Post by Desert Storm on Feb 4, 2007 17:34:30 GMT -5
The air was thinner here than anywhere else. Once, Storm might have lost his breath and fainted trying to climb the ridge, but not anymore. He reached the top an hour after daybreak, and with the sun at his back, turned to look out over the ocean of red. Like blood, he thought grimly. He remembered seeing a similar sight once, standing on the rocky crags to the north of Rosacre's old territory. The dunes had been like waves in an ocean of blood in the twilight of a red sun.
"Desert wars, forest wars, it's all the same to me..." Storm muttered darkly to himself. In the ruddy light, the dark scar over his eye made his face seem all the more fierce and terrible.
Storm, called Hawkeye of CloudClan, stood as a sentry on HighRidge. Having just been named Deputy of CloudClan less than three days ago, he had come here to stand vigil over his Clan's territory. He had also come to think... and to brood.
The last time he had seen a scene of such horrible majesty had been in the last days of Rosacre, at twilight. Now he looked upon a similar view, but now it was dawn. But it was not so different. Twilight and death, dawn and birth -- they were the same really. The light was red, like blood. In birth and in death, there was always blood. And in a way, death was another form of birth, and birth was another form of death. They were both transitions, and transitions were usually painful and bloody affairs.
Storm, called Hawkeye of CloudClan, stood as a sentry on the ridge with the blood red sun rising behind him and darkly brooded.
"Desert wars, forest wars, it's all the same to me..." Storm muttered darkly to himself. In the ruddy light, the dark scar over his eye made his face seem all the more fierce and terrible.
Storm, called Hawkeye of CloudClan, stood as a sentry on HighRidge. Having just been named Deputy of CloudClan less than three days ago, he had come here to stand vigil over his Clan's territory. He had also come to think... and to brood.
The last time he had seen a scene of such horrible majesty had been in the last days of Rosacre, at twilight. Now he looked upon a similar view, but now it was dawn. But it was not so different. Twilight and death, dawn and birth -- they were the same really. The light was red, like blood. In birth and in death, there was always blood. And in a way, death was another form of birth, and birth was another form of death. They were both transitions, and transitions were usually painful and bloody affairs.
Storm, called Hawkeye of CloudClan, stood as a sentry on the ridge with the blood red sun rising behind him and darkly brooded.