𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 ❖

[whispersome]

☽ NIGHTFALL
She • Warrior • 34 moons
TAGGED. Anduin • MENTIONED. Sinbad, Bourbon, Fang, Vulturesong, Azriel • LOCATION. Camp

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Wind rippled through sleek black fur as Nightfall sat beneath the mid-morning sun, as still as any statue around the park. It was quiet, with only the distant singing of birds ringing in the air and even that starting to die away as the sun grew brighter and the clan that had taken Central Park under its claws stirred. Nightfall liked to think she thrived in silence, and it was certainly pleasant upon her ears now. She wasn’t sure she liked, however, the recent inclination toward introspection she’d had in it.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ It was nothing she could fight, however, and reminiscence swept over her with as much force as the wind. Not long ago had she even given up her previous name for the one she now held, and Nyx, even if it wasn’t as distant to her as the one she had been born with, felt almost foreign to her now. It wasn’t necessarily that Nightfall felt like a name she’d always been meant to have, either—it was simply hers now, and most of her wanted it to be hers for the rest of her life. Another part of her, however, was tense at the thought of the implications that brought with it.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Just moments prior, she had extracted herself from the briars they’d taken for dens. The still unconscious Robinsong’s warm side pressed to hers had given her pause for a heartbeat, although it was a position she was used to waking up in by now—before they had slipped into Sinbad’s ranks, the only way to retain heat and keep themselves hidden had been to huddle close together. Brambleblaze’s participation in keeping such matters had been reluctant, so it was no surprise she kept as far away from the rest of them now (though she was still always closest to Nightfall and Robinsong, and some mornings Nightfall had also woken to weight framing her on both sides).

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Sleeping in close quarters like that was an extension of trust in a way even counting on another in battle wasn’t. Nightfall was settling into the rhythm of things as a warrior of Sinbad’s clan, but still, she found it difficult to settle down enough to sleep in a den full of cats she didn’t fully trust yet, if ever she would. It was still difficult for Nightfall to come to terms with being part of a burgeoning clan. Trust and dependence had never been something to come easily to her—she had always been on her own, and it was only when she’d met the two kits she now thought of as hers that changing that had even crossed her mind. She respected Sinbad, and she had some degree of awe for what he intended to do, not to mention what he had already pulled off—especially backed by, in the long run, far from an exorbitant amount of allies—but some things, she thought with a twitch of a scarred and notched ear, would never fade.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ In the distance, she could see the leader in question perched much the same way she was, facing Bourbon. Nightfall was too far to nod in acknowledgment, and she didn’t want to draw attention to herself, so she stayed where she was, only watching from afar as other cats began to mill about in the sunny languor of the early stretch of the day. None could call FeralClan lazy, but perhaps a slow morning or two was to be expected.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Her neutral stare flickered up when a weight settled beside her, apprehension flashing for an instant before fading in favor of recognition and familiarity. Friendship was something Nightfall was unaccustomed to, her intrinsic attitude and upbringing both keeping her closed off even from the cats she could now consider allies, but she’d struck up something of a rapport with Anduin, who was quiet and steady in a way that well-complemented her own nature. He got on well with Brambleblaze too, which Nightfall suspected surprised her daughter more than anyone. All in all, Anduin was one of the few Nightfall could genuinely say she did trust, although not aloud, and showing it was another story.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Still, she tried to soften the posture that had instinctively tensed up. She met his nod with one of her own and relaxed her shoulders with some force. “Yes, quite.” Her voice had always been low, and as of late its roughness from lack of use—a constant over her younger moons—had eased. Sharp yellow eyes fell briefly shut as another breeze washed over her, nose twitching at the distant smell of rain. “With any luck, newleaf should bring more support to the clan.” Though whether that was lucky on a personal level was more dubious. Nightfall couldn’t help a slight grimace at the thought of having to put her faith in even more strange cats than she already had.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Her eyes narrowed toward Fang, who was talking with—she squinted further—Azriel and Vulturesong. She held her tongue on the latter, some level of respect between them but any pleasantries mainly for Anduin’s sake. “A hunting patrol should be going out soon, it seems,” she murmured, more to herself but still relatively audible. “I wonder if there’ll be any trouble. The changing season may do us as much harm as it will good.”

[ℛσуαℓ ♕]

⋆ 𝐁 𝐑 𝐈 𝐍 𝐃 𝐋 𝐄 𝐒 𝐂 𝐎 𝐑 𝐂 𝐇 X──────
age. 24 moons gender. she-cat rank. warrior who. mercy, open what. hunting where. the lake w.c. 483
──────────────────────────────────

Brindlescorch was only a dark, lithe shape moving nimbly among the trees and bushes that edged the lake in the northwest corner of the park. She moved quickly and with purpose; her senses ranged widely for the slightest sign of danger of which there was plenty. The entire perimeter of the park was bounded by thunderpaths and made the scenic preserve seem like an island in a vast sea of concrete and steel. Here, so close to the park’s edge, anything from twolegs and their dogs to hostile intruders could be stumbled upon if a cat didn’t watch out.

However, the tortoiseshell warrior had some degree of confidence in her course as she’d already patrolled this area earlier. She’d gone out with the dawn border patrol to renew the scent markings that told other felines exactly whose turf they had wandered into and to keep out if they wanted to keep their pelts.

