angels with their wings glued on [smashed pumpkins]

[GRAVELSNAP]

The turning of the seasons has invited new activity into the horseplace, strange activity. Soon after returning to their territory, the moor runner had noticed that new orange rocks were placed around the fences of the horseplace, and only a few days later they had spotted strange shiny skins floating in the wind. They are just as confused by the new developments as they are intrigued, so when their patrol passes by the horseplace, they are keen to slow down and take a closer look when they spot movement. Far from the barn, farther into the grassy fields than the twolegs normally stray, stands a pair of the smaller ones. Kits, they think. Young twolegs, but clearly not too young to hunt on their own. They each hold sticks, and they surround three of the odd orange rocks on the ground. They don't have the chance to ask what's going on before the carnage begins.

The beasts each lift their sticks in tandem, and then bring them down upon the orange things. Gravelsnap gasps, ears pinning themselves against their skull, and takes a flinching step backward. The brutality does not stop even as they look away, and when their gaze drifts back, the orange rocks are no more than mush on the ground, and the twoleg kits are walking back toward the barn, sticks coated in the blood of their prey. "What in the stars are they doing?" Their voice is low, hushed; they worry that if they don't keep it down, they will be seen. And the last thing that they need is to be chased down by a horrifying two-legged creature.

Still, their curiosity tugs at their limbs like the strings on a puppet. They cannot resist the urge to approach the scene of the murder—what kind of prey did the twolegs hunt, and why did they leave their kill behind after working so hard for it? Why was their prey left to sit at the perimeter of the horseplace, to begin with? To Thriftpaw they murmur, "I'm going to check it out. Follow if you want, but be quiet." Against their better judgment, Gravelsnap slips from their hiding place, slinking carefully through the tall grass.

When they reach the scene of the carnage, they have to steel themself so they don't retch. The scent is awful, though they are surprised that the iron tang of blood doesn't fill the air around them. The orange rocks are split apart into chunks, mush splattering across the ground nearby. Gravelsnap isn't sure what to think, torn between horror and curiosity. They turn to the next member of their patrol, hazel eyes narrowed. "What do you make of this?"

// apprentice tag @Thriftpaw​

[ you put the fun into dysfunction ]​

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[Bearflight]

—————————————————————⊰◈⊱————————————————————
He walks faster than his mentor does out of eagerness, but does not push past Thriftpaw and keeps to the older apprentice's tail as he follows along. His distraction proves to be his undoing as he is looking elsewhere when the sounds of impact ring out through the air and the rosette tabby gives a brief jump in surprise though he manages to maintain his footing and not topple over. Bearpaw's fur prickles and he turns to lick his shoulder in an attempt to calm himself down before scurrying along after the other warrior and his charge to examine the area once it was cleared of two-leg kits and their loud noise making.

When the black and white tom speaks he turns to look for his mentor, he has no idea what to make of it and has no commentary to give outside more questions to add to the growing amount forming in his mind.
"Brightshine! Come look what Gravelsnap found!" He is hesitant to go too much further into the mess, the graveyard of caved in gourd skulls and disgusting orange pulp that spotted across the grass - if he didn't know any better this scene might be more grizzly than he first thought but he had an odd inkling that this was not some horrific murder scene. The strange orange things grew around horseplace didn't they? He had no idea what they were called but was it murder if it was some kind of plant? Did plants feel pain at all? Bearpaw finds he doesn't like this train of thought so he shakes his head to remove it and instead lifts a paw to tentatively prod at a pile of the string bits on the ground. It was soft, had little teardrop shaped bits in it and smelled oddly sweet and earthy. "Is this two-leg food? Are they hunting these?"

◈ ——— it's easy to explain ◈ ——— 'cause this world's not tame (little fang, little fang)

• Mentor Tag: @BRIGHTSHINE!
• 
  
  
  Bearpaw
  —⊰⋅ Apprentice of WindClan
  —⊰⋅ He/Him
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ SH Chocolate Rosette Tabby w/blue eyes.
  

 

[SPARROWBREEZE]

Though Sparrowpaw tries her best to keep her distance from the border between her old home and her new home, there isn't much she can do about it when she's on patrols. And with the growing activity within her birthplace — the increase in movement from the barns, the slowing down from her patrol — the brown tabby's heart beats fast as amber gaze watch, as down-soft ears listen.

We should go, she wants to suggest as they peer over at twoleg kits running at the outskirts of their territory, as they brandish sticks, aim them toward strange orange rocks — strange orange prey. Impact causes her fur to bristle, and her paws to stagger back in alarm, but as she moves back, the rest of her patrol only seems to move forward, to walk near danger. Sparrowpaw has no choice but to follow, to keep herself in the safety of her patrol, paws gingerly walking toward the now-quiet scene.

