smoking gun [sparrowpaw]

[AMBERLEAF]

we've lost it all, the love is gone

The orange of her eyes matched that of the rising sun on the horizon, blazing with crimson and purple and pink and blue. Early morning in ShadowClan territory was her favorite time of day; the forest turned from black to emerald, the owls fell to sleep and the mice came to play. The night's silence and sense of emptiness transformed in the matter of moments, coming alive once again to a splendid chorus of birdsong and euphoria. And in the winter, when the snow fell and the snakes went to hide from the cold, everything gleamed with promise of new life in the months to come. Icicles hanging from the branches of the trees, the vegetation becoming meager hunting ground.. Amberleaf loved it all the same.

The sweet scents of the snow-laden forest were strong today, thankfully. Though proximity to the Twoleg Path was never comfortable for Amberleaf, she dared its' reaches today to hunt. The Twolegs tended to venture away from their den on the outer rim of ShadowClan territory whenever winter approached. They were like geese, migrating south (it was south, right?) for the winter. This thought brought a small huff of laughter from the Warrior she-cat, which really was nothing more than a silent exhale of frosty air out of her nose. She wasn't much one for humor unless another spoke it, and in times of hunting or battle, she frowned heavily upon it. Especially during hunting. Especially when she was staring down a vole whom wasn't paying enough attention. Especially when she was edging closer.. closer.. closer.. close enough.

Her pounce was fluid and easy, leaping straight forward onto the vole clear across the Twoleg Path itself, her small paws securing it while her teeth dug into the back of its' neck. The warmth and the lush scent radiating from the fresh-kill made her belly grumble slightly, made her aware yet again that she had not paused to eat this morning. So be it. The Queens and Elders got first choice of the meals in the cold seasons, as they always should. The she-cat paused when the vole finally died, washing her paws with smoothe scrapes of her tongue and dragging them across her face. Sparrowpaw should be meeting her here soon, or at least be waking up. The lazy apprentice was a hassle these days, Amberleaf mused. But she was still an apprentice, and should be getting to her training. For today, perhaps it would be hunting. Or even a spar, depending on how long she made her mentor wait.