But the start & stop of renewing markers had become a bit tiresome as the sun climbed its way up the sky towards its zenith. Once her group had reached the home stretch of their rounds, Brindlescorch had excused herself to hunt. She didn’t want to take from the fresh-kill pile if she was already out. The lean she-cat also wanted the exercise because she enjoyed hunting & was damn good at it.

She kept up a good pace despite traveling in bursts of speed from cover to cover. This was one of the busiest areas in the park where twolegs brought their cubs and dogs to play. They usually kept to their walking paths or the huge grassy clearing bordering the opposite side of the lake but the more adventurous ones still poked around where they didn’t belong. Her jaws were slightly parted to detect imminent threats when she caught prey-scent.

Her mouth watered as the aroma of grey squirrel filled her nose. They were everywhere in the park and quite plump from all the nuts and scraps twolegs fed them directly from their bare paws. The one she scented was cautiously making its way down its home tree, presumably to forage around the roots for food.

Brindlescorch immediately crouched low to the ground and became stock-still. The only thing that moved where the muscles in her irises as they relaxed & her pupils dilated. She was on the other side of a bush, out of range of the squirrel’s sight & smell but still too far to pounce. Hardly lifting her paws from the ground, Brindlescorch crept forward like a sheet of ice covering the lake.

The smoke-and-ember warrior was finally in place and silently bunching the muscles in her haunches when she parted her jaws again in anticipation of her kill. Every hair on her slightly frizzy pelt bristled so she appeared twice her size & like she’d been jolted with electricity as cat-scent hit the glands in the roof of her mouth. Intruders!

[A m n e s i a]

➳ 𝓜𝓮𝓻𝓬𝔂
xxxxFemale/31 moons/Heteroflexible
xxxxRogue
xxxxNo Crush/No Mate
xxxxtags 》 BrindleScorch

The small molly awoke with a start, the sound of scurrying paws ripping her away from her sleep before she poked her head out of the rather large box she had claimed as her nest for the night. She tensed, a part of her worried it was one of the many cats she's crossed but she was relieved when the familiar pelt of a raccoon ran past and paid her no mind. Raccoons rarely posed a threat to her, well, unless they were desperate for food but that wasn't the case today.

A hum escaped her lips, there was no hope of her falling asleep now so it'd probably be best for her to find something to eat. She nodded to herself and made her way out of the alleyway, surprised to see she was right near the park. When did I get to the park...? The question popped into her head, no matter how long she's lived on the streets she never could fully map out the city and was surprised whenever she ended up somewhere she wasn't expecting.

Without a second thought she crossed the thunderpath, just barely missing a monster that paid no mind to her being, and entered into the small woods at the border near the lake. Yes, she was very aware of the group of cats who claimed the park as their own but honestly? She couldn't give a rats tail about that as food was much more important than worrying about a bunch of angry cats. Besides, I can easily get out of there The cocky statement entered her mind, she began running just to show herself how fast she is.

Skidding to a halt, the scent of a nearby cat caught her attention and her head turned to see a black and orange tail who appeared to be hunting judging by the pose the cat was in. A part of her was tempted to keep moving, not really looking for a fight but the probability that the she-cat was unware of her was exceptionally low.

A lopsided smile made its way onto Mercy's face, if she couldn't simply keep walking she minus well have some fun "well hello there, fancy seeing a fellow cat in a place like this" She began, her voice purposely a bit louder then necessary just to purposely scare whatever prey was beyond the bush to mess with the cat.

[C a s]

⌠☼⌡→ 𝒱𝓊𝓁𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑜𝓃𝑔 → 38 mns | ♀ | Apprentice: | Mate/Crush: | Tags: Fang, Azriel; Robinsong

"𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟’ 𝕔𝕠𝕤𝕞𝕚𝕔, 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕤 -

T h e long-furred warrior dipped her head at Fang’s agreement. “All right, then, I’ll go fetch her, if you and Azriel are ready! I’ll meet you near the edge of the hollow.” She offered Azriel a warm blink of hello, though she doubted the cat would understand the meaning behind it. Instead, she offered a cheerful, “Good morning Azriel! I can’t wait to see how your training is coming along.”

After greeting the apprentice properly, Vulturesong left the two with a quick, “I’ll be back in a moment!” Turning on her paws, the pitch-black she-cat padded towards the warriors’ den. It was cozy in there, at least in Vulturesong’s opinion, and she wasn’t surprised some cats still hadn’t chosen to leave it yet this morning. One of those cats, perhaps, was Robinsong. So far Vulturesong had only spotted Nightfall. The warrior was sitting with her brother, both looking content in one another’s company, and Vulturesong dared not disturb for fear of Nightfall’s wrath. While the she-cat was never outwardly aggressive towards Anduin’s sister, Vulturesong couldn’t help but feel as if Nightfall didn’t quite care for her, and the feeling was mutual.

Her fur pressed into her pelt as she wriggled into the den. Vulturesong stopped and gave her pelt a shake, letting her bright amber eyes adjust to the change in light. For a feline, the dark was welcome - her vision was still perfect, if not more precise, in the lower light. Perhaps that’s why she so quickly picked out her friend’s ginger pelt. In the low lighting, it had faded to an orange-grey color, almost a special sort of silver. Vulturesong wasted no time in padding towards Robinsong’s nest.

Placing a paw on her friend’s shoulder, she gave Robinsong a light jostling. “Robinsong! Come on, Fang and Azriel are waiting on us. We’re going hunting.”

𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟’ 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕫𝕖𝕣𝕠𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕤."

wc: 307

_____________________________________________________________

⌠☾⌡→ 𝒜𝓃𝒹𝓊𝒾𝓃 → 49 mns | ♂ | Apprentice: | Mate: Primrose | Tags: Nightfall

"𝕭𝖚𝖙 𝖕𝖊𝖔𝖕𝖑𝖊 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖆𝖓 𝖊𝖓𝓭𝖎𝖓𝖌, 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝔂 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖆 𝖈𝖗𝖆𝖘𝖍,

F o r a moment, only silence punctuated Nightfall’s words as Anduin carefully contemplated it. He had to admit, the warrior was right, and his tail twitched slightly to show his agreement. New-leaf would bring warmth, less fear of hunger and sickness, thick foliage to line his nest. It would also bring new mouths to feed, and at the thought, Anduin’s nose wrinkled distastefully. “I’ve never been one for kits,” the tabby muttered, his eyes flicking briefly to Sinbad. The tom had a pregnant queen for a mate - a feat which most cats, it seemed, would be thrilled about. Love, kits, all that. Anduin shook his head, the thought rattling around in it like the bowl of dry food he’d eaten in his youth. Until I met her. Until I met Primrose. Do I dislike kits - or the fact we never had any? “More kits...more strays roaming into our territory. You know how warm seasons give young rogues courage they don’t really have. And besides - the group is already big. We’ve enough mouths to feed as is.”

His thought had carried his eyes to his paws, but now he lifted them again, his jaws parted slightly. “Smells like rain.” He fell silent, his gaze following his companion’s. She was indicating the patrol in which his sister seemed eagerly bothering, and his ear gave a series of annoyed twitches. Vulturesong was something of an enigma to Anduin, even after all this time. He was fond enough of her, and he trusted her - she was like the littermate he’d never had, one that
hadn’t gone to Twoleg homes to live a soft kittypet life. Still, Vulturesong had her...unfortunate quirks. Her constant need for other cats’ validation and company was Anduin’s least favorite of them. He loved her dearly, but had to admit when it came to a cat’s company, he had recently found Nightfall and Brambleblaze’s more enjoyable. And less...loud.

The brown-and-white tom flexed his claws in the earth below him. “If they run into any trouble I wouldn’t be too worried. Fang’s got the experience of more than one fight under his belt, and that’s something any cat that looks at him could tell. Vulturesong, though…” Anduin shook his head again, “she’s lucky she’s not going out alone. Most cats would either rip her pelt off or shred their own ears when running into her.”

𝖙𝖍𝖊𝔂 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖆𝖓 𝖊𝖆𝖗 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖎𝖑 - 𝕴 𝓭𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖔𝖓𝖊."

wc: 397

_____________________________________________________________

⌠✯⌡→ 𝒲𝒽𝒾𝓈𝓀𝑒𝓎 → 15 mns | ♀ | Mentor: | Mate/Crush: | Tags: Stoatpaw

"𝑀𝑒𝒶𝓃 𝐼 𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒸𝓊𝓉𝑒, 𝒸𝓊𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝓃,

A t the first word leaving Stoatpaw’s mouth, Whiskey ceased grooming, the bits of dirt on her flank forgotten. Her pale blue eyes hung onto him, meeting his own, almost intensely as she listened. If there was one thing that could be said for Whiskey, it was that she was almost as good of a listener as she was a talker. A purr of excitement rose in her throat, becoming a loud rumble very quickly.

“I better,” Whiskey mewed, and for all her cheery demeanor, it came out as more of a groan. “I’ve had fun learning things from Bourbon...but as much fun as it is, I would love a cat that isn’t my father to be my mentor. It’s a lot of pressure, you know? Especially with him being the deputy and all.” Though it was a complaint, there was still a clear glimmer of pride in the molly’s expression. It had not been long since Whiskey had met Bourbon, only a matter of moons, but still, she had loved every moment of it. Learning how to be a father’s daughter was an easier task than she’d accepted and Bourbon didn’t seem too upset over the thought of having her around. He had accepted her easily, and Whiskey had taken to calling him “dad” when they were together, as best she could remember to anyway.

“Besides - now he’ll have his paws full with you. Don’t forget, though, I’ll still be his favorite!” Whiskey punctuated her words with a flick of her fluffy tail across the tom apprentice’s flank. Her words were friendly, though a glint of challenge shone in her eyes. Whiskey loved a challenge, even if her skills were still only subpar, and her leg injury made fights trickier than they had to be. That was the fun of training, though, for Whiskey - she had to find a way to take every move she learned and rework it to be as easy as possible on her leg.

Whiskey flicked her tail towards Nightfall and Anduin. “I don’t know - one of them, maybe? They both seem like good warriors, but maybe a little...uptight.” The snowshoe-calico mix didn’t know either warrior very well, just that they seemed good at their job and apt to avoid unnecessary conversation with Clanmates. That could mean a very focused mentor, Whiskey thought to herself, nodding slightly. Her gaze trailed back to her father and FeralClan’s leader. “Hmmm...you know, maybe Sinbad could be my mentor. I bet he has the best skills in the Clan - and I bet I could make them better! Or, you know, better for me with this bum leg.”

