Post by ☆ Y e l l o w ☆ on Oct 17, 2009 16:18:57 GMT -6
"Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join beneath the Highstump for a Clan meeting!" Willowstar's yowl carried all through camp, and perhaps a little farther from the border of camp as well. The setting sun dipped lower in the sky by the minute, coloring the air a reddish tint. The leader's silver fur was well-groomed and glossy, brightened by the sunlight. She stood over her Clan, watching as she waited for cats to start appearing from their dens and await the announcement they likely knew she was going to make. It was the night of the Gathering. Although the moon was not yet visible in the sky, many cats knew when the full moon was approaching.
Brackenpelt padded into camp at the front of the patrol, entering just as Willowstar finished her announcement of a Clan meeting. Finally, he thought, suddenly filled with a mix of tension and excitement. He had been gone from camp all day, but his tiredness was gone. Hopefulness of being picked for the Gathering replaced fatigue. Of course, he knew Willowstar usually picked a good number of cats to go, leaving just enough to guard the camp, but he still liked hearing his name being called. The tom padded through his Clan mates, keeping an eye on the Highstump while heading for the fresh-kill pile. He wanted to be full if he went, and he was hungry anyway. Patrols took a lot of energy.
Graypaw finished eating one of his fish when he heard the meeting being called. The Gathering, he remembered enthusiastically. While he observed some of the cats forming a group by the Highstump, he stayed where he was, able to see just fine from the fresh-kill pile. He saw another cat come toward him out of the corner of his eye and recognized Brackenpelt. The big warrior paid no attention to him as he chose a large fish and settled down to eat. Graypaw decided not to say anything; the dark tom scared him. Instead he inched away from the pile and looked up at Willowstar.
Brackenpelt padded into camp at the front of the patrol, entering just as Willowstar finished her announcement of a Clan meeting. Finally, he thought, suddenly filled with a mix of tension and excitement. He had been gone from camp all day, but his tiredness was gone. Hopefulness of being picked for the Gathering replaced fatigue. Of course, he knew Willowstar usually picked a good number of cats to go, leaving just enough to guard the camp, but he still liked hearing his name being called. The tom padded through his Clan mates, keeping an eye on the Highstump while heading for the fresh-kill pile. He wanted to be full if he went, and he was hungry anyway. Patrols took a lot of energy.
Graypaw finished eating one of his fish when he heard the meeting being called. The Gathering, he remembered enthusiastically. While he observed some of the cats forming a group by the Highstump, he stayed where he was, able to see just fine from the fresh-kill pile. He saw another cat come toward him out of the corner of his eye and recognized Brackenpelt. The big warrior paid no attention to him as he chose a large fish and settled down to eat. Graypaw decided not to say anything; the dark tom scared him. Instead he inched away from the pile and looked up at Willowstar.