[open] * never alone for long ---

[scarredface]

[atrb=cellpadding,10,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=rules,none,true][atrb=style,background:#333;font-family:helvetica;text-align:justify;width:350px;color:#4c4c4c;border:5px solid #1a1a1a;] ♦ scarredface there are secrets we still have left to find Everything was cold. It wasn't so much the weather that sent chills down Scarredface's narrow, striped spine. Rather, it was the thoughts that ran rampant through his mind that left him feeling as though he'd been filled with water from the lake, icy-cold and heavy in his limbs and chest. He'd always told himself he'd put them behind him, these thoughts. They weren't worth dwelling over anymore. Thoughts, that is, about Mottledfoot. His former mentor, the cat he'd never known was his father until it was too late. The cat that gave his life to save Scarredface's. It was jarring every time he thought about it, even if the fox attack had been seasons ago and the physical scars had long since healed. It could even be said that his mental scars had as well, as he no longer woke himself up tangled in his nest, gasping for breath, fur spiked up with alarm. And yet sometimes, when he was all alone, those thoughts bubbled up to the surface of his mind like fish seeking food. Sometimes he allowed himself to entertain them. It did nothing to push them away, anyway. They would be there no matter what, and ignoring them wouldn't change it. He might as well come to terms with that which unnerved him so. Scarredface curled his tail around his paws, staring out at the rippling water of the lake from where he sat on the broken Twoleg bridge. A breeze had picked up, blown off the moors; it rippled his thick fur and ruffled his long light whiskers. The sky was overcast, layered in clouds heavy and pregnant with rainwater. Casting his one-eyed gaze to the sky, Scarredface figured it would soon begin to drizzle, and probably turn into a horrible storm from the looks of the darker, more intimidating clouds moving in from the horizon. That was good. Rain meant the remaining plant life that still survived in leaf-fall was restored, which meant more prey. Speaking of prey, Scarredface looked down at a slain rabbit that laid at the end of the Twoleg bridge. He'd caught it by chance on the way there; it'd leapt from the undergrowth, frolicking across the open field with its white fluffy tail held high in delight like that of a deer. It'd been easy to catch, ambushed even though Scarredface had made no effort to stalk it. That's really what prey animals got for not being vigilant. Its mousy brown fur around its throatlatch was stained dark with blood, its legs splayed as though still running. Scarredface twitched his ear and looked back over the lake. He'd take it back to camp soon, and maybe catch some more fresh-kill to bring with it. Scarredface, honestly, was looking forward to the rain, and wanted to feel a few drops across his pelt before he sheltered himself in the camp again. It was probably half-past sunhigh or so, and the light was slowly dimming from the backs of the dusty-grey cloud cover. Scarredface figured a patrol or something would pass by soon; it was likely the clans wanted to ensure their borders were sound before the weather got too fierce. That brought the promise of an encounter with another cat, and though Scarredface had been enjoying the peace and quiet he wouldn't lie and say he wasn't lonely. And so he flicked his tail lightly against the splintered wood of the Twoleg bridge, and waited. No one here was ever alone for long. WORDS 582   TAGS open NOTES not too great, but still.