Somewhat Damaged [closed]

The early morning sky was already flavored with the troublesome promise of rain, a relatively unfamiliar dampness that intermingled heavily with the faintest remnant of the late evening chill- the final traces of the lingering Greenleaf heat slowly dissipating somewhere just beyond the horizon, the prominent tension of the day already curling heavily alongside the crisp taste of steadily encroaching Leaf-Fall. The barley discernible rumble of a brewing storm, undercut by the faintest dashes of lightning upon the dark smear of the horizon, had easily kept Shrikecall from easing into any semblance of sleep.

Shaking away the nagging prickle of uncomfortable tension that was already building just below the surface of his overly unkempt fur, Shrikecall dropped an angular shoulder into the soft sands of the camp floor, flopping down onto his side with all of the grace of a blind rabbit attempting to navigate the talons of a hawk. The lingering tension and poisonous bad-blood blossoming between himself and Heronstar had hardly been seen as anything but a public affair, a perpetual cloud of misery hanging over the slight cure of his shoulders. Letting out a grandiose sigh, laden with sour undercurrents, the wild tom threw an idle glance in the direction of the entrance to camp, reduced to haplessly waiting for Whitepaw to approach.

Whitepaw came out of the apprentice den with a big yawn as he padded towards shrikecall. Today was going to be his first training and the little fluff ball of a cat couldnt wait. His striped tail swayed in excitement as his mentor came into view.

"What will we be doing today, Shrikecall?" He mewed happily, looking up at his mentor as he did.