Ryefield || She-Cat || ShadowClan Deputy
Under the sprawling branches of an old pine tree on the side of camp, Ryefield crouched low, her calico pelt blending into the mottled shadows cast by the tree. The steady patter of light rain dripped from the leaves above, creating a soothing rhythm that fell around her was pleasant, but she did her very best not to get went. She couldn’t simply hide away in a den to keep dry anymore, there were too many expectations for her to hide every time it was wet.
Ryefield had grown accustomed to the dark very early on in her life, able to see easily even through darkness, the dense thickets of their territory welcoming to her, where the sun rarely broke through the canopy. Even now with clouds shielding out most of the sun, the only thing bothering the deputy was the rain itself. She hated being dirty and wet.
The calico tabby she-cat shifted slightly, her ears twitching at the distant sound of rustling leaves. Ryefield’s mind was always busy, strategizing the next patrol or considering which young apprentice needed more training, thinking about which dens needed cleaned or if anyone needed anything from her. But for now, she allowed herself a brief moment of quiet, watching as the rain came falling to the forest floor.
Bright rays flickered amber as a dark ginger tom with a plumy tail and emerald orbs stepped through the camp entrance. His ears were flattened to his head and his nose wrinkled as he stepped carefully but hurriedly towards the prey pile, where he say two frogs dangling by their legs, gingerly on the pile.
Job dome, the tom turned his gaze up and scanned the clearing. Lanterns landing on the calico molly, Scorchfire trotted towards her, trying not to splash mud around him as he moved.
Upon approach, his head held high, eyes glinting, he cleared his throat. "Ryefield?" He questioned. Truth be told he couldn't image why she wasn't hiding in a den. That's what he'd rather be doing...