COYOTES TIP-TOE | attack on Gin's group

[Nathanos]

HELLO, MY NAME IS MR FEAR​

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The offer still rings within the rogue's mind, but even as the cold winds move in and prey becomes far harder to find than before, Nathanos is uncertain. His fur is bristling against the chill of the soon-to-be winter, and his belly growls with a desperate yearning. It was past sun-high, and he had found nothing worth eating, nothing but what little scraps could be stolen from the nearby twolegplace. Local kittypets, fat as they were, made trips into that area much too difficult to be worth it anymore, especially when the last thing the group needed was a bunch of difficult injuries. Perhaps WindClan's offer was looking more enticing by the day, even if Nathanos would rather not acknowledge it. Did Gin really have their best interests at heart? Did Nathanos? Were they all blinded by their pride?

Whatever the answer, what comes next is entirely shocking. With unusual silence, Nathanos sights the narrowed snout of something slipping through the grass toward his position near the shed, followed by another, and another. The scent of the raiding party is as overwhelming as it is chilling. The fur along the tom's neck begins to bristle as a warning yowl rips from his scarred maw, "Coyotes!" Bold and thunderous, the voice of Nathanos rings toward the rest of the group just as the Coyotes begin their attack. They had found the rogues, and now it seemed that they were looking to be rid of their feline competition, or perhaps even make a meal of the group. Nathanos just barely dashes away in time to avoid snapping jaws lined with razor teeth, as he bounds toward the shelter of the shed. Would the coyotes be able to climb the structure? "Get to the shed!" The tom's voice thunders out once more, ringing with desperation.

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(coyote attack on Gin's rogue group. please be aware that serious injuries are like... I mean we don't have any healers so it might be best to avoid anything potentially fatal wounds.)​

 

[✧ Branchfall.]

GOT GUMMYWORMS STUCK IN MY TEETH​

shoelace | 18 months | female | she/her | physically medium | mentally medium | attack in bold red​

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A hysterical laugh is ripped from her throat as she jolts into motion - body running on autopilot as she heeds the warning call. She is small and fast and light on her feet, but she knows that means very little to these mutts. Snapping jaws and snarling teeth and hot breath feels as though its only a hairs breadth away from her, and all she can do is flee. Zig-zagging her way through the rest of the group - she doesn't care if she sets the beasts upon another, as long as its not her in their jaws at the end of the day - amber gaze locks onto the shed. Saftey. It's no guarantee, but it's a promise of a possibility, and she's more than willing to take the chance of living another day. A particularly close canine tugs at her tail and she doesn't hesitate to send a swipe of long, carefully sharpened claws against the canines muzzle before making her desperate leap. She feels the hairs tugged from her skin with a painful wince, but she cannot focus on that now. She must survive.

 

[GHOSTSTRIKE]

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Life with the rogues was neither cushy nor simple, but such luxuries had never been afforded to Ghost in the first place. He place had always been at the bottom of the food chain, a vessel of claws and teeth meant to follow orders like a dog and to fight like a machine, nothing more and nothing less. The rogues were a step up in many aspects, but at the end of the day they were all still barely scraping a living out here. The coyotes grew bolder with each passing week, drifting deeper and deeper into their lands and taking what they pleased, all to eager to make a meal of the cats.

How ironic that they'd walked out of one madhouse only to end up in an identicle one miles, and miles away? Ghost would have laughed -bitterly- at said irony if it didn't piss him off so much. The entire reason he'd been born was because the coalition had needed cats to fend off the insane dog population that had overrun their city, a fate that left many of the soldiers like himself dead before their first year was up. He and Nineteen had finally gotten away only to go from fighting one mutt to another.

The alarm call was quick to bring him to his paws, dark amber eyes narrowing on the shed as he bolted for it. Swift and efficient in choosing his path, the tom had little trouble in avoiding the snapping jaws of the coyotes lunging throughout the clearing, this hardly being the first time he was in a situation where he had half a dozen mutts snapping at his heels. And while he was very much aware of the ever-present danger they posed if they managed to get ahold of him, he had long-since been descensitized to that overwhelming terror of having to survive in such close proximity with the beasts.

As he landed on the roof of the shed he turned to look back over the little clearing they'd been using as a camp, trying to better assess the problem at hand. How many were there? Were any cats in immediate danger of being mauled? Was there anything propped againt the shed they could use to climb up?
​

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rogue - male - 25 months - single - a very tall, muscular tabby with dark gray fur and white markings. heavily scarred with dark amber eyes

 

[Nineteen]

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To be blunt, Nineteen didn't really give a shit about the coyotes. He'd lived his entire life ganging up on stray dogs looking to make a meal of him and his friends, and it hadn't really been a factor in his choosing to stay with the rogues. Rather, the tom had simply been bored. No, maybe being an utterly expendable soldier whose entire purpose was to run off feral dogs until you eventually were mauled to death wasn't the best job for a cat to have, but it kept things busy, kept them lively.

