Recent content by ThistleBack

Kittypets lay the foundation for Skyclan, a necessary root system below the great tree of power that looms from their side of the border. Thistleback thought the misleading feeling of superiority those felt over kittypets would always be their undoing, to underestimate was to be narrow in your...

Stories, something he often enjoyed listening to on the streets as a stray kit. Any opportunity to find an old timer, kittypet or not to spare him a few words of wisdom of tale. He had always been a moth to that flame, a seeker of endless information, and to live behind the eyes of another. As a...

Killers they both were, in different respects but tied in the act of tooth and claw delivering a soul to an eternal sleep. He could still taste the copper of Kuiper’s blood, still feel the large cat succumb to his jaws clamping down on his throat and nails digging through vitals. A part of him...

TEXT " SPEECH " — forty-eight mns. EVENT TRACKER | IMPORTANT INFO — Former Lead warrior of Skyclan 12.22.22 - 06.2023 — Father of Coyotecrest, Eveningsun and Scorpionpaw — mentoring Teeveepaw formerly Snowpath & Quillstrike — very muscular piebald black and white tom with spiky fur...

He’s prowling the ferns, muttering under his breath as he traces old prey trails. He hated tracking, tedious task that often resulted in long treks across the territory only to end up on a borderline. His temper is short when he has to track for long periods, but he does his best to keep it...

He moves like a shadow, with a skull white muzzle pinched at the bridge of his nose with his sempiternal gurn. Bowed knuckle paws carry him, this thorn furred being flickers through the pine kingdom. A wisp of purple, withered collar wagging at his scarred neck. He walks with Bat, as camp is lit...

" Dawnglare " he greets the large willowy-furred wizard of herbs and word, confusing strands of emotional depth, perspective, and indifference sewn up into a cat. Won by the affections of a Windclanner so long ago, and having finished the training of his perfect little mini-me with Blazestar’s...

The eternal infantryman he was, his eyes never did drift to the deputy’s branch as some others did. His eyes were on the ranks and the network of clan morale and training progressions. His days in politics had left him with headaches, but he didn’t feel ashamed to step away from his duties for...

" the fuck did I just say " he grits his teeth, having instructed Bat to stay at the bottom of the tree in case the squirrel climbed down instead of out. He watches the earthen hued tom bolt away, Thistleback growls and disengages the hunt. Whipping on his heels. Kicking off the branches...

‘will they like me?’ he’s stirred out of his soldier-like march as they enter camp, eyes always scouting the skies and nose always taking in the chance for predator or rogue. Grey eyes shift to seafoam, clearly gripped at the scruff by uncertainty and a due nervousness. Thistleback offers a...

Orangestar gets to her thorn branch throne with movements impossible not to notice, stiff and wavering. The deputy's branch, remains empty as the announcement begins. The mention of windclan to be the one to save her life, well it is not surprising for him. His prejudice for Windclan ran...

He’s stood there, eyes narrowly drifting off as the mocking display of warrior-aged foolish vaudeville continues like a circus on fire. Thistleback’s eyes close, and he reopens them with a side-eye to Twitchbolt who gives him a smile that thanked him wordlessly. No, it was Twitchbolt who...

Returning home with cuts, an inevitable outcome of a run-in with rogues especially some so daring. He angrily makes his way to a clearing in camp and slams down on his ribs tail lashing like a whip, uncaring to the lack of cooling shadows. He licks at his cuts with nicked ears folded back...

Leaping off the nettle-laden earth, rotten wood under his paws makes a dull thud as he lands on a fallen log riddled with termite hollows. He stretches his forelimbs with unfurled nails and gives it a few scratches, snagging a few times on the juts as he peers toward the Thunderclan border where...

He could swear steam rolled off his shoulders with how deeply they throbbed, he rolls them with an exaggerated swing every few paw steps as he heads to the warrior’s den. Lacking sleep, his eyes are rimmed red but his limbs did not deviate from course in the way someone as sleepy as he might...