[closed]

[.:Lion:.]

The taste of cool air was soothing to the black tom's senses. He padded without much purpose, though his attention was unwaveringly focused on detecting any prey nearby. Sunlight drenched his shoulders in its glow, unsatisfying and cool in the brisk Leaffall wind. But the tom's thick fur kept him warm for the most part, and he liked the cold all the same. It made him feel more alive. Each breath scorched his lungs and made his paws move with more vigor. His muscles felt wiry and tense, ready for action. Every move he made was sure and energetic, and his mood was elevated, despite the cold air and the hard ground underpaw.

Darksear heard something nearby and his attention was immediately drawn to the source of the disruption. He saw one of his Clanmates--Fawnfeather--hunting quite unsuccessfully. He watched as she missed a mouse and plunked down in front of the hole to wait for it. Not a very sensible plan. He thought. The tom was a bit surprised he had not noticed her before, but he was upwind, so she would be more likely to notice him as soon as her attention could be diverted from her chase. Bearing this in mind, Darksear continued on his way, not wanting the usual look of fear and mistrust to ruin his good mood. It wasn't his fault that he was born with a rotten father and a face that could scare badgers. The tom had a deeply accented brow, which made him look like he was constantly glaring with his sharp green eyes. He looked grouchy and mean but this was not the case. Still, even his Clanmates didn't really take the time to notice what he was like most of the time. They'd rather just assume the worst and send him off on lone hunting patrols because they didn't know what else to do with him. The tom bit the inside of his lip in frustration as he stared hard at the path ahead. At least then Fawnfeather wouldn't think he was glaring at her and she might not show any signs of his Clan's general grudge against him. Darksear's shoulders slumped upwards a little self-consciously, but this made him look (unbeknownst to him) meaner than ever.

[.:Lion:.]

Darksear started at the sound of another cat's voice. He turned more quickly than was probably necessary, his narrow, green eyes flashing as he took in the cat who had called out to him. He saw that it was just Fawnfeather, and she did not look any less afraid of him for calling out a greeting. But he supposed she was a flighty sort of cat, from what he had observed, and he tried to make himself look less mean as he straightened and dipped his head politely.

"Greetings, Fawnfeather," he meowed, his deep voice humming in his chest like a soft earthquake. His mother had often told him that his voice was what other cats liked. "It's a pity no cat gets to hear it, what with you being so quiet all the time!" she'd sigh. Darksear supposed his voice just wasn't as harsh as his face. It was smooth, honeyed, with a soft inflection that certainly did not match the intensity of his stare. Darksear rarely spoke, though, so most cats did not realize the soothing effect of his voice, or the gentle way with which he spoke. Yet another example of their misunderstanding of him.