After he and Ghost had escaped the Coalition, that liveliness had died out quick. Ghost had seemed content in just wandering and getting by, but Nineteen had grown restless and frustrated, and it had caused a lot tension to form between the two of them. They each seemed to want different things, Ghost his freedom, and Nineteen a purpose. Their compromise had been joining up with the rogues. The group was united enough that the inky tomcat could get his fix as far as socializing and working went, while remaining independant enough to keep Ghost from feeling like he was a dog on a leash again.

The alarm call came just in time.

From where he and Puff were laying, Nineteen had just enough time to get to his feet, inky black fur bristling, as he came face to face with one of the coyotes. His instincts urged him to fight, to drive it off and reclaim this space for his group just like he'd always done with the Coalition, but, he reminded himself, this was not the coalition. These cats were not his brothers in combat, were trained to do this or prepared to put themselves in mortal danger, and so despite the wave of adrenniline excitingly urging him to fight, he knew it was better to flee.

A dark flash of his paw and claws seared open a gash on the nose of the beast, sending it realing backwards with a yelp of surprise, and in that moment Nineteen turned to shove Puff toward the shed. "Go! I'm right behind you!" he ordered, breaking into a sprint alongside the other cat.

@Puff
​

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rogue - male - 24 months - single - a very tall, muscular black tomcat. heavily scarred with bright amber eyes

 

[Puffcloud]

(=〃ﻌ〃=)ﾉ — Gins' group had become like a home to the young silver tabby cat, and he didn't know what he would've done without them. A backyard breeder was where Puff came from, one of many to have so many litters in such a short period of time, and this was such a nice break. Sure they could be rough around the edges, but it was something right? A place to live and not have to die alone? That was Puffs hope anyway. Though then panic rose around him for a moment and he was confused for a second.

Then the alarm was rang and a silver tabby cat lifted their head from where they laid beside Nineteen, the black cat had become a friend of sorts, and then gave a curious look. What was the alarm for? Though it took a moment to process the situation as the scarred tomcat had scrambled up from the ground beside him. Puff looked up at him and got up from his own laying poisition, mouth opening to say something- but nothing came.

He was shoved shortly there after by that of Nineteen and ordered to run but there was hesitant in his movements. He didn't wanna leave the other behind! There was no way they could survive a fight with a coyote. Still, he then took off as fast as his chunky little legs could carry him and looked back, relief washing over him as Nineteen joined beside him. — tags​

 

[Nathanos]

HELLO, MY NAME IS MR FEAR​

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Paws sweep through bitter air and pads touch metal. A thump rings out as the beastly tom reaches the shed, clambers his way up. From the height, he could tell that it was unlikely the coyotes would be able to climb up the steep sides, but were they large enough to make the jump? Could coyotes leap the height that a feline could? Nathanos used to have his doubts, but now in the heat of the attack, uncertainties swarm through his fiery mind. One eye flickers out across the field, and he can see one rogue had been surrounded by the mangy beasts, tucked against a fence and with no escape, Nathanos chooses to look away.

He sights Shoelace, making a mad leap away from a canine that had gotten much too close for comfort. He sees Ghost, who makes it to the roof in time. Then he spots Nineteen, splitting a coyote's nose before trying to guide the thickly furred frame of Puff toward the shed. Nathanos is rooted in place, his claws grating against the metal. He had never been much of a hero, and he isn't so sure about risking his own life to save other rogues. He does lower his front paws for Puff and Nineteen to latch onto if they needed the extra boost, though. Provided of course, they're able to reach the shed at all. Either way, it would seem that any rogues who made it to the shed would surely be trapped atop the structure. The coyotes weren't going to give up any time soon. Their shrill calls seemed to slice through the day, normally a sound only heard in the distant night. But these canines had grown bold, and they were cunning.​

 

[GOATFOOT]

He was too old for this shit, was his thoughts as he was jolted away from a nice slumber and thrown almost instantly into the heat of battle. Stinking mutts... how did they not smell these foul beasts approaching sooner? A deep, raspy growl sounds out from his throat as a coyote charge at him, despite aching joints he manages to dodge out of the way of the first attack. Yet this coyote was young, speedy and full of energy. It spins right around and charges once more, Goat doesn't have the stamina to flee once more, he stands his ground.

Coyote spit falls on his fur as the coyote's maw comes ajar and latches onto some loose skin. It could've been far worse of a bite, but it still hurt like all hell. Goat goes for the coyote's ear that has now been placed at his own head level, the metallic taste of blood flowing into his mouth. Many detested the taste, but it was almost like tasting Goat's own saliva to him. He's been in countless battles, countless skirmishes, he's tasted much blood from beast and cat equally. It did not affect him anymore, but the ripping of his flesh did. The coyote pulls away, but not without taking a bit of Goat with him.

The wound is pretty surface level, it's not deep aside from where the teeth penetrated... but seven hells did it hurt.
"...Son of a bitch." He foully curses under his breath. Goat is old enough to know when he's lost his battles too, attacking this coyote alone instead of fleeing to begin with had been an act of stubbornness. The coyote is distracted by the attack of another rogue, Goat seizes this opportunity to flee, albeit slower than most due to his worn body.

