Lightflood

Lightflood is a thick-furred, white and gray tabby tom with a black hind paw, a long and plumy tail, and bright blue eyes.

## Personality

Extroverted, kind, and talented, Lightflood is a popular cat. He exceeds at fighting and hunting, and he's proud to be a part of MeadowClan. However, he can be overconfident at times, pushing himself past his limit often. He can talk with even the most reserved of cats, and make a mute feel as if they're participating in the conversation. He has a bit of a short temper, and can have large and explosive bursts of anger. He enjoys dragging his sister with him at night when he sneaks out of camp to look at the stars and listen to the sounds that the territory offers, but the exertions usually leaves him tired and grumpy in the mornings.

## Long Posts

### light has a realization, ft. tumblr

They left camp at night, as was typical for them. Or, at least, for one of them.

Neither Lightflood nor Tumblestep had patrol in the morning, so there's no concern over having to get up early. They made their way through the meadows by the light of the rising moon, still bright and full from the recent full moon, stars sparkling far above their heads. As they walked, Tumblestep's jaws parted into a loud yawn.

"You're exaggerating," Lightflood accused.

"I am *not*," Tumblestep argued. "I'm tired."

"You're always tired."

"Only around you."

Lightflood snored, nudging his sister with one of his shoulders gently. She returned the gesture with enough force to make him stumble, making him yelp out a "*Hey*!" that only served to make her laugh. When Lightflood lifted a paw to swat at her, her eyes widened and the darker tabby took off running, leaving her brother to chase after her.

By the time they reached their usual stargazing spot, both of them were panting. They plopped themselves down gracelessly onto the ground, struggling to get their breath back — Tumblestep had her eyes closed, and Lightflood was lying on his back, staring up at the sky. Eventually, the she-cat shifted to lie on her back, blinking slowly at Silverpelt.

After a while of silence, Lightflood meowed, "So, how does not having to train Harenose anymore feel?"

"He hasn't been my apprentice for a while," Tumblestep pointed out.

"We haven't gotten to do *this* for a while," he argued. For the pair of them, leafbare had been a busy season: Tumblestep had her apprentice to train, and Lightflood was put on what felt like an endless series of patrols.

The other tabby huffed, but she responded all the same. "Fine," she mewed. "I'm still busy, just in a different way."

Lightflood nodded his head — he knew the feeling. It had taken him nearly a quarter-moon to get back into the swing of constant patrols after Brackendust earned her name, and he'd gone through the same thing after Smallfoot moved into the warriors' den. Training an apprentice was very different from a warrior's usual duties.

There were another few moments of silence before Tumblestep mewed, "We're senior warriors, now."

Lightflood angled an ear towards her, but didn't take his eyes off of the sky. "Yeah, so?"

"I don't feel very *senior*."

"Of course you don't, *I'm* the older one." He gave an exaggerated, gusty sigh. "*I* have to deal with feeling old."

"You don't know that you're older."

"I do."

Tumblestep ignored him, casting him a glance and mewing, "*And* you're not old."

"I am!" Lightflood argued with a firm nod of his head. "I can feel myself dying of old age!"

"If *you're* old, then *I'm* old," the she-cat mewed, "and *I'm* not old yet."

"*You're* the one complaining about being a senior warrior."

Again, Tumblestep ignored him. "There's still a lot of things I haven't gotten to do, yet," she continued.

Finally, Lightflood turned his head to look over at his sister. "Like what?"

She was silent for a moment, then mewed, "I don't have a mate."

"I don't, either," he pointed out.

"You're a lot closer to having one than I am."

Lightflood only stared at her, one of his ears folding backwards in confusion and face scrunching with the feeling. "Not really."

Tumblestep turned her head to give him a look that was a mix of disappointed and amazed — probably, he guessed, disappointed that he (in her perspective, at least) was acting like a mouse-brain and amazed he could be so much of one. "Oakleaf," she meowed.

*Oakleaf?* he wondered. *What about Oakleaf?*

Oakleaf was his friend. For all that she was quiet, she was quick-witted and was never afraid to joke around with him. Whenever she did, it made a warm, contented feeling burst to life in his chest; just thinking about it made a fraction of it sprout to life. He wouldn't call her gentle-hearted (any cat who was as stubborn in calling him wrong or irresponsible or threatened to side with his sister like she did couldn't have been that), but she was kind: though it was more often aimed at Tumblestep than it was at him. She was a good warrior, too — a talented hunter who had trained a skilled warrior in her turn, and as far as he was concerned, any cat would be lucky to be her friend.

But that's all he was. Her friend.

And he realized, with sudden striking clarity, that he didn't want to be *just* her friend.

She was one of the best cats that he knew, smart and loyal and pretty. It wasn't any mystery how a cat could fall in love with her, really.

He just hadn't realized that *he* had.

"Oh," Lightflood mewed, a bit dully.

Oakleaf, indeed.