camp beware beware-be skeptical


✦ star-breaker
Aug 21, 2022

This entire clan thing was starting to be more trouble than it was worth. A Marsh colony cat before the great war, Fleece had been named for her curly pelt and dark face resembling a sheep; at a glance her edges are soft and her eyes large and serene but it is a mask she has been unable to shake since early kithood. Inside she feels rot, decay, she wants the world around her to crumble at her paws. There is no source to pinpoint for her lack of empathy, her disregard for her fellow cat. She can not claim a tragic childhood to match the sinful way she feels inside. It's something else? Perhaps if she cared enough she might consider what the issue was. Was there something wrong with her? Was there something to be fixed? But her pride is as great as her ambition; she's perfect.
There is no reason to look in-depth to perfection, no reason to unravel the tied strings holding her together because why fix what was not broken.

Briarstar gave her the name Fleecefur. Boring but practical, it certainly described her well enough though she held no real attachment to it. If anything it felt sort of like an insult, as if any other quality she had was buried under her appearance alone. At the thought a sneer pulled her black lips back, showed her teeth in disdain until she resumed her task of prettying back up after a good hunt. The point molly sits at the edge of the camp, there is blood on her paw, she is quietly grooming with rapid swipes of a light pink tongue and a dead bird at her side with a snapped neck. It was not a clean kill, most of her kills are rarely clean because she preferred brutality over stealth when it came to hunting. There was no need to sneak up on prey if she could hit it hard enough, fast enough. Not that her moron of an apprentice could handle that. Skulking about in the shadows didn't suit her so she wasn't going to teach a cat that way if she could help it and the smaller cat was proving to be a giant pain more than anything. A part of her had hoped having an apprentice would be fun, entertain her and give her a rare chance to bond with another cat but @CANARY. was so irritating it only ruined her mood more and more.

She'd left the young cat somewhere, had actually forgotten about her while hunting and returned to camp alone. Both blue eyes looked to the thicket of tangled thorns and marshy tall grass that made their camp border and she wondered if she would need to actually go back out and fetch the child or if they were competent enough to at least get home alone.

"Back so soon, lil' miss?" the observation comes across loud, a boisterous sound rasped from throaty chords. A sloppy kill lies dead at 'er paws, all bleak blood n' ruffled feathers. It told the tale 'f some sorta squabble, maybe. Those feathered things, tricky prey. Wouldn't be surprised if she just lept for it, settled for a measly kill before it could escape her curled grasp. Didn't blame er, couldn't. He didn't have the patience for those damned things neither.

He pauses, takes a second t' readjust himself. There's a loud sort of snort, not quite amusement, but a natural build-up of nasal stuff. Sounds'not for the faint of heart, that's for sure. "N' where's the sorry lil' grub who was trailing after ya?" He follows her line of sight, gazing off into th' forest like his long-lost lover was out dere. "Left em out t' sea? Would do 'er some good, methinks," he says, grinning sharp approval.