border AIN'T IN KANSAS ANYMORE — loner near border

[BUCKFIRE]

〔✦〕It wasn't a particularly exciting day for Buck — usually he had some sort of idea on what to do, like trying to ride the cows or catching mice in the barn or traveling around the unclaimed lands in search of entertainment. However, today was rather dull. The lands beyond the line of trees in the distance had, for some reason or another, suddenly piqued the tom cat's interest. Wild cats roamed out there, passersby had told him. They had razor-sharp claws and gnashing teeth and threatened any who dared step foot on their border. For generations they had claimed the moors, living under the stars and living off of fresh-caught prey. That type of life sounded intriguing to Buck, admittedly, but it was a lifestyle he knew nothing about. All he had known was life as a mouser and, eventually, a nomad who roamed from place to place in search of purpose ( and adventure ). There was not much adventuring going on nowadays, a sign that Buck should be moving on soon.

However, now was not the time he would up and leave. Buck had to at least see what these "wild cats" were all about; maybe he'd be able to talk with one. Would they understand him? Did they speak in their own tongue? Would they be aggressive toward him? Well, there was only one way to find out. He was not much of a thinker or a ponderer, but a doer.

The brown tabby tom was a thrill-seeker through and through, but—contrary to popular belief—he was not stupid. Buck would be asking for a world of trouble if he just waltzed over the scent markers and acted like he owned the joint. He could put up a fight, but not well enough to defend against stars-knows-how-many attackers. So, the loner strutted casually alongside the reeking stretch of grass, orange stare looking out into the distance to attempt and spot one of these fabled feral felines.

i roam from town to town ( i go through life without a care ) //

• ooc. silly yeehaw barn cat hanging out near the horseplace border :3c
• BUCK — loner, resident of horseplace ✦ penned by beatles
  ✦ cismale / he/him pronouns / 30 moons & ages every 24th
  ✦ single / bicurious & monogamous / open to romance
  ✦ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / underline & tag account when attacking
  — medium combat difficulty / may start fights, likely will not kill
  
  ✦ "speech", thoughts, all opinions are ic
  ✦ biography — msg on discord for plots — toyhouse
  
• 
  
  

  a shorthaired brown tabby with golden eyes. a ruggedly handsome tom, sporting lean muscle and a slightly taller than average stature. there is a nick in his left ear as well as a small scratch on his right lip. he smells heavily of hay and wood chips.
  

​

 

[cottonsprig]

The border isn't far from here. Cottonsprig pats down some freshly overturned dirt, a few sprigs of leaves and flowers thus picked up between her teeth whilst she decides to check it out. DuskClan is still out there, she knows, but somehow she cannot find enough fear to avoid the edges of the territory. Somehow, confronting her own impending doom is worse. Her paws keep her a few tail lengths from the scentline as she vaguely watches it, as if the plants will change and something she needs will sprout up before her. Instead, she spies a brown tabby not far from the horseplace, his eyes turned out over WindClan's territory.

She purses her lips, dropping her herbs a few steps back before properly approaching the strange tom. Cottonsprig still keeps her tense distance, acutely aware of how much she has on the line, now more than ever. He's likely a new barncat, and yet she feels terribly threatened by his appearance.

"You're new," she states, an ear twisting back. She knows a patrol will be coming this way soon - she timed herself to meet up with them by sunhigh, so she wouldn't be declared wandering alone again. Cottonsprig is uncharacteristically cold to the strange tom, eyebrows pinched together, "You're good about the border, at least. Is there a reason why you're scouting us out like that?" The medicine cat does not spit acid like some might, but her tones are not honey sweet or petal soft. Her tail flicks about her legs, and her blue eyes watch him intently.
​

 

[Mossthorn]

Mossthorn cannot say she doesn't worry for the safety of their newly named medicine cat. It wasn't the first time Cottonsprig had been found wandering the territory on her own, but she does often find herself wishing she wouldn't. It wasn't because she found the gray-furred she cat untrustworthy, however, but rather Mossthorn was concerned for her safety. "Cottonsprig, dear, if you had told me you were going herb hunting we could have accompanied you, you know. No need to go out all on your lonesome like this." she says gently as her and the rest of her patrol approaches, her tone not intended to be scolding, and a worried frown creasing her features. Her slate hued gaze then flits to the cat across the way, as if she had just noticed that there was a stranger there. "Hello, there, you're one of those horseplace cats aren't you?" the smell of hay was a dead giveaway, after all.

