you're crashing [o]

[thistlestorm - *]

Today, there probably wouldn't be any Howlingsong.

The thought weighed heavy on his shoulders as he approached the RiverClan border with heavy steps, gazing out past the barns and pastures, the empty feeling of longing battering him between the ears. He could almost scent the tabby she-cat, feel her tail twine with his, hear her honey-smooth voice...

Thistlestorm was unsure how something so wrong could be so right. The warrior code was key, but his heart was more important. He followed its beat wherever it led him, whether it be to some unknown territory or even to the moon itself. It was a dangerous way of living but he enjoyed every moment of it.

The WindClan tom rounded the wooden fence that kept the horses all in one place and he looked at the tall creatures with vague interest. ( He'd graciously accept anything that would take his mind off the RiverClan beauty that he called his love. ) They were gathered up for something, it seemed, being led into a barn by the loud crooning of a two-leg. Thistlestorm snorted, "Big and dumb." He'd spare his attention for something that didn't follow orders from the noisy, hairless brutes. Once he'd seen a kit or two playing around the broken half-bridge before falling in. It gave him something to laugh at, but the sight wasn't worth it at all when they decided to chase him.

With the two-legs and horses out of sight, the place felt too quiet. Crouching low while staring up at the top of the wooden fence, Thistlestorm leaped with a grunt, propelling from the ground and up onto the beam. His paws scrabbled at the railing as the thick-set tom forced his rear upwards a little less gracefully than most, but was satisfied with the view from his perch. He could see the reeds that lined the lake and the beginnings of a few trees that settled on their neighboring Clan's territory. If it was possible, Thistlestorm would spend his days, evenings, and nights here without a care, sleeping easy and hunting the dozens of mice that skittered around carelessly.

He lifted his chin, tongue flicking over his nose easily. Really, nothing would be better than a nap. Flattening himself down along the fence, his front paws tucked underneath of him. The warrior's tufted brown ears perked, alert, before settling. Here, he was comfortable - he felt safe.

And if anything decided to bother him, Thistlestorm had claws and fangs that he would be more than happy to show off.

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