fear and loathing.

[Tiercel]

this river is wild.

A large black kitten paced across camp, his tail standing straight out behind him, his entire form tense. Each time he reached the edge of camp he turned on his heels, kicking up a puff of dirt, and padded back in the opposite direction.

The young tom was the color of a moonless night, with two glaring exceptions: the one paw dipped in pure silvery gray, and the one irregular wing-shaped patch on his shoulder.
His eyes, one fierce yellow, the other sharp blue, flared against his dark face.

Tiercel had been here almost two days--two long, sometimes-terrifying, sometimes-infuriating, sometimes-fascinating days since his traitorous sister had turned her back on her Clan and her family. Tiercel was here out of obligation, and because he smelled a rat.
It was his intention to shake his sister out of whatever screwy trance she was in and take her home. It was, however, a task made difficult by the fact that Tiercel had not spoken a word to Peregrine since they had returned to camp.

Right now, as he often was, Kestrel's son was in a towering temper. His body buzzed with latent, pent-up fury. He longed to vent his anger on something, anything, but his paws were tied.

Stuck in the BoneClan camp. This was worse than the time his mother kept him in the nursery for a solid half-moon after he jumped at Aunt Kanji from behind and shouted "I'm a BoneClanner!". By a long shot.

His sharp white claws slid out at the thought. He reached the verge of the camp and turned, his tail whisking at the dust in his wake, stabbing the ground with every step.
Tiny, inexperienced (but no less savage for it) growls built and faded in a rhythm in his throat.

This was not fair.

[/blockquote]

[Peregrine]

She couldn’t tell him.

Ears lay everywhere, and she knew…they would be carefully watched by the Boneclanners all around them. So she just couldn’t tell her dear brother that he heart still, and always would, lay in Risingclan. That she hadn’t betrayed them, that she had a plan, an idea and was doing her best to work towards a goal that would benefit them – and possibly even Boneclan too – in the end. Not telling him also made it seem more real – his anger and hate were genuine; whereas if he merely acted, the ploy could be sniffed out quickly and both eliminated.

She couldn’t tell him.

…and it was killing her inside.

Little Peregrine was infinitely much more patient then her brother was – she knew he would come to her before she went to him. Maybe there would be a way fro her to tell him without really telling him, some way that he could look with unshadowed eyes and just…just understand. Even so, the smaller sibling lay just at the entrance of the den that they had been taken to by Sharpfang that first chaotic, terrifying night – her own mismatched gaze following her brother’s every pace from where it was placed in her paws. Half cast into shadows as she was, she looked much smaller, frailer, then ever before – just a lone, pale grey, blue-grey marked kit. That was all. She was just a kit, who only wanted to fly, who wanted to be something outside the fact she was the great Kestrel’s only blood daughter.

Her heart wanted to fly. But why did it have to be so wrong?

With pricked tipped ears and sighing softly, Peregrine closed her eyes and buried her face in her paws; to all pretenses appearing to go to sleep from her nocturnal position at the den’s entrance.