private BERSERKIR — HOUND

[WOLFSONG]

──⇌•〘 INFO 〙 The decision is made and still Wolf is dissatisfied. Even as their warriors prepare, sharpening their claws and readying their minds for the fang-clamor, he is far more restless than he has been since he was a very young warrior eager to face his parents' killer. This is different. His restlessness is fed not by desire but outrage. Wolf does not expect or yearn for peace and knows better than to expect it, but he is weary of these clans believing they are above the muck as they wipe traces of it from their mouths.

Sunstride would not want him here if he knew. They have plans, and sitting here, squarely in the middle of the bridge crossing the river, could jeopardize those plans. But he was right, wasn't he? Right about Wolfsong's misleading, misled heart.

A stone shifts, disturbed by the river. A heavy, wet thud and Juniperfrost is bleeding on RiverClan soil. They see a malefic face and condemn WindClan, not recognizing they stare into a reflection.
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[HOUNDSTRIDE.]

Sunstride would not be the only one to hate seeing him here. It feels as if the whole world's changed– gone sideways, thrown 'em all off kilter. When he first spat insults across the WindClan border, it wasn't meant for anything. Wasn't supposed to turn to anything. But talking at the Gathering, split-maw grins and the easy sort of talk he's not felt with many in RiverClan for so damn long; stars, he should've known then and there that it was too far. Too much. All sorts of wrong. The company'd been good, though, and it dragged him from deep pit of self-isolation. It would've been nice. To have a friend, even across the border.

Now, though. Now, he's not sure he can see anything but a murderer's kin when he looks at Wolfsong. Wasn't sure he'd be wrong to, either. It's a surprise to see him here now, but not a pleasant one. The stretch of twoleg wood between them, his paws still firmly on his own territory. The sun gleaming on golden fur like he's some sign from the stars. One of trouble, this time. Trouble and death. "You'd best get as far away from these border as you can," he snaps. Earlier on in the night, he would've asked about what happened. Demanded why he'd allowed a killer so close to RiverClan's home. Now, though, Houndstride's not all that sure he cares.

﹥ˏˋ〘  OOC NOTES INFORMATION 〙ˊˎ﹤

• ooc: —
• ──── houndstride. trans male, he - him - his pronouns.
  ──── over three years old. born late december of 2020.
  ──── bisexual but with a heavy masc preference; single.
  
  ──── a chocolate tabby with ( stylized ) low white and intense lime eyes. lean and lanky,  with whiplike musculature and a long, quick stride. hound's notable features include his impressive height, the long scar across the left side of his face from nose to jaw, his very deep, dense fur, and the confident manner with which he conducts himself.
• "speech"

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[WOLFSONG]

──⇌•〘 INFO 〙 He curls his lip like Wolfsong's the crazed cat who dragged someone across the border to bash a cavern into their head. He has done terrible things when his temper's provoked, but he never tucked his tail between his legs like a kicked dog with its mouth bloodied and pretending to be the victim. Because what else could Hyacinthbreath have done for Houndsnarl to look at him like this? What other lies does RiverClan feed each other, and why is it only now he deems me unfit for companionship? Did she make of herself an eight-legged weaver and spin a tale of a one-eyed cat spurring on violence?

"Why? He challenges, his voice tilting higher, not lower, curling with a false mischief. "Do you mean to drag me across the border like a coward to force a battle? Wash your paws of me in the river and watch the current take the truth with my blood?"
​

 

[HOUNDSTRIDE.]

Isn't he just that? Much as WindClan would love to be anything different, much as he may hate that Hyacinth's been allowed a home here– better her than one of the moorland bastards. They'll be nothing but beasts at the end of the day, spitting venom with their words. Though Wolfsong may not have been a WindClanner from the start, he's certainly learned the tongue of one. His words weasel into his skin and dig hooks to the muscle and sinew, jerking him closer with one jagged stride. There's temptation in it, a desire to do just as he says with such cruel mirth. Best to ignore the real words that he says. Lies, WindClanner lies.

Wasn't Hyacinthbreath one of them still, in his mind?

"Least I wouldn't sit there and spout such shit the way you moor rats do. You think you're a step above us, but the truth of it is you're just as spineless as the rest." An absurd juxtaposition, the loss of something that not yet was. For a moment they're both sides of things. Their teeth are at each others' throats, and he's laughing along to his impersonation of a SkyClanner. "That's the truth of it. You're a spineless dog, lookin' for some reason to be the good guy still."

﹥ˏˋ〘  OOC NOTES INFORMATION 〙ˊˎ﹤

• ooc: —
• ──── houndstride. trans male, he - him - his pronouns.
  ──── over three years old. born late december of 2020.
  ──── bisexual but with a heavy masc preference; single.
  
  ──── a chocolate tabby with ( stylized ) low white and intense lime eyes. lean and lanky,  with whiplike musculature and a long, quick stride. hound's notable features include his impressive height, the long scar across the left side of his face from nose to jaw, his very deep, dense fur, and the confident manner with which he conducts himself.
• "speech"

​

 

[WOLFSONG]

──⇌•〘 INFO 〙 For a moment, his posture reads danger, muscles bunched and fur raised, ears twisted back as he bares his teeth, all as though spurred by Houndsnarl's insults. But as quickly as he'd readied for battle, his body relaxes and he laughs. It is not in a kindly spirit. "Is this your attempted reenactment of what you heard? She bruised his ego and he stepped across your piss-stained border?" He sits and leans a shoulder against the bridge wall, loose and limber. "Where did your tongue go, Houndsnarl? The one so clever and entertaining? I miss it." A glint sharpens the curve of his eye. "Laden with the shit you licked from a traitor's arse?"
​