Post by Swanstar on Apr 7, 2007 8:57:41 GMT -5
Poppytail fell into an exhausted heap by the fresh-kill pile, her dark amber eyes narrowed in frustration. The red-and-white she-cat dipped her paw into the fresh-kill pile and hooked a bloodied little rodent—she guessed it was vole from the way the crusty plush coat wrapped around her paw—and slammed it into the dry, lush patch of grass. Before she tore into it Poppytail knew she would have to think of an excuse for eating before putting in her part, but she had one, however bad it was. It was the kittypet’s fault. He prowled the edges of her mind like the last of summer’s mosquitoes. She hated him. Him and his kittypet blood, fouling up WindClan with his kittypet this and his kittypet that and all of his flippity floppity loyalty!
But as a calm wind blew over her spotted back, Poppytail reminded herself that there was no reason for her to be so angry at him. In fact, something made her like him almost too much. It was her joyous, tolerant spirit, always lodged in the top of her outward character. How often she wondered how things would be if he had been Clanborn rang in the depths of wherever, but they were dim echoes among the angry shouts raging a crusade against kittypet blood. Poppytail shook her head with frustration. It was this kind of thinking that had sent the prey scuttling away from her paws and teeth. But it was so difficult to not dwell on the thought of an outsider in the world of the Clans. Hopeless, the she-cat sunk her teeth into the neck of the old vole and snapped hard, licking away the sinews that dangled.
“If only I could bite his head off,” she muttered faintly as she chewed the stale meat.