Mossthorn held no animosity towards the cats of horseplace, they had helped them in their time of need after all, sheltered them when Sootstar's supporters had driven them from their moorland home, fed them, kept them safe and dry, but Mossthorn cannot help the thought that they are no better than kittypets, just with a different name. They may not be as close to the twoleg's, but they were sheltered by them all the same and occasionally even fed by them when mice weren't throwing themselves at their paws. To live such an easy life goes against everything Mossthorn believes in. Cottonsprig had already asked the important question though, so Mossthorn just stands slightly back, patiently awaiting his reply.

// @Grasspaw

( .ೃ࿐ ) watch what happens next

• 
  
• MOSSTHORN WINDCLAN WARRIOR ; SHE / HER; SISTER TO TBD ; MATE TO COLDBITE
  

  A feisty she cat with a heart of gold. Her appearance is befitting her tunneler status, as she stands shorter than most, and her sleek black fur excels at repelling the dirt that she shifts through. Her eyes are such a light blue color that they appear gray and upon her pelt she wears many scars, testaments to the battles she has fought in her lifetime.

  ✦ Peaceful and healing powerplay permitted, no killing, maiming, or injuring without permission
  ✦ Skilled & experienced in combat. Fights dirty.
  

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[BUCKFIRE]

〔✦〕His eyebrows raise slightly as the approaching blue smoke molly addresses him; she does not pose a threat to him, though expectedly she is guarded. So, they spoke plain cat after all! And they weren't a bunch of bloodstained, menacing beasts like some of the rumors he had heard. "As are you, miss." Buck says in response to her initial comment. Well, she was new to him at least. He offers her a smile in an attempt to reassure her that he is not a danger to her family ( were they all related? ). "I was just interested in meetin' my neighbors. A lil' curiosity never hurt a cat, right?" He makes a play on the common saying with a wink; he likes his version more, truthfully. Buck had a strong sense of adventure and he'd never get anywhere if he was constantly cautious and careful about new situations. Some cats had no interest in straying anywhere near this border, but hey, they all seemed pretty decent so far. This was exciting!

Another molly—small with a black coat—approaches next with a youthful fawn tabby alongside her. She mentions the first she-cat's name: Cottonsprig. Funny, her name was like two names combined into one. "Is that what y'all call it? I guess I am." The brown tabby says with a slight cock of his head. Horseplace, huh? Buck knew such places to be called farms, but he supposes that the older she-cat isn't wrong. There are horses at that place, as are there sheep and goats and cattle.

Well, as long as things were all ( relatively ) friendly here, Buck figured that he'd take a stab at questioning these wild cats. "So, tell me this - what exactly is it that y'all do out here?" The tom inquires curiously with a slight drawl. He doesn't know much about the ways of these felines. Where did they sleep? What did they do all day? It was mighty peaceful in this forest ( or it appeared so to an outsider like him ) but that surely meant that the day-to-day around here was rather dull, no?

i roam from town to town ( i go through life without a care ) //

• ooc.
• BUCK — loner, resident of horseplace ✦ penned by beatles
  ✦ cismale / he/him pronouns / 30 moons & ages every 24th
  ✦ single / bicurious & monogamous / open to romance
  ✦ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / underline & tag account when attacking
  — medium combat difficulty / may start fights, likely will not kill
  
  ✦ "speech", thoughts, all opinions are ic
  ✦ biography — msg on discord for plots — toyhouse
  
• 
  
  

  a shorthaired brown tabby with orange eyes. a ruggedly handsome tom, sporting lean muscle and a slightly taller than average stature. there is a nick in his left ear as well as a small scratch on his right lip. he smells heavily of hay and wood chips.
  

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[WEBWING]

〔✦〕The horseplace is an achingly familiar landmark. One that Webwing finds himself at most days, just to relive the memories of laughter and those golden eyes that shone brighter than the sun. He doesn't even need to think about it; his paws simply carry him across the well-traveled path, towards the barn that stands in the distance like a beacon.

