Open to Join Sixth Sense

Tiptoe through the murk and mire
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Duskmantle had waited a few days before moving. Duchess’ words had clung stubbornly to him, curling around his thoughts until no matter how he tried, they refused to release their hold.

The northern farm lay much closer than he expected, right across the Thunderpath at the tip of ShadowClan territory and above WindClans. He moved carefully each step chosen with purpose pausing often to draw in the scents of the warm, damp greenleaf air. Too many paws had stalked this land in recent moons and Duskmantle was in no rush to bare his throat to any murder rogue wandering loose.

The day itself was deceptively warm from the recent drizzle. Duskmantle slowed as the first wooden shape of the farm came into view. It rose against the horizon, weathered beams framed by swaying weeds weathered fence. His ears flicked back against his skull, and he sank lower into the grass to scan. Duskmantle narrowed his eyes, cornflower gaze sweeping every shadow of the farmstead. He would not walk blind into this. He needed more information, and he'd get it here.