𝐼 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝓃, 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒."

wc: 447

[razzberry]

❖ — — 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐎𝐍

muscular, shorthaired snowshoe with bright blue eyes
tomcat ∾ 40 moons ∾ deputy ∾ location: hidden hollow ∾ mentions: - ∾ tags: sinbad

Striking cerulean eyes lay witness to the transition over the city and park from dark swathes of the deepest shade of black to the soft puddles of orange, pink and red that teased with hints of the incoming morning. Perched in the highest treetop in the park, nestled on a thick branch safely in the nook where the appendage met the thick trunk, Bourbon had felt a fleeting sense of calm wash over him for the briefest of moments. It was during the serene silence between dusk and dawn that the large cat felt most peaceful. Though with the arrival of dawn meant the start of a new day, a day that would be brimming with duties and new challenges and issues, because Bourbon was not a cat foolish enough to fall under the impression that there were ever days that went by in a flawless fashion.

As the birdsong took over from the where the choir of cricket chirps left off, Bourbon scaled down the thick trunk of the oak tree until his large paws hit the ground below with a deep thud. A moment passed whereas he deeply inhaled with the passing breeze, letting the cool air seep down into his lungs as if reviving them with a newfound essence, then he was on the move. The journey back to the camp where Sinbad had set up as a home hub for the new Feralclan wasn't far from his previous destination and even if it was the snowshoe was capable of covering long distances in remarkable time. Getting a light jog in as he made his way back to camp, by the time he glimpsed the fir tree protruding from a large rock that marked his leader's sleeping quarters he'd slowed to a walk and passed through the concealed entrance to the sight of several of his clan mates already risen and ready to start the day anew.

However before the tomcat could even entertain the idea of grabbing a bite to eat, despite his recent lack of appetite, he felt the gaze of the flame coloured tomcat before he caught sight of him. Turning his head to the side, cocking it a touch to angle his eyes up towards where he knew he would find Sinbad's seated figure, Bourbon caught the tom's gaze and with a curt nod made the little climb up to where he was sitting. "Morning old friend" his gravely meow rumbled in the quiet space around them as the muscular feline took a seat to his leader's left. He had already been mulling over the patrol options during his return to camp and was prepared to get those whom he wanted on patrols, gathered and sent out as quick as possible. "I've got a good idea of who'll be on this morning's patrols, I plan to lead a group to check on our borders unless you need me here" Bourbon continued. He knew that there were a couple young apprentices who would be given a mentor at some point that day, though he had yet to find out when Sinbad planned to have the meeting.

☪ — — 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄

sleek, dark brown tabby maine coon w/ white chest and paws and green-yellow eyes
molly ∾ 34 moons ∾ loner ∾ location: peregrine's greenhouse ∾ mentions: - ∾ tags: -

A shadow passed by one of the old, dusty windows of her dwelling and the hair at the back of her neck pricked up as she scurried for the underside of the wooden bench that lay near one of the nearby walls. Crouching beneath it with her tail tucked under her body, the cat watched with yellow orbs as the shadow halted near the door for a heart-stopping moment before the twoleg continued on it's way. Peregrine waited for a few long seconds before she crawled out from under the bench and peered towards the door. She had seen the shadow of the twoleg bend down for a moment and her curiosity was gnawing at her to see what they had been doing. Leaping up onto the flat surface of the bench and then to the flat extension of the windowsill that ran around the entire circumference of the building, she padded towards the windows nearest the door and lowered her head to peer out of a hole in one of the lower window panels. Peregrine's eyes fell on a shapely tin can that had something inside it that smelled delectable. It was then that she knew the twoleg that had visited had been the one she had seen before that lived nearby.

Peregrine lived in an abandoned greenhouse and the twolegs who had owned it lived just a little ways away and visited often to leave her little gifts like food and even some strange dark blue material that she had never seen before but ended up being quite comfortable to lay on. At first she'd thought that after the first time they had seen her she would be chased out as she had always been before when she thought she had found a safe place to call home, but these twolegs were different. She hadn't ever entertained the idea of trusting the twolegs but these ones had only ever showed her kindness and given her a wide berth for her own comfort.

Leaping down off the landing and slipping through the gap in the wooden door, Peregrine crawled towards the tin can and let her nose sniff a couple times before snatching the edge of the can in her mouth and dragging it through the hole in the door and back into her sanctuary where she could feast on it in peace.

✽ — — 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐔𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐖

thick-furred brown and white shorthair with large golden eyes
molly ∾ 9 moons ∾ apprentice ∾ location: hidden hollow ∾ mentions: - ∾ tags: stoatpaw, whiskey

Sitting with a small vole between her paws, the bicolour apprentice watched the interactions unfold between her clan mates as she chewed on the tasty flesh of her meal. When she had heard that Fang, Vulturesong and Azriel were planning to go out hunting she had been excited to offer to join them as well, though as she watched them head towards the camp entrance realized she was probably too late now. Plus they already had enough cats and Ficuspaw didn't want to impose. Perhaps she could find other warriors she could go out with. Earlier that morning she had heard talk of some apprentices getting mentors later on in the day and to say the molly was absolutely brimming with excitement was an understatement. She had never minded having her training shared between the warriors of the clan, in fact she looked at it as an opportunity to learn different tactics and techniques from different cats who were all skilled in their own ways.

As she finished up her meal and rose to her paws, Ficuspaw gave the fur on her shoulder a quick lick before setting her sights on two apprentices not far from her location. It was Whiskey and Stoatpaw, two other apprentices who were chatting between the two of them. She was sure they wouldn't mind her joining them as she had so many times before. Ficuspaw padded over while they were mid conversation and got to hear they were currently discussing who Whiskey thought she would get for a mentor. "They'd both be great mentor's, in my opinion. Anduin's got a lot of knowledge between those ears and he actually reminds me of my father" she piped up when there was an opening for her to slide in without a greeting. "You're lucky to already know who your mentor'll be Stoatpaw. The anticipation is killing me" she added as she lifted a brown paw to her mouth.