The smell of animal manure ain't a pleasant one, but he thinks of it with fondness as soon as it hits his nose. His routine of slipping over the border and to the pile of pebbles which act as a gravestone near the barn, however, is interrupted today by one nosy horseplace resident and the clanmates who flock to him like chickens to a farmer during feeding time. One such clanmate just so happens to be his sister, who he brushes against as he comes up to the scent markers. "Fancy seein' you here," he says to Mossthorn with a smile.

The rest of her patrol, as well as Cottonsprig, receives a brusque wave of his tail in greeting. He lets Mossthorn do the fretting over Cottonsprig's safety; as far as he's concerned, Cottonsprig could do as she pleases, now that she's an adult. That's her business, not his.

Webwing's attention wanders onto the barn cat, his ears perking. Much like his sister, there's no ill feelings held towards the cats of horseplace... albeit for a different reason than hers. His late lover had shaped his opinions of the horseplace into something overwhelmingly positive, and he holds onto that, even seasons after his passing. "Well, nothin' interestin'... Chasin' hares, checkin' borders." It's all so mundane, so routine... Or it's hell in a handbasket, with no in between. Webwing rolls his eyes subconsciously. He decides to spare this stranger the nasty details of WindClan's growing list of struggles, only because he doesn't feel like souring his own mood with them.

"Some of us even take up the life of a mole." He nudges Mossthorn's shoulder at that part, a playful gleam brightening his hazel eyes.

nostalgic for the good times ( like our dreams walked out on us ) //

• ooc.
  
• WEBWING —— moor runner of windclan . npc x npc . littermate to mossthorn ✦ penned by nico
  ✦ cis male / masculine terms / 63 moons
  ✦ single / gay / open to romance
  ✦ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / underline & tag account when attacking
  —— intermediate opponent; relies on speed and dirty tactics to gain an advantage, but impulsivity leads to him making reckless mistakes.
  
  ✦ “speech”, thoughts, all opinions are in character
  ✦ biography — msg nicolovesdilfs on discord for plots — toyhouse
  

• a shorthaired blue tom with high white and hazel eyes. small and wiry, webwing is the picture of a windclan warrior. wisps of dark blue fur are like trails of smoke, wild and windblown. white engulfs his facial features, chest, and the majority of his lower half—except for his tail, which only flaunts a tuft of white at its very end. his hazel eyes are sharp, holding a melancholy that contradicts the smile he often wears.

​

 

[cottonsprig]

Cottonsprig finds her tail's flicking to become more erratic, if only for the moment that he speaks. She's visited this barn several times since they chased the loyalists out. At first it was only to garner more herbs for their stores, as the grass surrounding the horseplace seemed to hide plenty of useful wildflowers. And then it came to frequent visits to Junco (who now lives half-sightless in their camp.) She almost rebukes that she's not the new one, he is, but she holds her tongue. The details do not matter.

"Curiosity has done more harm than good," her stomach churns and she swallows thickly. Once a child of boundless curiosity, now an adult plagued by her ignorance - she does not relent to Buck her issues, only holding her stature as paws pad over the crested hills and a soft, womanly voice chides her for being alone. Blue eyes waver on the stranger for a beat longer before fluttering to Mossthorn. "I like walking on my own," she says to the tunneller, her nerves untensing as more cats come to stand by her side. One tom couldn't overpower the lot of them - even though it seems Buck is more of the friendly sort.

Webwing speaks next, and Cottonsprig again decides against picking an unnecessary attitude. "I'll ask for you next time," she murmurs, relenting her position in the forefront to the two older cats. Her gaze fixes over the herbs she's dropped a few steps away for a moment before turning back to Buck. "Have you lived at the horseplace long?" It's her curiosity that negs her, flicking her tail yet again. "We've each seen this border dozens of times, but I don't think I've seen you here before." Plenty of barncats have grown curious and joined WindClan ranks, but not as many have inquired about them prior to committing. It's... new. New and uncomfortable.​

 

[BUCKFIRE]

