"Why are you so eager to be at the head of the patrol?" Morningpaw asked Quailleap as he started to quicken his pace again, sounding a bit amused. He was about to tell the warrior that he didn't have to lead every one when his mentor nudged him. "Oh, okay," he meowed, ambling after Littlefang. He plopped down next to the tom under the tree, as if about to take a break and rest, but pricked his ears suddenly when he heard pawsteps from behind him and an unfamiliar, wet-fur-smelling scent hit his nose. Peeking around the tree, he saw a tom he'd never seen before stumble over to the trunk and collapse against it into a wet, shivering bundle. The tom's pelt was a dirty cream color, with darker fur on his extremities as well as a dark face, back, and ears.
(@King-R, hopefully it's okay if Maggot stumbled into BreezeClan territory so Morningpaw and Littlefang can find him!)
Softfrost slowed a little so that he was walking right alongside Shrikewater. As they padded side-by-side, he picked up the scent of a vole, and started heading towards it. He spotted the furry little creature scurrying amongst some fallen leaves, and, crouching to the ground, began to silently make his way toward it. Though he couldn't hear, he had learned quite quickly and naturally how to move without making a sound, keeping his movements light and graceful. He waited until the vole had stilled before pouncing on it, killing it before it had a chance to run away.
Lilacfeather couldn't help but purr a little as the tom listed off various names. "Yes, I suppose it is a bit silly," she admitted. "When I was an apprentice, I'd always hoped I'd be named Lilacclaw." Although she'd never talked to the leader about it, she'd always guessed that she'd been named Lilacfeather after her long, feathery fur, particularly her tail. After all, what other meaning could "feather" have? It certainly didn't seem to denote a skill the way "claw" or "fang" did. She'd grown used to the name by now, but part of her had always wished for a fiercer sounding one.
Magpieflight's gaze seemed to burn right through Tinybird. "If you really are a tom, then what does it matter what others think?" he challenged. "The truth is, validation from others means nothing. It might make you feel good or bad, but at the end of the day, what more is it than another's words, another's opinion? It has no effect on whether or not you're actually valid, only on whether or not you feel valid. Even if every cat in the Clan thought I was a she-cat, I wouldn't be any less of a tom." He glanced up at the clouds as he went on. "Thoughts, feelings, desires...They never really changed anything, and they never will. Some believe otherwise, but they're wrong. You are what you are, regardless of what anyone else thinks, feels, or wants--including you. Simple as that." He turned once again to face Tinybird. "So, tell me, Tinybird--do you think you're a tom?"
MistClan
(Since Flarepaw and Lostfoot's rper is taking a break, I'm going to pretend the patrol never ran into them.)
Darksun continued onward, keeping pace with Dovestream. She was still having difficulty scenting the air, but kept her other senses all the more alert to make up for it. Still, not wanting to walk in awkward silence and wanting to have a more lighthearted conversation with her Clanmate after the heavy one they'd had that morning, she asked, "So, Dovestream--are you thinking of ever taking a mate, having kits again?" She knew Tigerpaw had just left the nursery a little more than a moon ago, but she also knew that the transition from kit to apprentice tended to be a bittersweet one for their mothers. She'd known quite a few she-cats, even those who didn't originally want kits, miss being queens once their little ones became apprentices.
Once the rabbit had been safely buried, Graytiger continued on the hunt for more prey. Still, he kept an eye on Ripplewhisper, making sure that the tom didn't look too exhausted. "Doing okay?"
Ferretclaw felt her ears grow a bit warm when Weaselshadow looked her way, having caught her watching him, but they quickly cooled off once she realized he was only trying to signal to her that there was prey nearby. Glancing around, she spotted the distinctive green head of a male pheasant poking above the grass. The bird was walking around, but slowly, seemingly relaxed and unaware of the danger that was lurking nearby. She slunk toward it silently, through the tall grass, occasionally peeking her head out just high enough to make sure it was still there. Then, waggling her haunches, she leaped out of the grass. The pheasant was immediately aware of her presence and started to make off, but she landed on its back before it could go very far. The bird fluttered around, desperately trying to escape, only to go still when she sank her teeth into its neck.
Minkface nodded in agreement. It was hard to argue with that; rabbits were easily some of the best prey. But not wanting to simply copy the tom's answer, she replied, "I love duck. A few too many feathers, but the meat is too good."