[whispersome]

☽ NIGHTFALL
She • Warrior • 34 moons
TAGGED. Anduin • MENTIONED. Fang, Vulturesong • LOCATION. Camp

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ In the lapse of silence after Nightfall spoke, she was again reminded of why she’d taken so well to Anduin: He thought before he spoke, and they could sit together in stretches of silence without it feeling stiff and grating in the way it sometimes did (due to others’ discomfort rather than Nightfall’s). As she waited, her gaze resumed traveling around the camp. Distantly, she acknowledged the cats scattered across the Hidden Hollow, but her gaze didn’t linger for more than a heartbeat, and when Anduin did respond, her attention honed back in on him. She gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment at his words and took a moment to think of her own.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ “Kits aren’t always a bad thing,” she mused, thinking of the days when she thought the opposite, only to have that opinion come crumbling down when she’d found two miserable kits almost as small as her paws, “but I do agree with the overall sentiment. We are likely enough in number than force to quell any unwanted advances, though.”

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ She paused, mouth tightly drawn shut. As confident as the words came across, doubt crept into her tone toward the end—were they really? They’d taken Central Park, yes, but their numbers were still relatively few, even if they were more than most groups of strays Nightfall was familiar with, and more than a couple had been wounded in the battle. She, for one, had earned a few new scars for the collection that covered her body. But had the battle been a matter more of luck and good timing than actual skill and power? Was it really something they could replicate if need be, or did their streak end here?

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Nightfall shook herself. She’d left behind the days in which those sorts of thoughts were not only normal but encouraged, because the chances of optimism working out well were beyond slim. Now, she was part of a clan, as ragtag as it was and as at each other’s throats some of its members could be. And by Sinbad’s creed, that clan could and would depend on one another. True trust and loyalty could still be earned rather than automatic, but at least on a surface level, Nightfall had to have some degree of faith in her clanmates and their combined might.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ She was still a long way from fully believing that, but reminding herself of it was, Nightfall thought, the best she could do. With a deep breath, she loosened her shoulders. Rain had long been a sign of bad luck for her—ever reminding her of a drenched pelt, nights of restless and almost nonexistent sleep, and the threat of sickness that more or less foretold doom—but now she let the scent calm her.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ A soft huff of breath fell at Anduin’s words, not quite a laugh—Nightfall wasn’t sure she could laugh—but tinged with amusement nevertheless. “Fang is certainly capable,” she said with underlying respect; Fang looked out for her daughters, and in turn she granted him more trust than she would for his strength alone. “Hopefully he will handle things more than the others. It looks as if Vulturesong has dragged Robinsong into things as well, and the two of them together…”

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Her words trailed off, intent clear, and she grimaced. Though it was difficult to put such feelings into words, she did love Robinsong, and she couldn’t help feeling fleeting envy for her more open, warm nature—at the same time, though, Nightfall’s upbringing had influenced her too much to not partially view that as a weakness. She’d slipped into the habit of defending Robinsong to Brambleblaze in those awful few moons they’d spent on their own, but in her own time she’d been unable to disagree. Now, her shoulders tensed again with the tight defensiveness she’d grown used to feeling on Robinsong’s behalf. Someone else saying that Robinsong was soft and unfit for her duties, after all, was quite different from that thought flickering through Nightfall’s mind.

♫ ROBINSONG
She • Warrior • 14 moons
TAGGED. Vulturesong, Fang, Azriel • MENTIONED. x • LOCATION. Den → Camp

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Dreamless sleep wrapped around Robinsong, warm and comforting. It had been a while since she’d been so comfortable—sure, the last chills of leaf-bare still hung in the air, and it had been raining lately, but an actual den was far more comfortable than the places Robinsong had gotten used to sleeping. Her first few days here, she’d been too put-off by the unfamiliarity to get any rest—now, sleeping in was as natural as breathing.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ The paw on her shoulder had her brow furrowing. With a start, Robinsong jolted awake, sliding upright with the instinctive panic that had been all but trained into her. Subconsciously, her claws shot out, and Robinsong’s wide eyes shot around, taking in bits of her surroundings without processing them, scraping her peripheral vision for dangers. A dog snarling, or a Twoleg about to discover the place they’d spent the night, or any other number of reasons there would be for her to be shaken from sleep. When it settled, however, her gaze fell upon a familiar black pelt and warm golden eyes.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ In an instant, Robinsong’s guarded shock gave way to the cheer she was so known for. The tension melted from her shoulders, and her whiskers twitched, smile half-apologetic. “Oh, Vulturesong! Good morning!” Her head dipped in respect—however close they were, Vulturesong was still her senior by quite a few moons, and she’d be remiss to ignore that. Upon processing Vulturesong’s words, her ears twitched excitedly. “Ooh, really? That sounds great!” Fang was another warrior with a fair bit of experience on her, and Robinsong could see the warmth that lurked beneath the power he wielded easily; Azriel, she hadn’t interacted much with, but his speech and past intrigued her all the same. “Can you tell them I’ll be there in a moment? I’ll catch up with you as soon as I wake up fully.”