〔✦〕Sheesh, there sure were a lot of these folk, weren't there? They just kept weaving through the moorland, seemingly spawning out of nowhere. In the back of his mind, Buck wonders just how many cats were living out in the wilds ( and he doesn't know that there are four other clans, either ). "A mole? How's that? Y'all live underground or something?" Buck inquires to the older blue-hued tom, who he notices has a similar manner of speaking to him. Huh; had he come from the countryside as well? On the verge of asking him, Buck's attention is then grabbed by the blue smoke molly again. She appears more guarded than the other cats present despite him making amiable small talk. Maybe she wasn't a fan of strangers, which was fair enough. "I beg to differ, miss. I wouldn't be standin' here if it hadn't been for curiosity." He'd probably still be back in his barn, lazing on a bale of hay and watching the goats circle around all day.

Cottonsprig asks about his residence at "Horseplace", and it indeed hasn't been a very long stay. "No, not for long. I arrived here just under a moon ago, I'd reckon." Buck informs. Everywhere he stayed was temporary these days and this farm was likely to be no different. The brown tabby enjoyed traveling, but admittedly, something in his life was still missing...

Anyhow, the male suddenly realized that he had yet to formally introduce himself to the wild cats. "Where are my manners? I'm Buck." A mocha-colored maw parts to speak before he dips his head in greeting to the group. Molten hues flick toward the blue molly again, "And you're... Cottonsprig?" Her name, the only one mentioned thus far, had piqued his interest. "Do the rest of ya' have funny names, too?" The loner inquires with an amused smirk.

i roam from town to town ( i go through life without a care ) //

• ooc.
• BUCK — loner, resident of horseplace ✦ penned by beatles
  ✦ cismale / he/him pronouns / 30 moons & ages every 24th
  ✦ single / bicurious & monogamous / open to romance
  ✦ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / underline & tag account when attacking
  — medium combat difficulty / may start fights, likely will not kill
  
  ✦ "speech", thoughts, all opinions are ic
  ✦ biography — msg on discord for plots — toyhouse
  
• 
  
  

  a shorthaired brown tabby with orange eyes. a ruggedly handsome tom, sporting lean muscle and a slightly taller than average stature. there is a nick in his left ear as well as a small scratch on his right lip. he smells heavily of hay and wood chips.
  

​

 

[WEBWING]

〔✦〕Webwing chortles to himself at the question posed. He'll damn sure take the opportunity to poke fun at the tunneler's way of life; the importance of the role ain't to be underestimated, of course, but hell... He just can't understand how any cat would want spend their days wanderin' in the dark, cramped spaces of the tunnels. Just thinking about it makes him feel claustrophobic. "Just about it," he replies, shooting his sister a look full of teasing. "Ain't the lifestyle fer all of us, though... I don't think I could squeeze myself down there, even if I wanted to." Webwing might be small, but he ain't that small. He's more liable to get himself stuck if he tried to go down a tunnel.

Cottonsprig holds onto her skepticism, to which Webwing flicks his ears back and shakes his head in exasperation. What fun is life without curiosity? If it hadn't been for curiosity, he would've never known a world beyond the marshlands, nor would he have met the cat who changed his life, for better or for worse. A hint of his annoyance shines through in his tone when he mutters, "C'mon now, get yer tail outta that twist."

The barn cat, who belatedly introduces himself as Buck, confirms that he's just moved in. Webwing's ears perk back up, his exasperation forgotten. That does explain why he's never seen him before, despite his frequent visits to the horseplace. "Well, it's nice t' meetcha, Buck." His voice returns to its typical cordiality, giving Buck a small smile. This loner seems friendly enough; Webwing hopes that he'll become a familiar face around the border.

Do the rest of ya have funny names, Buck asks, and Webwing's teeth flash in an equally amused grin. He'd thought their names were equally as strange, when they'd first received them. It took him a couple of moons before saying Mossthorn instead of just Moss became natural to him... Though, he never understood why the name changes were important. There was nothing wrong with their names before.

"Sure do," he nods, raising a paw to his chest. "Webwing."

nostalgic for the good times ( like our dreams walked out on us ) //

• ooc.
  
