the voice of my beloved is coming — kes

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    tags ✦ ✧ ✦ Given the recent strife with BloodClan, Shrikecall had decided to invest extra time into training. Constant practice wasn't only for apprentices, and he couldn't afford to freeze in battle again. It was well past midday when the limber tom was finally permitted free time, and after a brief pause to check on his family, Shrikecall began to train. The movements came with natural ease, although he couldn't quiet the pounding in his chest that had begun the moment he slipped into a battle pose, and ended well after he faltered and fell, landing in a position that would have left him open to serious injury in a real fight.


    He swallowed tightly, curling into himself, as though the slight shift would cease the mingled fear and adrenaline coursing through him, and restore him to the homeostatic balance that he ought to have been enjoying. It didn't work, and as he began striding back toward the camp, his dark fur sweat stained, Shrikecall had to measure his breathing, calming it and his heartrate in the manner his mentor had taught him moons before.


    The day had been arranged so as not to give too many cats too much free time together; patrols were staggered, so that RiverClan would always be well defended. He might not have minded if Littlepond was also free, but his mate wasn't to be found. He let out a low, breathy sigh. Shrikecall was a social creature, all things considered, and he preferred not to dine alone. Casting his mismatched gaze around the camp, his attention was finally caught by Kestrelsong, and he brightened considerably. The queen was a kindly cat; although he'd never been extremely close to her, he'd always found that he enjoyed her company. Picking a trout from the freshkill pile, he headed toward the longhaired femme. "Hey. Mind if I join you?"


    kestrelsong ~