blood under the bridge — intro

[RIMEFELL]

By the Gorge's lip, he crouches, a lone, dark sentry above the river slithering on its swollen belly. Across the deep wound in the earth is moorland and a distant, stony silhouette visible only for the lack of forestry. The sun veils its face behind a sheet of dull, barren clouds. The wind kicks up over the gulch and stirs loose snow into a craggy pelt, though he does not turn from its fleeting volley. It dies, the air still but no less beset by leafbare's chill.

"I will know you," he vows, a mutter not fit to echo in even the emptiest of cavities. His lonesome eye squints before he turns in circles as though harassed by a winged insect, but he is entirely alone. It is a circuit he's made before, the stale ground directly below his body laid bare by the repetition of paws on snow. Rimefell stops, once again looking out into the expanse. "WindClan? Would they know? No, no, of course not. If they thought as quickly as they scuttle after hares they would be more and less than what they are."

A deep, chest-heaving inhale. A loud gurgle twists from his stomach and his large, scarred tail sweeps to curl the tip across his belly, as though warding off further rumbles. It is the afternoon of the third day since he has allowed anything but water into his mouth.
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[BUCKGAIT.]

MY NAME IS BRUTUS AND MY NAME MEANS HEAVY ✧​

she watches him, yet again on another hunt. it had been at first to simply take her mind off of her troubles, which seem to be multiplying by the second. but now, she is consumed with surveying the old tom. the workings of elders never fail to leave buck upset with confusion. she fears she may go insane if she lives to such an age, so she hopes she is slain before then. put out of her misery, and allowed to rejoin what she wishes to see again.

he continues his mutterings, and buck feels more lost than ever. at this point, she grows tired of his ominous speaking and decides to simply just confront him about it. however she doubts she'll get a clear answer from him. but maybe it can be something for her to mull over when she goes back to continue her hunt. something to distract her from all the headaches in camp. "what are you talking of?" calls her voice, though she makes little attempt to get closer to the aged feline. she's good with this distance, and to soon leave him back to his pondering mind.
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[RIMEFELL]

The wind inhales and on its released breath, the gust glides along his back and over his shoulders. With it is the scent of a RiverClanner, wet and gleaming, but his initial reaction is merely the flick of a battle-torn ear. He stares a while longer at the cleaved ground, the churning river dark with danger, and the vacancy of the featureless moors waiting silently. When he does twist toward Buckgait, it is askance, solitary eye tracking the lengths of snow-swallowed soil between them. He scowls openly, the scarred angles of his sharply-hewn face darkened.

"I am no rambling elder to usher back to bed," he declares crossly, his voice strong if husky. The corners of his mouth form such a steep slope that even the surest of climbers would fail to scale. "I am a warrior still. Doubt the sharpness of your claws before that of my mind." Facing the Gorge once more, he does not move to answer the spoken question until the wind stirs to life again, disturbing an unruly pelt into a thicket. It drags with it the burbling of his stomach. "I am listening. The world speaks and I am not content to ignore it."
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[FERNGILL]

Fernpaw found himself easily confused, even with less complicated things. To the... riddle-like manner in which Rimefell spoke had his unsightly features scrunched up in bafflement for a few- in fact, many long moments. It made him feel a little better that Buckgait did not seem to fully grasp what the words out of the other's mouth meant, asking him outright what he was talking about. The warrior seemed almost offended by the comment, and- well, Fernpaw didn't want him to feel bad. Like everyone thought he was... crazy, sitting out here and talking to- the world, apparently.

So in did he close, toddling gait carrying his tiny form over. Still so much smaller, but- growing a little. Growth brought unsteadiness of the feet, and Fernpaw did not feel confident enough to fully close in. Especially not... not by the gorge. "What's the world saying?" he called, hoping that he might understand what was happening better if Rimefell got to talk about it a bit more. Maybe- make him smile? Even a little?​

( penned by pin )​

 

[RIMEFELL]

As with Buckgait, Rimefell's recognition of Fernpaw lacks immediacy. For a time, the echo of the river's flight through the Gorge is all that reaches the precipice he commands. His scarred ears remain pricked and his gaze studious, watching not the water below but the boughs of the scarce trees on the moors. It is during a period of motionless wind that Rimefell's eye pursues the small boy beside him. His face is slight, in keeping with the rest of his frame, but his eyes are heavy dewdrops on blades of grass, bending thin blades. When Rimefell speaks at last, it isn't an answer.

"Come closer," he says, gesturing with a thick tail. "I will not allow you to fall. Stand here and tell me what it is you see."
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[HAILFROST]

It felt odd to gaze on the small gathering of cats, with Rimefell beckoning Fernpaw to "come closer". Shivering under the cold, the warrior wondered where the strange battle-scarred tom had came from. Despite her icy exterior, she yearned for a connection, and although the tom's words made little sense to her logically, she felt a spiritual draw to his speech. She took calculated steps forward, stopping only a little closer than Buckgait. Glancing back at her deputy, she could sense that Buckgait did not mirror her inquisitive nature, or perhaps she was just much more familiar with Rimefell than she was.

Glancing into the moorland beyond, her eyes glazed over as she tried to figure out what he meant. "I think as you get older, you become more aware of the world around you. Maybe it only really speaks to you if you have the time to listen." She pondered, a sort of half-response to the inquiry presented by Fernpaw. She glanced back at Buckgait, offering her an empathetic glance conveying a sort of I don't really get this either look.

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[FERNGILL]

He was beckoned closer- but logic fought against the urge, as little of it as he had. It wasn't allowed, really, for apprentices to go that close to the gorge- there were too many terrifying what-ifs, like slipping or falling or- well, both. But he did want to come closer- so paws too big for his body began to carry him forward, wariness wide in his fish-like gaze. Briefly he looked over his shoulder to Hailfrost- time to listen. With all his training- unsuccessful training, but training nonetheless- it was not often that Fernpaw did in fact have time to listen. Maybe right now could be different, though.

He didn't dare to get as close as Rimefell was, but it was at least closer. Closer was fine, that was all he'd been asked of. "Umh, I see- see a... big, uh, gorge." Obvious, but- well, it was hard not to look at. "'N, uh- I see a- see a... see a cloud. Looks like, uh- a tree, sorta, hah..." Absent-mindedly did one oversized paw scuff the earth a little, a small puff of snow spat in its wake. ​

( penned by pin )​