Her nose scrunches up at the putrid scent that the orange mush emits, an odor that only grows the closer they get to the crime scene. "I... I don't think a twoleg would even try to eat something that smells this bad," she says, though she still searches for a reason for the scene she'd just observed, "Maybe... Maybe it's to keep other twolegs away?"
​

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[HEAVY SNOW]

Heave Snow and Brightshine have spent many seasons on the plains that was now WindClans territory. They had, on plenty of occasions, always loved coming to horseplace to watch the going ons (usually from a relatively safe distance and in the shelter of tall grass) This custom was not something that was new to him or to Brightshine, in fact it was quite common this time of year. He understands, though, why the younger cats of the clan would be confused or frightened even. If he did not know that the spectacle before them was normal then he would feel much the same. "The twolegs call these pumpkins" he explains to the group as he comes to stand beside Bearpaw. "Every year they put little faces on them and then when they start to turn to buzzard food they either throw them out to the chickens or their kits come out here and do this. Happens every leaf-fall" he has seen it plenty of times. "Theres nothing dangerous about the stuff thats left over but I would still stay away from the twolegs." He had never trusted those funky creatures that walk on two legs and sport pelts on top of their heads only. They were strange, confusing and he would rather be caught dead then ever be found getting pet by one. He and most of the clan can agree on that, at least.

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[SEDGEPOUNCE]

Not that Sedgepounce doesn't give his elders proper respect or anything, but he gains a whole new appreciation for Heavy Snow when the older warrior imparts the patrol a bit of fall-seasoned wisdom. (Not to imply that Heavy Snow is an elder, either. Just older than Sedge. But he thinks that if he were to say this all out loud, Heavy Snow would just laugh and swat his ears instead of actually getting mad).

He's crouched in the grass with the rest of the party, hidden in the wheaty undergrowth. The rancid stench of something rotten catches on the breeze every now and again, though it does little to dissuade his curiosity, peeking through the grassy fronds to peer at the smears of bright orange littering the floor.

"Faces?" Sedge echoes curiously, maw slanting with a smile. He tries to imagine the kind of faces that they could carve just based on the squashed remnants that have already been destroyed. He didn't see any pumpkins on the journey. Then again, they steered clear of twoleg places as much as they could. "Why would they do that?" he wonders, but doesn't anticipate that anyone here would know.​

 

[HARRIERSTRIPE]

"Why do twolegs do any of the things they do?" Harrierstripe grumbles, padding up behind the small patrol and looking at the smashed pieces of orange. Heavy Snow claims there's nothing dangerous about the 'stuff' thats left over but Harrierstripe isn't so sure…. could anything a twoleg left behind be considered safe? "I'll never understand them…" He murmurs under his breath, tail lashing as he looks around to ensure the two legs didn't decide to come back.

☾ INFO BATTLE

• 
  » Harrierkit . Harrierpaw . Harrierstripe
  » WindClan Warrior
  » He/him
  » A black and chocolate chimera with golden eyes.
  » "Speech" ․ thoughts ․ attack
• 
  » A foe who uses jeers and jaunts to distract his opponents.
  » Excels in using terrain to his advantage.
  » Fights to outwit and see another day.
  » May powerplay minor harm. Can powerplay healing

 

[Morningsong~]

Morningsong is nosy. That is why when he hears his clanmates baffled at something, he comes to investigate. What he sees is twolegs being oddly enthusiastic about destroying these poor orange objects. He blinks. He had never seen such a mess. So much goop spattered about to the sound of childrens laughter. He doesn't know what to make of this at all!

He listens to his clanmates talk as he observes the spectacle when Heavy Snow explains that this is apparently a normal thing that happens every leaf-fall. Huh. "Twolegs are so weird...." He comments. He wonders what the reasoning is behind putting faces on something so smashable....But the thought of putting the faces of people he doesnt like on them and then smashing them in such a manner is oddly satisfying! Perhaps that is why they put faces on them!​

 

[RUMBLERAIN]

Rumblepaw, much like Morningsong, is also nosy. Their curiosity, however, brings with it a degree of apprehension that their Clanmate does not seem to share, and the apprentice's fur is fluffed up around their neck and tail suspiciously as they approach. Dutifully, they listen to Heavy Snow as he explains that this happens every year - but more than that, they're pleasantly surprised to finally have a visual idea of what pumpkins look like. The warriors mention them sometime, mostly in the context of the Horseplace, but they'd never seen one until now.

"They smell awful. Can they be eaten?" They meow. Despite the wrinkle of their nose, the glimmer in their eyes is of kitlike wonder. Is it edible? It probably wouldn't taste too good, but it might. Their tail flicks, Rumblepaw struggling to maintain a cool facade as questions and scenarios start to crowd their mind. They look towards the warriors. "Maybe they'll rot faster if the kits smash them?"​