He can be found heading towards the shed, curses and other grumblings spilling from his maw. ​

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Spoiler: TAGS 🐐 11/22

( primary character / "speech" / ic opinions )​

╰ ★ ჻ 001 GENERAL INFORMATION ,
· GOAT, male — he / him
╰ ‣ 144 moons . libra . ages on the first
╰ ‣ rogue . mountain-born .

╰ ★ ჻ 002 VISUALS & AESTHETICS ,
· DOMESTIC FELINE, smell of fir trees and late rainfall , status — 100%
╰ ‣ blue and white tom . scar over right eye . amber eyes

╰ ★ ჻ 003 MENTALITY & MANNERISMS ,
╰ ‣ Blunt, impatient, stubborn, loud-mouthed, short-tempered / warms up to become soft-hearted, protective, and considerate with those he grows close to.
╰ ‣ finds moderate difficult in relating to others . can be cruel, rarely shows mercy
╰ ‣ Appreciates titles such as "sir & mister"

╰ ★ ჻ 004 INTERACTIONS & RELATIONSHIPS ,
· BEETLE x HAWTHORNE
╰ ‣ homosexual .
╰ ‣ skilled fighter . average hunter .
╰ ‣ will start fights . unlikely to flee .
╰ ‣ attack in underline . penned by user @ava.

 

[Jasperglare]

Jasper watched the coyotes below him growling and snarling and barking and snapping and making all sorts of noises. Stupid dogs. He was crouched on a dumpster, swiping at snoots.

"HAHAHA, GOT YOUR NOSE!!!!!!"

He sank his claws into another snoot, earning him a yelp.

"GET OUT OF HERE, FLEABAG."

He struck another, tearing it's nose particularly bad. It yelped and cried, backing off. It looked younger than the others, Jasper observed. Perhaps that was why it gave up so easily.

Too bad!

"TRY AND COME UP HERE AGAIN AND I'LL KILL YOU ." He shouted. He looked to the coyotes still trying to get him. " YOU WANNA LOSE YOUR NOSES TOO?"

Another smack, another maniacal cackle. It was only a matter of time until the coyotes managed to jump up, but man, Jasper was gonna make it a pain for them.


​

 

[speckleclaw.]

Now, he had run from many other cats, dogs either off their tethering ropes or roaming free, and even two-legs in his short life. The general solution was to hustle his ass far away enough to scrabble up somewhere high until the threat lost interest ― it seemed as though that was basic cat instinct, judging by how everyone beelined straight for the shed roof.

Sam initially startled at Nathanos' urgent cry, dropping the scrap of trash he had been sifting through. His first thought had been along the lines of oh, shit. And when he actually saw the damn mangy things, it rapidly transitioned into oh, SHIT. To put it in simplest terms, that is. In an instant, his blood pounded in his skull, heart thudding much too fast for ease. Reflex pushed him off the ground and into a frenzied dash for the shed, thoughts too blurred to even think as the cats around him scattered into a similar panic. He stumbled briefly, as jaws snapped right onto Goat's pelt. His own survival wasn't as much priority anymore, with his mind outside his body as he recklessly rammed himself into the attacking coyote's side. It was enough of a distraction for the elderly cat to retreat, he hoped, but now the canine was rounding around on him. Bad mistake.

With a hiss, his defensive claws scored the coyote's muzzle, though he nearly lost a paw in the process. Sam spun on his heel to flee toward the shed again, but not before teeth managed to hook their points right into his rear. A yowl of pain was his only reaction before kicking out behind him, though the coyote didn't bite down enough to do more than graze the skin and recoil back with a mouthful of ginger fur. With enough adrenaline, he could ignore his newfound wound to launch himself onto the shed's roof ― he hit the edge with his chest, a pained oof leaving his mouth in an almost-comical wheeze. His senses hastily returned, however, and he hauled himself up to safety with the others. Sam panted heavily, a fearful haze glossing over his mismatched eyes as the sounds of cats screeching out, of cats dying thoroughly rattled him. With great effort, Sam shook his head in a miserable attempt to focus, turning around and leaning over the edge with paws outstretched in hopes of scooping up any stragglers onto the roof. He had to at least help.​

 

[MAGGOTCRAWL]

Shit. Shit.

He'd just wanted to rest, spend a moment thinking of anything but the groups recent troubles. But the world around him had different plans, it seemed. The yips of coyotes near the area, causes the white tom to spring to his feet. Eyes squint as Maggot tries to focus his vision; as he tries to find the quickest path to the shed in his panic.

There.

The coyotes grow louder, and Maggot's paws can only carry him so fast. Pain strikes him before he can make it back to safety. It sears into his shoulder, sends itself throughout the rogue's body as warmth trickles down the site. The coyote is on him, but there's still ample space between Maggot and the shed.

He has no choice then but to turn around and join the fight - to serve as a distraction as the rest of the group returns to safety - claws extended and splayed out in a striking motion towards the beast.
​