it, but as soon as he was quite sure that it was indeed a cat instead of some spirit of the silva, it came right back in full force. Grumpy old man he was, after all.

"What are you doing out here!"