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ The dust at the corners of Robinsong’s eyes had yet to fade, and her vision was still a bit hazy. She shook the remaining sleep from her pelt, not waiting to see if Vulturesong had listened, and blinked hard a few times to further shake her stupor. Robinsong supposed that was something to take as a small victory—that she was comfortable enough in this den, around these cats, to slip into such a deep sleep—but at the moment, it just embarrassed her.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ By the time she brought herself to her paws, Robinsong was still a bit numb in her lower legs, and she shook them with distaste. While she tried to get herself going, she glanced around the den. Nightfall had already left, Robinsong noted with a hint of disappointment, but the remnants of warmth against her side suggested Nightfall hadn’t left that long ago. Brambleblaze, too, was still around, tucked into a shadowed corner with her body curled up into a tight ball. It was the same rigid posture she’d kept for moons, although Robinsong didn’t need to see that to know that Brambleblaze wasn’t nearly as comfortable here as she was. At first glance, she was fast asleep, but Robinsong knew Brambleblaze (or at least liked to think she did), and the pace of her breathing suggested otherwise.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ With an expression as bright as the sun above, Robinsong nudged her sister with a paw. “Hey, Brambleblaze,” she said, trying to speak low enough to not wake anyone else still lingering, though her whisper didn’t quite qualify as such, “are you up?”

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ A single yellow eye cracked open, fixing Robinsong with a look that she thought was meant to be intimidating. Then it snapped shut, and Brambleblaze curled tighter into herself with a noncomittal grunt.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Robinsong supposed that was a no. She sighed almost inaudibly—Brambleblaze had always had a temper and a cutting tongue, reflected now by the name she’d taken as a warrior, but the last few moons had seemed to worsen her sharpest traits. There were other things she had to focus on right now than her sister’s prickliness, however, and so Robinsong scurried out of the den to follow Vulturesong’s lead.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ The wind made her wince when it hit her face, but Robinsong took it with only a slight huff at the inconvenience. It was energizing, if nothing else, the last push Robinsong needed to perk up to her usual state, and there was a natural spring in her step as she bounded up to Fang and Azriel. She bowed her head toward each of them as she had toward Vulturezong—Azriel was an apprentice, but he was older than her just as Fang was, and he deserved that respect whether or not she technically outranked him, so it only seemed right. “Good morning!” came her cheerful voice, ringing in the morning air. “I heard we’re going hunting?”

☢ BRAMBLEBLAZE
She • Warrior • 14 moons
TAGGED. Open • MENTIONED. Vulturesong, Hibiscuspaw, Anduin, Sinbad, Bourbon • LOCATION. Den → Camp

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Only when her sister and Vulturesong had left did Brambleblaze move again. Relief filled her exhale, which she allowed to become heavier and a hair louder in Robinsong’s absence. Few were still nestled into their dens, and at least Hibiscuspaw was in the same state of contemptuousness that Brambleblaze was, so she took little issue with letting her irritation (and level of consciousness) show more blatantly.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ She hadn’t been awake the entire night, but Brambleblaze had first stirred some time ago, perhaps a bit before Nightfall had woken. Unwinding in such a setting was difficult at best, and more than one night since they’d settled in had Brambleblaze spent countless moments staring into nothingness rather than letting unconsciousness take her. Growing to trust two cats, including one she’d known since birth on account of being biological siblings, was difficult enough—a whole clan of them, another altogether, and the thorns of Brambleblaze’s past were far too sharp to allow her to turn her back with such ease. It was why she slept facing forward most nights, and why even in the deepest of sleeps, her ears were perked straight up.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Now, she cast a baleful stare toward the entrance to the den. The afterimage of an orange pelt almost shone there. It wasn’t that Brambleblaze’s feelings toward Robinsong were negative—on the contrary, she was one of the few in this world Brambleblaze trusted and liked. At the same time, though, her sister’s attitude irritated her; she was so quick to act like everything was fine and dandy now that they were part of a clan, like they hadn’t been left for dead by their birth parents (sure, their mother hadn’t chosen to die, but she had never been the warmest caretaker) and suffered for moons before Nightfall caught word of Sinbad’s endeavors. Brambleblaze resented that as much as part of her naturally wanted to defend it. She could blame it on the two of them being too different, but then, she clashed with Nightfall because they were too similar.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Brambleblaze knew, of course, that she was the common factor there. She didn’t want to be pitied or coddled, as some cats had taken to doing. What she wanted was to be listened to, and especially listened to when she said she wanted to be alone. At least Robinsong had the decency to do as much this morning, though Brambleblaze suspected it was more so because she was too excited to go hunting to stick around to pester her.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Her nose twitched. Such thoughts were unproductive, and frustrating besides. If she was going to wallow like this, Brambleblaze though with a curl of her paw, then some fresh air would do her well.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ When Brambleblaze wove her way out of the den, reasoning that enough time had passed to not bump into anyone she didn’t want to, it was bright out, and quite a few other cats were already out and about. Great, she thought with a flash of annoyance. It was nothing she couldn’t expect from the state of the den, but still, she shrunk a little into herself in hopes it would keep her from drawing attention. She didn’t have the same prowess in stealth as Nightfall, but perhaps her resting glare would be enough to ward off others.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ At least they were all fairly spaced out. Brambleblaze’s shoulders tightened a little at the sight of her adoptive mother in the distance—she couldn’t recall what their last interaction had been like, but with them, it was either fairly positive or overwhelmingly negative—but she relaxed somewhat when she saw her talking with Anduin. And then there was FeralClan’s leader, at the sight of whom Brambleblaze flicked her ears in mild irritation, talking with his deputy. A few apprentices were clustered together, a gathering Brambleblaze wanted to steer clear of even more than Sinbad and Bourbon.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Brambleblaze’s gaze cut from cat to cat. She wondered absently if she could slip out to do some hunting on her own without anyone making a fuss. Her tail lashed as she considered her options with narrowed eyes, paws twitching toward the borders.

