Recent content by hitch

SkyClan. That's what it was called, but Hitch finds himself more interested in how easily the sun-accented cat perches in the tree. The branches seem sturdy enough for ample climbing, and he wonders whether it's a common skill— maybe that's what they're named after. ClimbingClan or TreeClan...

Still no answer from the rock of course, but then there is a voice; it bounds through the foliage with a cheeriness that sets Hitch's shoulders relaxing as the owner steps toward him. Appearances can be deceiving, of course, but he can't summon any suspicion when faced with such an easy...

It's startlingly green here. His twolegs keep plants within their den, tall and sprawling with thin blades like the legs on one of those wispy spiders, though far less interesting to toy with. They're kept separately from each other, alive but tamed and contained— not all that different from...

. . PHYSICALITY NOTES PERSONALITY NOTES

A warm breeze learns the shape of ShadowClan's border, and heats its breath on every complaining monster darkening the black road. It is early still, not quite bright enough to pale the sky light blue, though not so dark that eyes glint in every muddy thicket. This is the sort of weather and...

Small impressions of furless toes litter the damp soil. Spindly and broad despite their slighter size, the unique, dragging trail of prints through mud is unmistakably a frog's path. He follows it with his crimson stare, squinting just a tad, and his pursuit of the frog's ranging leap is...

Mud and marsh grass cake his broad paws. He stares at them dimly, hazy-eyed, counting the wispy, green blades plastered to each toe until they blur together and he can't distinguish them or his paws from the dark, wet soil. The droning buzz of insects and chattering birds bleed into one...

He believed Comfreypaw would remain in camp during these recent upheavals. ShadowClan is, as always, messy and fraught and Comfreypaw has become one of the few faces that Rosemire wants to see. Withdrawing from everything is not so unusual for him; he's done it several times, and he will again...

They still have missing kits and a murdered warrior, but at least yellowcough was booted off the list— and it can't be understated how relieved Rosemire is that Comfreypaw's made it through. She was sick for so long and other cats died in less time. One day StarClan will get their paws on her...

Most scars, even the most grotesque and gruesome, go relatively unseen in ShadowClan. He can't speak for the other clans, obviously, but in all his moons here, he can remember someone asking about his throat only once: the young Ghostpaw had simply been curious, nothing more. Even frazzled as he...

Cicadastar and Distant Cicada have always been two separate people to him, even though Rosemire did not know either of them well enough to say whether the spiteful monologuer he watched at Gatherings was always there. Sootstar speaks well of him, already in the past tense, while a RiverClanner...

He idly paws at a small twig protruding from the mud on his other leg, though because the paste has solidified, he thinks freeing it would mean tugging the patch off completely. Rosemire doesn't want to apply another layer again, so he just has to hope there aren't any kits eager to run his way...

Whatever's going on between the WindClanners, Rosemire doesn't want to get involved in it. Maybe the dark feline simply dislikes Heatherpaw, as he called him— except his comment directed at Cottonpaw seems quite...pointedly amorous. Is this young love and jealousy? It's almost amusing in its...

Rosemire wonders whether he'd be chased out of ShadowClan if he took Chilledstar by their shoulders and shook them. Ashenpaw, too. "Use your eyes, kid," he says from behind the apprentice, his own stare tracing every face in the sea of cats. "You really think they would bring their kits and...

He wonders if the other clans are in the same shithole ShadowClan is. Yeah, they've all got yellowcough on their tails, but he remembers the leafbare when he felt his ribs each time he breathed, and how much worse ShadowClan looked at the Gatherings than even the small WindClanners. Short end of...