.:Dark pathes {oPeN}

[Burningwing]

Where was Creek? Why had she gone? Their kits...scattered across the land, avoiding the barrier that seemed to have materialised between Creek and him. But back, to the very back in the cobwebs and niches of his mind, he could not remember what had caused the yelling match that passed between them. Perhaps it was because of his constant rotation among the clan territories, maybe that wasn't the life Creek wanted after all. Or maybe their kit, Cinnamon, who he had been constantly companioning to ensure the mischievous kit did not waltz into danger, and gradually taken him further away from Creek. At the moment, he could see the young she-cat's russet shape on the top of a mound of dirt, many fox-lengths away, ears pricked and tail wrapped tightly around her neat little paws.

As Mythecho's senses wandered away, he briefly imagined Creeks willowy grey form cresting on the hill, instead of his daughter. He could almost taste her scent, of crab grass and gorse flowers. But a breeze instantly blew the bittersweet thoughts out of his mind, and soon, oh so soon, he was yet again seeking the what had formed the cold stone wall between them. But thoughts like heavy black rainclouds stormed in his mind, of when they first met, her mottled pelt and soft, round yellow eyes as warm as melted butter. She talked kindly, and yet with a twist. As though his thinking had littered the sky, the fluffy white clouds condensed and hissed, spitting down droplets of cold rain down upon his pelt.

His caramel fur was soon plastered to his lithe, muscular frame, and his silvery blue and amber eyes glistened like dew. His triangular eyes swiveled around, trying to pinpoint where Cinnamon had gone. He spotted her padding ahead of him quite aways off, but when to called for her to come back, she simply flicked her tail at him and continued on forward. A lance of frustration heated his pelt, but he shook his head and continued forward through the rain.

The tall golden grass swayed and bent with each raindrop that bettered their surface, and with each chilling wind the grass quivered and rustled as though the lightening that struck the sky had awakened it from a long rest. Mythecho's instincts kicked fear into him, and as he crouched low among the grass, he searched the sky for some fissure out of the dark.

[~ Dusk:.:Moon ~]

A thin tortoiseshell she-cat bounded threw the rain. Her fur was plastered to her frame. She could not feel the rain, but she knew if she staid out too long she could get sick. So she ran. The one cat who could care less about water and she was running. Duskmoon sighed. But something caught her eye and the Windclan warrior slammed to a stop.
Fur?..Caramel fur. Duskmoon's eyes narrowed. she bounded threw the grass only to slide to a careful stop out of claw length from the other cat. "Hello? Who are you?" she asked in a calm but polite voice. She knew the rain continued to fall she could here it hit her and the other cat. She could see it dripping off the grass. But just like everything else she couldn't feel it.