[ℛσуαℓ ♕]

⋆ 𝐁 𝐑 𝐈 𝐍 𝐃 𝐋 𝐄 𝐒 𝐂 𝐎 𝐑 𝐂 𝐇 X──────
age. 24 moons gender. she-cat rank. warrior who. mercy what. hunting where. the lake w.c. 294
──────────────────────────────────

In the same second the unfamiliar cat-scent flooded her senses, the owner’s voice piped up in an overly-loud, cheeky trill. Brindlescorch spat a curse as the grey squirrel desperately scrabbled its way back up the tree and out of reach of even her impressive climbing skills. Whirling around, the tortoiseshell warrior snarled out her frustration and hissed ferociously when her eyes found the cat responsible for scaring off her prey.

Brindlescorch’s amber eyes locked onto Mercy’s green ones before breaking contact again to size the intruder up. Fury coursed through the tortoiseshell warrior but it was all she had against Mercy who was a fairly even match. The outsider was built for speed and agility with lean muscles under her silver-and-bronze spotted tabby coat.

Inwardly, Brindlescorch was cursing herself for leaving her patrol. She’d like to see Mercy smirk at a whole group of Feralclan warriors in their own turf. But she wasn’t a coward & was preparing herself to defend her hunting grounds when she noticed the collar around Mercy’s neck. She knew this particular cat after all, and no wonder she’d been able to get under Brindlescorch’s fur so easily. “A Feralclan cat hunting in Feralclan territory? Who ever heard of such a thing?” Brindlescorch replied facetiously.

The young warrior straightened up from her defensive position & simply skewered Mercy with her amber-eyed gaze. “I’m surprised you made it this far into these woods without attracting every twoleg around the lake.” Brindlescorch sneered. “You better run back to your nest if you’d like to keep your fur.” She warned.

As she spoke, Brindlescorch noticed that Mercy wasn’t a sleek, soft-muscled cat that stayed out of the cold and wet in a cozy twoleg nest. But kittypet or not, outsiders weren’t welcome on Feralclan turf.

[ℛσуαℓ ♕]

❧ 𝐒 𝐓 𝐎 𝐀 𝐓 𝐏 𝐀 𝐖 X──────
age. 9 moons gender. tom rank. apprentice who. whiskey, ficuspaw what. chatting where. hidden hollow w.c. 365
──────────────────────────────────

Despite a feline’s natural penchant for gossiping, Stoatpaw hadn’t heard before that Bourbon was Whiskey’s father. The snowshoe apprentice winced slightly, shocked by a sharp lance of envy. Stoatpaw didn’t know who his father was despite his mother, Luna, being around to ask. Every queen had the right not to disclose her litter’s sire and Luna kept her knowledge secret. For a long second, Stoatpaw wished Bourbon could be his father, but reality called & the tom hearkened.

The sun vanished behind another bank of clouds and Stoatpaw thought he could feel something similar in himself which was uncharacteristic. He held still and silent as Whiskey boasted about her kinship. The touch of her fluffy tail made his flank twitch and the challenge sparkling in her blue eyes prompted Stoatpaw to flex his paws as if he wished to claw the sandy ground beneath him.

Normally Stoatpaw was a very unruffled apprentice but something about Whiskey’s easy-going confidence rubbed him the wrong way. Jealousy didn’t aid the matter either but Stoatpaw refused to sulk about things entirely out of his control.

The other apprentice of an age with Stoatpaw padded over to join them & the tom brightened. He liked Ficuspaw just fine and she easily joined their conversation with a compliment that went a long way to soothe Stoatpaw’s bruised ego. Enough so that Stoatpaw was able to pounce on Whiskey’s sudden new interest in Sinbad, their leader.

He eyed Whiskey again, his blue eyes betraying nothing but calm like pools of still water as he considered the size of her ambition. Before he’d been disturbed by unconscious jealousies brought to light, Stoatpaw hadn’t concerned himself much with the lively she-cat outside of friendly conversation & carrying out apprentice tasks. Now he wondered if she was clever enough to be obnoxious on purpose. But he let it go and focused on mastering himself once more.

“Any cat who has Sinbad for a mentor is surely lucky.” Stoatpaw mewed magnanimously. “But honestly all the warriors are skilled, tough cats. Whoever is chosen for your mentors will be fierce and loyal as all Clan cats should be.” He told both mollies. “I almost wish I didn’t know for the surprise of it!”

[ℛσуαℓ ♕]

✸ 𝑺 𝑰 𝑵 𝑩 𝑨 𝑫 X──────
age. 38 moons gender. tom rank. leader who. bourbon, tansysnap what. discussing day's plans where. hidden hollow wc. 811
────────────────────────────────

Sinbad didn’t have long to wait before Bourbon sensed the weight of his leader’s gaze upon his pelt and cocked his head to meet it. Once his summons was acknowledged Sinbad raised himself to his paws again and sat erect.

The large orange tom blinked and replied with a low mew as his second-in-command joined him atop the citadel. Green eyes gleamed in interest as they took in Bourbon’s lean, hard-muscled form while he listened to what the tom had to report. The snowshoe moved sinuously and without any wasted effort; as efficient in body as he was in mind. The ice-blue eyes that shone from his dark-gray face were sharp as his intellect but unsettlingly serene -- Bourbon wasn’t easily rattled or surprised.