• WEBWING —— moor runner of windclan . npc x npc . littermate to mossthorn ✦ penned by nico
  ✦ cis male / masculine terms / 63 moons
  ✦ single / gay / open to romance
  ✦ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / underline & tag account when attacking
  —— intermediate opponent; relies on speed and dirty tactics to gain an advantage, but impulsivity leads to him making reckless mistakes.
  
  ✦ “speech”, thoughts, all opinions are in character
  ✦ biography — msg nicolovesdilfs on discord for plots — toyhouse
  

• a shorthaired blue tom with high white and hazel eyes. small and wiry, webwing is the picture of a windclan warrior. wisps of dark blue fur are like trails of smoke, wild and windblown. white engulfs his facial features, chest, and the majority of his lower half—except for his tail, which only flaunts a tuft of white at its very end. his hazel eyes are sharp, holding a melancholy that contradicts the smile he often wears.

​

 

[SINGEDTHROAT]

︿─︿.𖥔 ݁ ˖︿─︿ They emerge from the tunnel entrance dirtied and displeased, a thin and scraggly rabbit in their jaws. Worse still, they realize that there is a nearby patrol of moor runners, and among them, his ðir's former apprentice-turned-medicine cat, and their fellow tunneler Mossthorn. Fortunately, the group has their back to them, so there are not as many eyes bearing witness to their disheveled state and pitiful catch. But Singedpaw is not a silver lining sort of cat, and the patrol's focus sours their mood further. It is a barn cat, possibly even one of those who gave shelter to WindClan during their rebellion, though Singedpaw wouldn't recognize him either way (and in fact, he reveals himself to be new). What is truly irritating is the exchange between Webwing and the— the Buck, carried on in accents that have never been especially kind to Singedpaw's ears. They first encountered it in Houndthistle, whose slow, dawdling speech hadn't actually irritated the younger apprentice, perhaps because he had seemed so impressive a warrior in spite of what Singedpaw considered a speech impediment. The sentiment is not something they have grown out of in the moons since.

They drop the rabbit back into the tunnel for safe-keeping and toss their head, freeing some of the debris wound in their thick fur. Buck calls their names funny, and that proves to be too much for Singedpaw's pride to ignore. Buck is taller than Singedpaw, though not as tall as Sunstar, and certainly not very brawny. Two facial scars, so he may not be completely new to scuffling. For the time-being then, they will stay their claws. "Any name would sound funny out of that mouth. Did a snail teach you how to speak?"
​

SINGEDPAW of WINDCLAN TUNNELER. WOLFSONG X SUNSTAR. 11 MOONS OLD, THEY/THEM. BORN 09.08.2023.

.𖥔 overview .𖥔 physicality .𖥔 personality .𖥔 interaction

• — Sibling to Bearflight, Rivewhisper,, Sunlitwing, & Featherspine. Named after their pelt-color to invoke ember-like imagery.
  — Formerly apprenticed to Smallwhisker (Sootstar loyalist). Somewhat of a reluctant tunneler; wants to be renowned in battle like their sisters Rivewhisper and Featherspine.
  — Uses they/them pronouns only; will not respond to the use of any others. Flirtatious but without true intent of romantic pursuit.
• — Small, as is typical for tunnelers. The runt of the litter who has greatly taken after Wolfsong's height, but with Sunstar's slimmer structure; fur gives the illusion of a bulk that doesn't exist.
  — Eyes are a striking, frost-hewn blue paler than both their parents' eyes, and without a tinge of green. Often narrowed shrewdly, which is primarily a habit picked up from Wolfsong.
• — Singedpaw seems to take after the snake's skin fed to Wolfsong. Their friendliness is the swaying grass that the snake's slither matches in rhythm, not quite a lie but not quite honest, either. Warmth is a guise for a very watchful and even somber psyche. Like their parents, they are incredibly proud, but without their temperance. Slights to their dignity may very well result in a physical altercation. A bit haughty and rude when irritated.
• — Peaceful actions may be powerplayed, such as shoulder brushes, light bumps, and playfully intended gestures. Violent or harmful actions can be attempted with a ping for this account.
  — Please note that while peaceful actions can be powerplayed, and while most will be received well, there is a chance Singedpaw will become discomfited and react aggressively.

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