even though it hadn't happened

[tenacious]

Soft sighs of wind rolled across the frozen terrain, carrying countless scents with them. They dumped bits of the various odors into the air, separating the smells so neatly, cleanly, and without a care in the world. The perfumes would never know they had once had another part to them and they would never care if they were able to know, anyway. Though the wind dropped mainly good scents, scents of prey and of home, it bit into the coat of a tom padding slowly across the marshland, his blue eyes swimming with trouble that only came when one felt as if ten cats were sitting on their back. He ignored the scent of a vole that played in his nose, ignored the light salivating that was merely a reaction to the thought of food. Sorrow glimmered in his blue eyes, one of the main emotions. It was not sorrow at a decision, but sorrow for what he would leave behind. The moor was more his home then the marsh would ever be, but that did not mean he could forget it easily. The cats of RiverClan had shaped him. The marsh, the waters, had shaped him. He could hate swimming all he wanted, but Hawkfang would never forget how to keep his head above water. He would never forget how to sit perfectly still so you could dunk a paw into the water and scoop with a silver, slimy fish that would assist in sustaining your Clan. He would never forget the landscape. Would cats from ThunderClan feel the same way? Or would they be able to forget easier?

Hawkfang’s blue eyes closed and he stood with his snout in the air, simply trying to remember the scent, trying to burn it in his mind because, when the time came to leave, it would be all he had left. I do not regret my decision; I merely am sad for the friends and the familiar land I will leave behind. The moor is my home, more so then the marsh, but the marsh had been given the name home far longer then the moorlands. The marsh is familiar, but I do not know the secrets of the barren land.

These conflicting feelings annoyed the brown tabby, for he knew he would go to WindClan and he would serve as a loyal warrior- he would fight against RiverClan, because the cats there would not be his Clanmates any longer. But he was a cat that often weighed every side of his decisions; he hated it at times. Especially now. Especially when he already knew what would be the right thing to do. Hawkfang mimicked the winds, allowing a light sigh to roll from his mouth and into the air. He would have to get back to camp soon; he was chilled to the bone and frost clung onto the tips of his fluffed out pelt. But he also wanted to ignore the familiar for just a bit longer. How could he leave his friends? Granted, Hawkfang didn’t really have many. Really, just Ottersplash, perhaps one of the strangest friendships in the forest…but…still. He would leave. He would. But how? Rip himself away at the Gathering? Of course, there was no other way he could do it; he could not spill the secrets to a cat that may tell a leader and risk everything. He could imagine the harsh stares of those prepared to leave when they realized a Clan leader had found out and spread the news. Worse, the warriors would all know. They were like apprentices, some of them, gossiping all the time! But it hurt. That one way hurt like hell. Even when the act hadn’t been carried out, he felt as if some rival warrior had sunk its claws into his pelt and ripped out a chunk of flesh. Hawkfang flinched; okay, perhaps not quite like that, but he was free to exaggerate at times, right?

Hawkfang dug his claws into the ground before he carried on into the direction of camp.