These qualities made him a powerful ally and a cat Sinbad was coming to heavily rely upon. After all Sinbad had managed with Bourbon’s help, he had to believe that their relationship was based on loyalty stronger than mutual respect or else Bourbon could easily become a powerful enemy.

But the leader of Feralclan refused to give in to paranoia and dismissed the thought, looking over the Clan once more. He didn’t want that insidious emotion to fester and grow within him like it did in the rogue leaders he’d faced his entire life surviving in the streets. Always, it was paranoia that crumbled the foundations of any successful alliance until it splintered apart into cats looking out for themselves with less than they had at the start. All of the hard decisions and sacrifices Sinbad had made to get to where he was now wouldn’t be undone by doubting his subordinates.

Feralclan had to have loyalty and faith in one another. And perhaps loyalty and faith in something bigger than themselves, too.

“I have no need of you in camp until sunset.” Sinbad intoned in his slightly raspy voice. His green eyes cut sideways to meet Bourbon’s. “I’ve decided to begin a tradition of formal ceremony for various aspects of Clan life. Our Clan mates could do with something to share in that strengthens their ties to one another.” The flame-colored tom spoke matter-of-factly as if he found a bit of ceremony incidental to Clan loyalty.

In truth, Sinbad did find the matter a bit illusory. He himself did not feel any sort of superstitious nonsense when saying oft repeated words or in the hearing or telling of kit-tales. But his Clan mates needed something more than duty to hold them together. For once, every day didn’t begin and end with survival and a cat had the chance to question what their destiny might be. To Sinbad, hunting forest-prey, sleeping with your friends under the stars, and fighting to defend your own territory sounded a much finer destiny than fighting to sleep on and eat trash day-in and day-out. Sinbad didn’t believe in Starclan but joining one’s ancestors to walk and hunt in the skies also sounded much nobler than simply leaving this world when the final blow is dealt.

Despite not being able to truly believe it himself, Sinbad understood the importance of ritual and ceremony to the others. By placing special importance on different parts of Clan life, it made a cat feel proud to hold such a position. By upholding the Clan Code, a cat had something to stand for. Having something to stand for and be proud of made cats loyal. And loyalty was everything.

“At sunset we will hold ceremonies for the younger apprentices and pair them with single mentors. I believe it will speed up their training and help with the patrol schedules. I’ve already decided the pairings and hope you’ll find them agreeable.” Sinbad began before another cat called for his attention.

Sinbad looked down from his perch to see Tansysnap, the cat he’d taken for a mate. Their relationship hadn’t been planned but Sinbad certainly didn’t mind the formidable she-cat’s company. They had a lot in common because of their rogue backgrounds and had grown quite close since she’d joined his Clan. Just now, Sinbad thought she appeared.. disturbed. Something about her was different but Sinbad was distracted with the day’s events. Whatever it was would have to wait until after he’d spoken with Bourbon which Tansysnap didn’t seem to mind. He met her amber gaze and blinked his acknowledgement before turning his focus to the group of young cats clustered outside their den.

“Brindlescorch will mentor the apprentice Turtlepaw and Tansysnap will mentor Ficuspaw.” He continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “I will let those warriors know shortly. I’d like you to mentor Stoatpaw.” Sinbad was still turned towards the apprentices but watching Bourbon now for his reaction. “Fang is busy enough with Azriel so I’ve decided to mentor Whiskey myself. Unless you object.” Sinbad was watching the apprentices again, noting the promise in each young cat.

[ℛσуαℓ ♕]

⚔ 𝐅 𝐀 𝐍 𝐆 X──────
age. 60 moons gender. tom rank. senior warrior who. azriel, vulturesong what. volunteering for patrol where. hidden hollow w.c. 293
──────────────────────────────────

Fang tolerated Azriel’s playful swat good-naturedly and didn’t attempt to nip his hocks or tail as he darted out of the way. The young tom was a bit old for kit-play but Fang figured it was useful to develop his hunting skills by encouraging instinctual behaviors.

He looked away from Azriel’s restless antics to greet Robinsong as she joined the patrol. Her bright ginger pelt was like a flash of flame next to Vulturesong’s black one. “Indeed we are hunting.” Fang confirmed.

And not a moment too soon; Azriel looked ready to streak off. The blue-point siamese looked at Fang with hungry ice-blue eyes. “Patience, Azriel. We must hunt for the Clan before we can eat more fresh-kill ourselves.” Fang reminded him, not ungently.

Fang was just about to ask Vulturesong if they were ready to go when a familiar chirp sounded in his ears. Whitewillow and Fang knew each other long before Sinbad had begun to amass power; quite well in fact. They shared some history and each other’s confidence from time to time. His eyes were bright with friendly concern as he listened intently to her quiet request.

“Of course, Whitewillow.” He mewed. He was not leading this hunting patrol but if Whitewillow’s search took her elsewhere Fang would still escort her. It was a mystery to the old fighting tom how any cat knew which herbs were good for healing or where to find them but he had strong faith in the medicine cat’s use of them. The Clan couldn’t hope to hold their territory long without Whitewillow around to patch up their wounds and treat their illnesses.

“I can escort Whitewillow anywhere she needs to go if her travels don’t follow the same path as our patrol.” Fang offered.