He'd take any opportunity to steal away from camp and enjoy the serenity of the marshlands that he lived in.

Camp was a rather undesirable place to reside for a cat of his caliber- it was too noisy, and drama seemed to linger around every corner. The cherry-colored warrior preferred the peaceful companionship of nature. Instead of listening to apprentices babble, or warriors gripe, he preferred to hear what the river had to say. It did not attempt to start fights, or spread gossip, or even spread terrible news about impending war. No- it merely gurgled and babbled, lapping at his paws with its icy waters and entertaining himself with its little minnows. 

His pace of life, perhaps something of old souls, was one that seemed to have gone forgotten. Cherryrain had little ambitions- he liked his steady life, and was satisfied with what he'd already accomplished. Ambition and war had cost him enough- it was because of prejudice and drama that he was without his sister for company. The warrior took in what he could every day, admiring the trees, enjoying the song of birds...one never knew when it might be the last song, or the last breakfast, or the last walk.

Although he was young, Cherryrain was certainly an old soul. His vocabulary exceeded most, and it would seem that the energy of youthful cats left him on edge. Rather than sparring or competitively hunting, the young warrior preferred to observe the birds, or study some passing insects. 

Quietly, the pastel tom settled on the river's bank, allowing a single paw to dangle into its water and soak up the sensation of cold. Slowly his pale eyes closed, breathing in the scent of moistened earth and enjoying the song of scavenging spring birds.